


The Second Lady Lannister

by tm_writes



Series: The Second Lady Lannister [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A new Westeros, All the little lions, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anything can happen - Freeform, Breaking the Wheel, Canon Rewrite, Direwolves for days, F/M, King Tywin, Major character deaths but for the plot, My choices, Queen Sansa, Redid the second long night, Starks and Lannisters, but lots of people live as well, how did this get so long?, lots of people die, my story, not Dany friendly but she is hardly in the story, rewrite to the Night King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2020-10-19 20:57:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 55
Words: 615,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20663678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tm_writes/pseuds/tm_writes
Summary: What if Sansa were older (21) and she knew all the Lannister secrets when Tywin came back to Kings Landing? This is a story exploring how an older and more knowledgeable Sansa negotiated a better marriage for herself.Can she save not only herself but potentially her family as well? And how does this affect everyone else in the Game of Thrones?**DO NOT POST THIS WORK ON OTHER SITES***





	1. Chapter 1

_ The Tower of the Hand _

Tywin had been back in the capital for several weeks, having taken back his position as Hand of the King upon his return. The battle against the Stannis’ men had been successful and joining forces with House Tyrell had given him the numbers needed to retain the city. All it had cost him was a broken betrothal and promise to Olenna Tyrell that her precious granddaughter would become the next Queen. Which left Tywin with what he had taken the calling “The Stark Problem.” He was deeply disturbed by the increasing number of reports from his trusted spies and confidants, as they pertained to Sansa Stark. The number of times it had been reported that she had been physically assaulted within the Red Keep was astounding. He had long ago concluded that his children were incompetent idiots who needed to be brought firmly in hand before the madness of the current king ruined the family name.

Tywin was not against the use of violence or intimidation. Both had their usefulness and place. But to openly and mockingly beat a high-born lady such as Sansa Stark was inexcusable. She was the key to the North, and to potentially ending the war that had been raging. More to the point, she was one of the highest and most pure born ladies currently in the entire seven kingdoms, and she was under Lannister protection. It was insane to think that his daughter and her vile offspring couldn’t understand her worth. Joffrey was proving to be a particularly cruel and useless king, and his daughter wasn’t much better. Tywin Lannister hated incompetence, especially when it came from his loins.

Tywin Lannister had summoned Sansa Stark to his solar after his trusted Commander of the Red Cloaks, Jerrod, had interrupted another beating of the woman, this time in a small garden outside the godswood in Kings Landing. His understanding from Jerrod was that it had been two Kingsguards that had delivered this beating, going so far as to begin to tear her clothes off, before the Lannister red cloaks intervened. Both Kingsguard were currently locked in the black cells, to be dealt with after his meeting with Lady Stark.

Cersei and Joffrey were livid with Tywin’s actions, but he didn’t care. He would do anything and everything possible to restore order to Kings Landing, including dealing with his increasing useless family members.

Tywin was seated at his desk as Lady Sansa was led into his solar. He did not glance up to watch her approach instead of using a technique that he had perfected over his twenty years of serving the previous king. He observed her from under his downcast eyes while attending to paperwork on his desk. She walked in regally, if stiffly as if she were hurt.

_Stupid_, he thought. _Of course, she was in pain_.

The beating, while not severe before it had been stopped, had left its mark on her. Tywin also observed her dress, noting that it seemed too small, worn and not befitting her station. Regardless of those observations, she was an extraordinarily beautiful woman, just past her twentieth name day, which made Tywin’s plans to wed her off to secure more political capital easier. Much harder to wed an ugly lady than one that looked like her. Still, she held herself with poise, not wilting under his lack of attention, instead of standing perfectly still, not even willing to risk his anger at taking a seat.

_Good_, thought Tywin, _she was biddable_. Cersei had indicated her a stupid, vapid young lady, willing to do whatever necessary to please the King. Tywin sighed, thinking it was too bad that such a stunning creature had such a simple mind.

Finally, Tywin put his quill down and looked at her. His cool emerald eyes met her blue ones, and he indicated with his head that she should be seated in the chair before him. It was late afternoon, and his solar was warm and would have been cozy if any other man in the realm was heading this meeting. Lady Sansa sat, gingerly, arranging herself to face him, placid mask on her face. Sighing, Tywin gathered his thoughts, hoping to get this over with.

“I assume you understand why I have summoned you here, Lady Sansa,” Tywin began.

“I do not know my lord.”

Tywin frowned. Had he not instructed his vile dwarf offspring to let the woman know they were to be betrothed? _Useless creature,_ Tywin thought viciously.

“Very well. It has come to my attention that your betrothal to the King has ended. As the Hand of the King, it is my responsibility to ensure an appropriate match had been made for you, Lady Sansa.”

She was silent, and she looked at him with her Tully blue eyes, betraying no emotion. _Was she a simpleton_, Tywin thought? Surely that should provoke a reaction. Knowing that most people were unable to stand the silence and would fill it, Tywin was determined to wait her out. It seemed Lady Stark had the same idea.

After some time, with no response from her, thoroughly upset that the woman had outlasted him, he angrily spat out, “Aren’t you at least curious as to whom I have decided to marry you too?” More silence.

Then, finally, she cocked her head and asked, “May I speak freely, my Lord.”

Perplexed, Tywin nodded. _What was on the woman’s mind?_

“I assumed one of two things would happen when I was summoned here today. Either you would arrange for me to be executed for some reason. Being the daughter of a traitor and the sister of the man, you are currently at war with would be a sufficient reason I am sure.”

Tywin stared at her.

She continued, unperturbed. “Or you called me here to inform me of my betrothal to a Lannister.”

Tywin arched an eyebrow. So, she was aware of her plans for her. Good. That would make this easier. He began to speak again, but she interrupted him. Tywin sat up straighter. No one interrupted him.

“I am not finished, My Lord. You see, my time in the Red Keep had been most interesting. I admit when I first arrived here, I was naïve and stupid. Through lessons learned, mostly from the King and Queen Regent, I have realized that my most powerful weapon is information. Well, that and my maidenhood. Although the King has threatened to take that whenever he pleases.” She arched one perfect eyebrow at him.

_Stupid Joffrey_, Tywin thought. _She was a valuable hostage and to openly threaten the Stark woman with rape was incredibly irresponsible_. The King was the same age as this woman in front of him, and yet Joffrey had none of her maturity. Tywin sat back to reassess the woman before him.

Gone was the woman he had mistakenly believed to be nothing more than a vapid lady of the court. In front of him sat a composed and ruthless wolf. He felt something stir in his belly. Fear at what her next words would be, followed by a jolt of lust and attraction. Tywin respected strength. And it had been a very long time since any woman had intrigued him as Sansa Stark did.

“You see, my Lord, I have learned many interesting things. I assume you, unlike your daughter, understand my real value. My two younger brothers are dead, killed by a traitor to our house. My younger sister Arya disappeared from Kings Landing when my father was executed. If my eldest brother, Robb, were to perish, I am his only heir. The last Stark. A descendant from a bloodline of Kings that has existed for 8,000 years. There is not another house in the Kingdom that can make such a claim. And there is no rumour as to my parentage.” She looked to Tywin for his acknowledgement of her words. He nodded. He would allow her to weave her story, sufficiently prepared to end this folly when his requirements were met. Sansa could hardly think of her family now; Robb in charge of an entire army only two years older than her twenty. Arya lost to the wilds of Westeros and Bran and Rickon just gone.

“I have also spent numerous hours during my time in the Red Keep reading my lord. Reading the history of the Targaryen’s, the Lannister’s, and the Baratheons. The histories of the great houses of the Seven Kingdoms and the history of Westeros.” This was somewhat off track, and Tywin was uneasy at where this might be going. But Sansa Start seemed determined to have her say.

“Did you know, my Lord, that most Targaryen’s share a particularly interesting feature?” Tywin glared at her. “Most Targaryen’s have shockingly blond hair. Almost white or silver.” Tywin swallowed.

“You see, my Lord, it seems that through the knowledge I’ve gained with my readings, I have been able to discover that children often take on the features of their parents. In my family, it is particularly obvious. As Petyr Baelish points out all too frequently, I am often mistaken as an exact match for my lady mother. My sister Arya looked every inch the daughter of Ned Stark. Even my brother Robb combines the red hair of the Tully’s with a true northern face of a Stark.” Tywin’s eyes narrowed. Lady Stark was in perilous waters now.

“I find it interesting that a man such as yourself, one who I’ve heard values your family name and legacy above all else, is willing to marry me, the last true northern princess, to a son of questionable origin who will never inherit his family’s seat.” Tywin was livid. He had killed lesser men than her for daring to speak about the dwarf’s origins and his shame at not being able to protect his wife from the mad king.

“Be very careful, My Lady,” Tywin seethed. “You are very close to spreading treasonous statements. Men have died for such thoughts, let alone giving voice to them.” People had rarely threatened Tywin and lived to speak of it.

She held up her hand and cocked her head. “I will not apologize for bringing to light harsh truths. I have nothing left to live for. You or the king may kill me at any moment. I know I will never see the north again. I know I am to be auctioned off for my name, my maidenhood and my ability to produce heirs. I am simply negotiating a better bargain for myself. My children should inherit a great keep. They are worthy of that honour. The North will not stand for my marriage to be anything less than to an equal. It does a disservice to my house and to yours to tie me to your second son. _If _he truly is your second son. Especially when you have no intention of allowing him to inherit Casterly Rock.”

Unable to stand it any longer, Tywin’s vitriol burst forward. “My lady, you underestimate the value of your cunt.” He practically spat at her. “You are here at my discretion, and as the daughter of a known traitor, you should be thankful such a match could be procured for you at all.”

“Perhaps,” she said calmly, not reacting at all to his rage, which was impressive itself before she continued. “You see my Lord, I have had other offers. The Tyrell’s have convinced me that marriage to their eldest son would guarantee my children inherit Highgarden. Such a match is much worthier for a person of my status than your current offer.”

It ate at Tywin’s guts that this woman, while insolent and exceedingly well informed, wasn’t incorrect. Offering her a marriage to his second son, the one who he suspected did not even come from his seed, was an insult to House Stark. If her father was still alive, there is no way he would agree to such an engagement, her having been previously betrothed to a King, who at twenty himself, matched her age and station. It would only be acceptable for her to marry a first-born son, one who would inherit a vast keep. Tywin was trying to understand her game. Was it marriage to Jaime she was angling for? He snorted internally. It would be a cold day in hell before that would ever come to fruition.

“So, my lady, is it the golden-haired Kingslayer that you seek for your husband?” Tywin spat at her, furious she dared to negotiate with him the Great Lion.

“The Kingslayer?” Sansa replied in a confused voice. She shook her head, “No, my Lord, I think we are both quite aware of the_ limitations _such a match would present.” She let the word limitations hover in the air, wondering if the lion would bite on the insinuation.

Tywin had been knocked off his game. Knowing he shouldn’t take the bait, but in far too deep to retreat, he jumped on her. “And what might those limitations be? He’s a true born noble first son, ready to inherit the greatest of the seven kingdoms. Surely you can’t find fault with him.” How dare she insult his heir and firstborn son Tywin seethed.

Sighing, Sansa felt disappointed in the man. She had heard legendary things about Tywin Lannister, including his brilliant cunning and pragmatism. The man was single-handedly responsible for the decimation of two entire houses before he had even come to power. Clearly, she wouldn’t be able to rile the great lion that much? Regardless, Sansa was in too deep now to back out. She had stored all this knowledge for just such an occasion, and she had one chance to secure her future.

“No, my Lord. Beyond the obvious issue that your son tried to kill my brother by pushing him out a window during his visit to Winterfell, thereby crippling a young boy,” Sansa saw Tywin visibly startle at that revelation, “It is the fact that my children need to be above reproach and rumour.” She arched a brow at Tywin again. His face was red and flushed, his eyes glittering emerald pools of hatred and anger.

“Once again, my lord, it is interesting how the children of Robert and Cersei have none of the characteristics of their father and instead resemble only their mother. And their _uncle_.” She dragged the word uncle out.

“Enough!” Tywin bellowed at her as he slammed his fist on the table. Sansa didn’t even flinch. “I should have your throat slit for daring even to think such an accusation, let alone give voice to it you scheming bitch,” he snarled at her. She met his furious gaze with calm and cool blue eyes.

“I merely speak the truth, My Lord, and you know it. You’ve most likely always known it. And now I must ask you, what are you willing to do to preserve the legacy of the Lannister name?”

The woman was a shocking revelation to Tywin. He had never been so outmaneuvered in his entire life. Like his daughter and grandson, he had underestimated her intelligence and cunning. Her willingness to bargain away her maidenhood, while knowing all the vile truths about his family was beyond anything Tywin had ever encountered. Grown men cowered in his presence, and he had ruled the seven kingdoms in fear for twenty years. To be outmaneuvered, this woman was humiliating. He was bustling with rage.

But underneath all of it, a small kernel of grudging respect was building. This woman had no one. She was truly alone in the snake pit of Kings Landing. She had been beaten, abused and discarded by his family. She had nothing but her wit, her intelligence, her royal blood and her maidenhood. Somehow, she had used all of that to negotiate herself into a position of power. Tywin briefly considered killing her. It would be easy physically. While tall, she was a tiny thing. He dismissed the notion immediately. The repercussions would be too vast, and unlike his insane and stupid children, he knew her value. She could end the war, and she was correct in the fact that the North would only accept someone as her equal in status as her husband. Any lesser lord would be considered an insult and would only enrage the young wolf. Assessing all this quickly, Tywin asked, “Who then?”

Sansa smiled. “I think the answer is rather obvious my lord.” He arched an eyebrow. “You.”

Outwardly, Tywin didn’t react. Inwardly, he was reeling. After his beloved first wife had died, he refused even to consider taking another wife. It was out of the question. He had an heir, and he had the paid discretion of the very best whores on occasion he required a release. He would never consent to another marriage. But his children had proven themselves entirely unworthy of the Lannister name. His first son was lost to him, both figuratively and literally, refusing to become the heir Tywin required and his second son was most likely not even of his blood. His legacy was in jeopardy.

He had once told Jaime that nothing mattered except the family name, that it was the only thing that lived on once everyone was dead, and he was crumbling like dust in his hands. He had no one worthy of leaving his family seat too, and if left unchecked the damage Cersei and her bastard incestuous son would wreak on Westeros could be devastating for everyone. Still, he was shocked Sansa would even suggest such an alliance. Weren’t maidens too enamoured with handsome young knights? Why, beyond his wealth, would she willing to tie herself to him? Was she that greedy for the gold that the Lannister name promised?

“Why?” he asked.

Sansa swallowed. “Because you are the only one who can protect my children and me.”

He arched an eyebrow at her.

“If,” she continued, “we were to be married, I have no wish to remain in Kings Landing. Casterly Rock has never been breached. Your men and your people are loyal to _you_, my lord.” She paused. “The only person that has ever been able to control the king is you. The only person the king fears is you.”

He assessed her. She was correct, and he saw no outward signs of her lying. This marriage was entirely about her protection and safety and not about fancy gowns or riches.

“I have no power here. Once I am wed, I will have even less. How long before an assassin slips in and kills me at Highgarden? Can Willas Tyrell truly defend me? Would I even make it past the day of my wedding? Your children hate me, my lord. With me dead, and potentially my brother dead, anyone can claim the north. Are you willing to let the chance to secure the North slip through your fingertips?”

The woman was brilliant, brave and too idealistic Tywin thought. Of course, he was the only one in the entire kingdom that could protect her from the wrath of his own family. She also represented his best shot at ending the war, producing a worthy heir and restoring the Lannister name. He needed time to think.

“Lady Sansa, you will speak to no one of this conversation. I will have an answer for you tomorrow.” He looked down, dismissing her. Rising, she bowed a small curtsey to him and walked to the door of the solar.

Before she opened the door, he called out, “It will be a true marriage, my lady. I expect you to produce heirs. My protection doesn’t come without access to your most valuable asset.” Tywin hated to be crude, but he wondered if reminding her she would be required to couple with him would deter her.

She turned and looked at him. Holding his gaze, she cocked her head and arched one perfect eyebrow. “I would expect nothing less, My Lord.” Turning slightly to leave, she couldn’t help but add, “I trust your skill in the matter would ensure the experience would be… pleasurable.” She drew the word out and then she opened the door and slipped out.

Tywin snorted. The cheek of her. He felt a jolt of lust run through his loins. He’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t attracted to her. Weakness had never been a quality Tywin held in high esteem, and he couldn’t remember a time, if ever that he had been bested by anyone with a mind and wit such as hers. He didn’t like that he had been, but he admired her tenacity. She would be the consummate Lady of Lannister, indeed a woman worthy to carry such a title. She was young enough, just twenty, to be moldable, and even though his family had done their best to destroy her, she had managed to persevere. She was able to play the game of thrones, and she would never do anything to sully either his or her reputations.

Yes, it had been quite some time since a challenge such as this had been put before the Great Lion, and even though he knew his answer would be yes, for there was simply no other answer he could give. He would take the night to contemplate his future that had veered so drastically off course during the meeting with a single wolf of Winterfell.


	2. Chapter 2

As Sansa left the Tower of the Hand, she made sure to walk slowly and serenely, as befitting her station. She would not run, or shake, or show any outward sign of emotion from the meeting she had just come from. She noticed as she walked through the Red Keep, back to her small room, she was followed discreetly by two of the Lannister Red Cloaks. Inwardly, she smiled. Lord Tywin would not care about her safety if he wasn’t seriously considering her proposal. She was confident her gamble had paid off. She tried to imagine the relief that would come from being under his protection. It was too sweet a thought to contemplate until she was married to him, so she pushed it aside and focused on her next moves.

A Sansa entered her room, the only person there was her handmaiden Shae. Communicating silently, knowing there were guards just outside the door, Shae raised her eyebrows as if to ask How did that go? Sansa gave her a slight smile before starting to shake. The impact of what she had just done began to penetrate her brain. Shae moved to her quickly, guiding her to sit on the bed, keeping her arms around Sansa. Grateful to her, Sansa began to let her mind replay the conversation she just had and its repercussions for herself and her future. It was a wonder she was in this position at all.

It had all begun shortly after her father’s execution. She had returned to her chambers one evening and had noticed a small book left on her bedside table. Picking it up, she ran her hands over it. Sansa had opened it up and gasped. It was a diary containing her father’s handwriting. There were only a few pages written in, and the words made no sense to Sansa. It was just a list of names and hair colour, but she treasured it. It was the only thing, save for the doll her father had given her, that remained of him. She made sure to hide the book, never leaving it to be found anywhere. Late at night, in the privacy of her room, she often spent many hours tracing her father’s writing with her fingertips.

She had been so stupid to believe Cersei and Joffrey. Sometimes she thought the reason her family hadn't rescued her or at least traded for, was because of that hideous note they made her write. Her brother and her mother believed Sansa to be a traitor to the Starks.

Sansa missed her family dearly, longing to have one more chance to speak with her mother or receive a strong hug from her brother Robb. But as much as she missed her family, she also had such anger towards them. She had been a young woman when she was left alone and friendless in Kings Landing. Her family had not prepared her for the violence and deceit that ruled the capital. These feelings of abandonment and betrayal from her loved ones hardened Sansa, and she soon realized she belonged nowhere. She was seen at court as the daughter of a traitor, and therefore tainted and unworthy of any respect- a toy that Joffrey used to beat and humiliate even though she was his betrothed. 

And she didn’t feel like she belonged to the North anymore as her family had not attempted to rescue her. Clearly, they believed that she had betrayed them to the Lannister’s or that she was simply beyond their reach or not worthy of being traded for even when her brother had captured Jaime Lannister.

After yet another beating Joffrey had his guards bestow upon her, Sansa realized that to survive in King's Landing; she would need to know more and to be more. Being weak and stupid and ill-informed had gotten her nothing. The only person that would be able to save Sansa was herself. And saving herself meant securing her future. Her only chance at survival was marriage to a great lord with a kingdom to defend her and protect any future heirs she produced from the King.

She began to spend long days in the library, reading voraciously, augmenting her lessons from her septa and the Maester at Winterfell from years ago. She was particularly interested in the history of the great houses. If she had to be surrounded by enemies, she was at least determined to know them as well as they knew themselves. And it would help her chose which house she should try to marry into. She knew the history of the Starks. Her father was proud of their lineage, though not pompous the way some at court were. Sansa knew that her blood was descended from Kings, the first men of Westeros. She knew her womb potentially held the key to the North. The more she researched, the more she remembered what it was to be a wolf, a Stark and of the North. Joffrey might call her the daughter of a traitor, but she knew she was a princess of the North.

It wasn’t long before Sansa begun to piece together the meaning of the scribblings in her father’s diary. When Sansa wasn’t reading and researching, she spent countless hours at court, willing to risk a beating to observe the King and his mother. She soon began to realize how similar they were, sharing common characteristics and traits.

Her gaze would swing from the Queen to her brother, Lord Tyrion, and she realized his hair was not the same golden hue as his sister and his nephew. This in and of itself was unremarkable to her at first. She thought of her family- she and Robb, and Arya hardly had the same colouring. No, it was only when Sansa read about House Targaryen and House Lannister one afternoon that she suspected something amiss about the littlest Lannister. She knew that Lord Tywin had been hand to the last Targaryen king for twenty years. Their houses had been bound together for years. And Lord Tyrion had the same hair colour as the Targaryen’s!

The Lannister’s had an impressive history, and it was impossible to not be in awe of the Great Lion himself. Even the boring history books couldn’t help but praise the love of Lord Tywin and Lady Joanna. Sansa was envious. Imagine being so loved by a man that he was willing to forgo a great political alliance to marry you. Sansa shook her head at that. Love matches were things in fairytales, which she no longer believed in. The Hound had been right. There were no true knights and fair maidens. Just brutal monarchs and weak-willed fools willing to follow them. This was why Sansa was trying to determine if there had been some arrangement between Lord Tywin, Lady Joanna and King Aerys, or if something much worse had taken place. She was sure that Lord Tyrion had dragon blood based on the colour of his hair.

One book, a dusty tomb that seemed overlooked in the library, described the increasing fondness of King Aerys’s that he had always held for Lady Joanna. The book made it seem that King Aerys' obsession for Lady Lannister had taken a dark turn. Sansa shuddered. That feeling of having her clothes ripped from her body until Lord Tyrion had intervened was never far from her thoughts, and indeed was one of her worst nightmares. She could sympathize with Lady Joanna, knowing how it felt to be lusted after by a monarch with absolute power over your body. If a rape of Lady Joanna had truly happened, she couldn’t imagine how devastating that would have been for a man like Tywin Lannister. It was truly heartbreaking.

Sometimes Sansa felt guilty when she looked at the dwarf. He was the only Lannister that had shown her any kindness. She knew all about him and her handmaiden. Shae had been blunt and honest on her first day of service to Sansa, which Sansa appreciated. Still, it was uncomfortable to look at Lord Tyrion and think he may be the product of rape. Sansa was not ignorant of the rumours of how much Lord Tywin hated his youngest son. It was an open secret in court. More and more Sansa came to believe that much of that hatred radiated not only from the fact that his birth had caused his beloved wife’s death, but also that he suspected the same thing Sansa did- that Tyrion was not his.

And if her deductions were correct, Lord Tyrion wasn’t the only one in the Lannister family that suffered from questionable parentage. Sansa had read everything she could find on the Baratheon’s, quickly realizing that the family was known to produce large, strong, dark-haired men. King Joffrey had none of the characteristics of his father. Neither did his sister or his younger brother. She had figured out, listening at court, that King Robert was not exactly faithful to Queen Cersei. It was when she had overheard the Kingsguard talking about Joffrey’s order to murder all of King Robert’s bastards that she made the connection to her father’s diary

She told no one what she suspected about the King. She didn’t even think about it that often, afraid the words would slip from her mouth and then she’d find herself led to her death the way her father had been. She was sure this was why he had been murdered. He had not killed his friend King Robert but must have discovered like her that Joffrey was a bastard and therefore an illegitimate king.

At first, Sansa didn’t know who Joffrey’s true father was. All she knew was that it wasn’t King Robert. It was a comment made by the Hound one day before he had left Kings Landing that had shed a bit of light on the issue of Joffrey’s parentage. The King had been in a particularly foul mood that day, upset by the news of rebellion against him and angry at the singer who had been performing that night. It had left everyone at court tense, and when Sansa had encountered the Hound on her way back to her chambers, he was in a particularly foul mood. Sneering at her, he rasped snidely, “See your precious golden king, acting like a spoiled child. Typical lion- acting like the world is for his pleasure only. Be sure you don’t anger him too much little bird.” Sansa just nodded, held his gaze for a moment and the turned and continued her way. But once back in her chambers, she thought his word choice odd. Wouldn’t the Hound say that it was the Stag that always acted like a spoilt child? Why had he called Joffrey a lion? Yes, his mother was a Lannister, but he ruled as the son of the Baratheon King. Was it more than just his golden hair? Joffrey didn’t even particularly look like a lion, but he most certainly didn’t resemble a stag either. Sansa thought on these points for days.

Another source of confirmation about Joffrey’s true parentage came from her willingness to trust her handmaiden Shae. Both women had recognized their precarious positions in Kings Landing and bonded quickly. Shae watched as Sansa diligently researched and gather information. Shae helped her heal when she was beaten and held her when she became overwhelmed in her misery here. Three years ago, the woman Sansa was would have been shocked that her most loyal friend in the capital was a whore. But events had left Sansa little choice in confidants, and while it might be the height of stupidity to trust her, Sansa had no one else here. So far, Shae had not betrayed Sansa.

It seemed that Lord Tyrion liked to drink and talk after he had spent himself in his mistress. Unaware of how much information he truly shared with his her, he didn’t realize that Shae shared it with Sansa. Lord Tyrion had become particularly talkative one evening when the subject of his brother Jaime arose, upset that he had been kidnapped. Tyrion missed him dearly, and he waxed on about the Kingslayer for hours with Shae. Most of what he shared was nothing more than childhood antidotes and funny stories, which were useless to Sansa. But two critical pieces of information came her way.

The first was after a simple comment made by Shae. She had remarked that it seemed nice that Tyrion was so close to his brother. “Me? Close with Jaime?” Tyrion responded drunkenly. “No, my dear, Jaime and Cersei were the close siblings.” 

Each time Shae shared something with Sansa, she thought on it for days. She never wrote down what she learned from Shae or her readings. No, all her information was stored and catalogued in her mind. When she looked vapid and thoughtless at Court, it was typically when she was deepest in thought. She weighed each new fact, seeing if it was a piece of the missing puzzle

It took Sansa a whole month once she had learned that bit of news, even to begin to process the implications. Surely it couldn’t be possible. Sansa’s prudish northern upbringing almost refused her to allow to even think of the possibility. She couldn’t imagine that someone like Tywin Lannister would allow his children to sully the family name in that way. It was disgusting. But observing the King and his mother, Sansa could see no other man that was close enough to the Royal Family that Cersei could have cuckolded King Robert with. Her mind was a blank. Jaime was Kingsguard, which prevented from taking a wife. Why would any man turn down being heir to a massive keep like Casterly Rock and producing his heirs? They would only turn that down if their heir already sat on the Iron Throne. It all made a horrifying type of sense. And Joffrey was her age- twenty one in a few short weeks. 

The Targaryen’s had done it for years. It was what had led to the madness of their offspring Sansa had learned. Was this the reason that King Joffrey so often teetered on the edge of cruelty and madness, because he was a child of incest? The biggest question for Sansa once she figured out Joffrey’s parentage, was, did Lord Tywin know? That thought particularly upset Sansa. He was an impressive man. Sansa had read all about his deeds and his unbending moral code. There were no improper rumours about him. Indeed, the man conducted himself with comportment rarely seen these days. He was only interested in power, wealth and legacy. Why would he allow such an abomination to take place? The Great Lion was an intimidating man. But Sansa felt that the realm would be safer with him ruling again, as he had done before with King Aerys. He might not sit on the Iron Throne, but there had been no doubt that he had been the real power in Kings Landing.

The other shocking piece of news that Tyrion had let slip one particularly drunken night was how he found it quite hilarious that the entire war had begun because Lady Catelyn Stark had kidnapped him! All because she had believed the dwarf to be responsible for pushing her son off the tower roof. Shae said that Tyrion was so bitter at Jaime he raged, “He’s so golden that even when he attempts to murder a child, no one would even think him a suspect, whereas I am an easy scapegoat as I already look the part of a monster.”

Sansa cried for three days upon hearing that news. Her entire family was devastated because her mother started a war by kidnapping the wrong brother! Gods, she was angry.

She was angry at Jaime Lannister, the golden Kingslayer who seemed to always land on his feet, protected by his name and his powerful father no matter what disgusting and immoral acts he engaged in.

She was angry at her father, for stupidly trusting someone in Kings Landing with the dangerous information about the true parentage of the King, which led to his death.

She was angry at her lady mother, for idiotically kidnapping a Lannister, and the wrong one at that, thereby starting a war her family could never win.

She was angry at a cruel world that seemed to reward the depraved and powerful and destroyed the innocent and good.

Having learned all these devastating secrets about the Lannister’s, Sansa still didn’t have a way to use the information. She would never be so stupid as to accuse Joffrey and Cersei of what she knew.

Lord Tyrion, while pleasant to her, was much too weak to do anything truly. Besides, everyone knew he was only the acting Hand of the King until his father returned.

She didn’t trust Petyr Baelish, despite how he whispered in her ear and claimed to be her mother’s dearest friend. It seemed every time a Stark made a friend in Kings Landing they ended up dead or missing.

She would have trusted the Hound with this information, had he still been here. She often wondered if she was stupid for not taking him up on his offer to leave the night of the Blackwater fire. But where would they have gone? She could never have travelled far enough to escape the wrath of Joffrey.

She didn’t even know the Tyrell’s until they had joined forces with Tywin to save the city, and she wasn’t about the disclose anything to a family that was willing to bind their granddaughter to any man wearing a crown, despite the Kings awful reputation.

No there was only one person that Sansa knew who would be able to understand the power of her information, her lineage, and what she represented in terms of a marriage alliance. And who was pragmatic and smart enough to use all of it for both of their advantages.

Sansa needed access to the Great Lion himself. He was the hand of the king, the head of the pride and the real power behind the throne. Only Tywin Lannister could help her or condemn her. She just had no idea how to gain access to him. And then it seemed like fate when Stannis’s forces had attacked, and the Tyrell’s and Lannister’s joined to save the city. Watching him ride into the throne room, strong and powerful on top of his white war stallion, Sansa felt a glimmer of hope for the first time in three years. He had finally come back to the capital.

Before she could understand that implication of him being here, Joffrey had broken their engagement! Sansa smiled quietly to herself. Her path had become even more accessible, for she no longer had to force Tywin to get her out of an engagement to his grandson. She knew he would be plotting her next marriage immediately. All she had to do was find a way to talk with him.

Before she could meet with the Hand of the King, she had to deal with Baelish and the Tyrells. It seemed her status of being newly un-betrothed brought with it some unwanted attention. She was cornered by Petyr Baelish soon after Joffrey’s announcement. She still shuddered when she thought back to the man touching her and promising to help her out of kindness to her mother. Sansa had been told where Petyr’s power and wealth came from. He made her skin crawl when he got close to her. His eyes hungrily looked at her, the way that Joffrey’s used to when she was being beaten. It unnerved her. Still, his statement about Joffrey and his toys was not inaccurate, and Sansa was now wholly unprotected. It is why she didn’t believe him when he offered her the chance to escape. There was nowhere she would be safe from Joffrey in the Kingdom, and Petyr Baelish did not inspire any trust. He was too weak to suit her needs. She needed a stronger alliance.

Two more events happened that forced Sansa to seek out an audience with Tywin Lannister. First, Shae informed Sansa about a meeting Tyrion had with his father. As with all meetings with Tywin, it had not gone the way the dwarf had wanted. Instead of rewarding his son with Casterly Rock for his bravery the night Stannis attacked Kings Landing, Lord Tywin had told him he would never inherit the great keep and instead was being wed to her. Before Tywin had come to Kings Landing, Sansa had briefly entertained the idea of marrying Tyrion- but only if he had been granted the Rock. When she thought about marrying Tyrion, it was solely to retire to Casterly Rock, away from the rage and madness of the King. Sansa would bring her handmaiden, and Shae and Tyrion could be happy together, and Sansa could be left alone. But that fantasy was short-lived and stupid. Tyrion was not strong enough to ever protect her from Joffrey and Cersei. Sansa wasn’t sure who the Red Cloaks were more loyal to, Cersei or Tyrion, but she didn’t want to find out. Without Casterly Rock for her protection, Sansa was uninterested in such a marriage. Sansa had promised Shae that she had a plan to ensure that betrothal would never take place. 

The second event that happened was her morning breakfast with Olenna Tyrell and Lady Margaery. They had invited Sansa to break her fast with them, and Lady Olenna wanted to know the truth about Joffrey. Deciding to take a small risk, Sansa told them some of the things Joffrey and his guards have done to her. But she saw in their eyes that it was not enough to deter these women from planning a coronation. They wanted a crown. Sansa shrugged. She barely knew Lady Margaery, and at this point, Sansa was much happier to be rejected by Joffrey than to still be engaged to him. It is neither her problem nor her concern that the Tyrells’ were willing to put up with a mad king to make their daughter a Queen. Perhaps Marg, a few years older than Sansa, at twenty two could somehow talk some sense into the King. 

Sansa had learned that real power in Kings Landing was not sitting on the throne but behind it. The Tyrell’s had briefly mentioned how rewarding it would be to tie their two houses together, remarking at how gentle and lovely the eldest cripple son of Mace Tyrell was. Sansa nodded noncommittedly. If she could not get herself in a position to proposition Tywin Lannister, marrying Willas Tyrell may be her only second option. At twenty four the heir to Highgarden would need marry soon. 

That’s why when she spotted the Kingsguards’ Boros and Trant who had followed her outside the tiny godswood where she had been praying, she knew her time had run out. She had the information she required to negotiate for her safety, and she was sure she was to be killed before she could use it. In Joffrey’s mind, there was no reason to keep her alive. At the very least, these men would defile her, and any chance she had for a good marriage would be gone. Her bloodline and her maidenhood were two of her most significant and only assets. She was devastated, less from the beating itself, than from the fact that she had come so far, changed so drastically, grown up in the past year so much and she wasn’t even going to get a chance to negotiate for her safety. She had been so close.

And then the beating had stopped abruptly. When Sansa had seen the Red Cloaks, she couldn’t help but smile. It had seemed like her prayers had come true after all. She had been granted access to the Great Lion himself, and she knew she one chance to convince him to marry her. She had asked to stop by her rooms briefly, and the guards gave her a moment to get herself cleaned up. She had changed into her best gown, which was still too small and too outdated. She had refused to be ashamed that she didn’t have anything better to wear. If Lord Lannister wanted to say anything about the state of her clothing she would remind him she was a Lannister ward and therefore it reflected poorly on his house and not hers that she was outfitted as such. When Sansa had left her chambers, she knew the conversation would determine her future. She would either marry and become Lady Lannister, or she would be ordered to her death. Either way, Sansa knew her time in Kings Landing was about to change dramatically.

Which was why she sat stunned and shaking in her room after the most intense conversation she had ever had in her life. She had managed to negotiate with the great lion himself, and she would know tomorrow if all her work and worry and dedication had paid off.


	3. Chapter 3

_Shortly after Sansa left Tywin's solar..._

After Sansa left his solar, Tywin put things in motion. He had never been an idle man, and Sansa had presented him with an entire host of issues that required his immediate attention. He had to deal with the King and his unnecessary thirst for creating chaos and fear in Kings Landing. And it seemed he had to prepare for a wedding. Saying no to Sansa Stark was not an option. He summoned the only person he trusted, his brother Kevan to discuss this dramatic turn of events. As he waited for him to appear, he walked himself back through his conversation with Lady Sansa.

Anger and rage continued to simmer throughout his body. He could feel the low hum of it and it required all his will to not strike out and eliminate the perceived threat. Tywin had not achieved all he had in his life by acting impetuously and killing Sansa Stark was not a solution. His anger could not replace logic. This is what separated him from his children. His ability to think rationally, to eliminate the emotion from difficult decisions and to then act decisively when it was required.

Sansa Stark was dangerous. She had uncovered all the dirty Lannister secrets. In doing so, and confronting him with this information, she had forced him to realize that his original plan for her, to marry her to his dwarf son would be a mistake for a variety of reasons. Least of which was the fact that Tyrion would never be able to control a woman like her, and by continuing his whoring ways, he would most likely drive her into the arms of any observant fool that would see her worth and she would be lost to the Lannisters. Along with the key to the North.

The other notable reason to not wed her to his second son was her reminder that her linage could be used to win a war. Or at the very least settle for a peaceful alliance. It had very nearly been a missed opportunity that could have cost him men, time and money. It galled him that he hadn’t seen the folly of his choice. Sansa Stark had been ruthless and direct, able to leverage her knowledge, her maidenhood and her linage for a better outcome in this life. He was angry that she had uncovered all their secrets, but he felt his respect for the woman continue to grow as he assessed his new predicament.

He had been so distracted with Cersei, Joffrey and Tyrion and their antics at court that he had overlooked Sansa Stark’s true value just to punish his children. He sighed, wondering what type of marriage, beyond the typical political one, him and Sansa would have. The woman was intelligent, beautiful and graceful. He had no doubts that she would be a worthy Lady Lannister. The issue wasn’t her worthiness, it was the feeling that he would be betraying his late wife by taking another for that position.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely acknowledged that his brother had entered his solar. Kevan, having come upon Tywin many times when he was lost in thought, knew not to interrupt. He had heard a rumor that Tywin had intervened in another beating the Kingsguard had delivered to Sansa Stark and he wondered at the lion’s involvement in such a matter. Kevan had been summoned from the field of war, having joined with Tywin to retain Kings Landing against Stannis Baratheon. Kevan and Tywin had been at war for months now and being back in the Capital was uncomfortable for him. He preferred to stay in the Westerlands or to be out with his men. But Kevan had always been loyal to Tywin and would do whatever his brother asked of him, even if that meant putting up with the vileness of Kings Landing.

Try as he might, Tywin couldn’t force Sansa’s face from his mind. She was a breathtaking creature. And she was to be his. Once Tywin accepted his fate, and almost immediately at that, even the pang of betrayal he felt when he thought of Joanna, could not replace the idea of possession and attraction that had settled over him in terms of Lady Stark. In his mind, they were betrothed. She was his and he would protect her and guide her to be an asset to him, his house and their future children. He felt desire stir low in his belly along with a rare feeling of anticipation and even possibly excitement. He was being given a chance to correct the mistakes of his past with this new marriage. In that moment he let go of any lingering anger towards her and instead recognized Sansa for the rare creature she was- an intelligent and brave woman whom had earned his respect. He could hardly fault her for using whatever techniques she could to better herself and he wouldn’t hold it against her either 

Tywin had come to the capital, fully prepared to be the power behind Joffrey and secure the Lannister future by marrying off his children to the great houses of Westeros, forming a network of influence so great that even his death would not prevent his heirs from ruling the seven kingdoms. It had quickly become apparent that Cersei and Tyrion would not be able to help him achieve his goals. Cersei’s offspring might do more harm than good to the realm, and Tyrion would never stop drinking and whoring long enough to produce any useful heirs.

Jaime seemed lost to him, with no new reports on his whereabouts forthcoming. Besides even if Jaime were standing in front of him, Tywin seriously doubted he could ever convince his eldest son to take his rightful place as the Lord of Casterly Rock. Jaime was determined to stay by his sister’s side, continuing their disgusting relationship. If he did return, Tywin vowed to find a way to end that- permanently. He needed to remove anything that could stain the Lannister name and the new heirs he hoped to have shortly.

His meeting with Sansa, though entirely unexpected, had given Tywin a chance to start over. And this time with a wife that was his equal in status and legacy. The thought of the heirs he could produce with Sansa Stark, a true-born princess of the North, was tantalizing. Her lady mother had produced five healthy children for Ned Stark, and there was no reason to think Sansa and him would not be equally prolific in providing the next era of lions. Once again, Tywin acknowledged that the only thing that would live on after he was dead was the family name. This was a golden opportunity.

Tywin, having finally realized Kevan was before him, gestured to the seat that had not so long ago been occupied by a determined red-headed woman. He asked for Kevan’s honest assessment of the status of things in Kings Landing. Kevan sighed, wondering how much he would anger Tywin with his answers. They were alone in the solar though, so he must have wanted the truth.

“In all honesty, Ty, Joffrey is an unpleasant and useless ruler. He’s almost twenty one he has no willingness to learn about the people he governs over, nor how to even rule. Your daughter hovers over him, placating his every whim. I’ve heard disturbing rumours about his cruelties to the whores that now seem to visit his bedroom nightly, and it seems that Littlefinger has gained influence over the king by providing any type of whore that he demands. It is unsettling.”

Tywin nodded. He had been hearing the same things. It made him especially glad he had a plan for Petyr Baelish that would limit his influence. Joffrey had been an idiot to grant the man a Lordship and Haarenhal simply for bringing the Tyrells and Lannisters together for the defence of the city. Now the slimy little man sought to gain greater influence over his family by feeding Joffrey’s disgusting addition to flesh.

Kevan continued.

“It seems the new marriage alliance has made oue king particularly happy, especially if the rumors I’ve heard about his treatment of Lady Stark are true.”

Kevan grimaced at that. Even having engaged the young wolf in battle, Kevan never would have permitted such treatment of the young king’s sister. War was war. It was the world they lived in, and Tywin and Kevan had been particularly good at it for several years. Having lost some key battles to the Robb Stark, and even knowing that two of his three sons were now captives of the North, Kevan was disturbed by the open lack of respect Joffrey and Cersei paid to Lady Stark. She was the key to the North, and it was upsetting that Tywin’s offspring couldn’t see her political worth. Kevan knew that Tywin must have plans in motion to end this so-called war of the five kings and return his sons to the Lannister fold. If anyone knew the hell Kevan was going through it was his brother. There had been no news of Jaime’s whereabouts since Lady Stark had let him go. And what a mistake that was, Kevan thought to himself. Who let such a valuable hostage go? It was only a matter of time before the Great Lion put down the northern rebellion.

Tywin was silent, appreciating that his brother similarly saw things as him. Kevan seemed particularly astute in his assessment of Lady Sansa. Perhaps it had been because Kevan had been beside him on the battlefield, and not holed up behind walls and guards in Kings Landing, that they saw the chaos that was slowly gripping Kings Landing.

Tywin tented his hands and leaned forward.

“What I am about to tell you does not leave this room, brother.” Kevan nodded. He had held Tywin’s secrets for years. “I agree that the treatment of Lady Sansa Stark is disturbing. Not only from a matter of the uselessness of such cruelty but because she is the key to securing peace. A marriage between Sansa Stark and House Lannister could end the war with no more bloodshed and return your son's home where they belong.” Tywin paused. “I have secured such an alliance for her.”

Kevan’s mind raced. Who could Tywin be planning on marrying the woman too? If Jaime were here, Kevan would argue that the Kingslayer should be released from his duty to take his true place as the next Lord of Casterly Rock. It was time the man began to produce his own heirs. But Jaime had been released from Lady Catelyn Stark’s grip and set free. He was lost within the Riverlands, and Kevan knew Tywin awaited word daily for his return.

Who then? Surely not Tyrion, his youngest nephew! Kevan had tried to understand Tywin’s hatred for the dwarf over the years. He even knew of the questionable parentage that Tywin believed of his youngest son. And the fact that Tywin blamed Tyrion for Joanna’s death. The truth was Kevan liked Tyrion despite Tywin’s hatred. Still, Kevan thought, Tywin cannot mean to marry his second son to her. It wouldn’t gain him anything with the North and King Robb would never agree to peaceful terms for such little return on his sister.

Surely Tywin wasn’t looking at his son Lancel, was he? Lancel, while firstborn and twenty one, would never inherit the Rock and again it would be an insult to Robb Stark. No, the only person that Tywin could marry the Stark woman too in order to maximize her political usefulness to end this war would be himself, and Kevan knew his brother would never agree to that. Having exhausted all possibilities in his mind, Kevan finally asked, “Who?”

Tywin sighed and said, “Lady Stark and I will be wed when we can ensure our marriage will be a benefit to the Kingdom by securing peace to end this useless war.” Kevan was shocked. As much as it made the most political and strategic sense, his brother had been adamant about not marrying since Lady Joanna had died over thirty-five years ago. Kevan’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his brother. Tywin had a plan to end the war before they had arrived back home, and now he was willing to marry again just to secure peace for the realm? It didn’t make sense.

“Why now Tywin?” Kevan asked quietly.

Tywin looked off, seemingly distracted and lost in memory before he began to speak.

“My children are at best a disappointment to me, and at worse a total failure to House Lannister. I have an heir that would rather be a bodyguard to the useless Kings and a grandson who is a King but has no true understanding of ruling and no willingness to learn. My daughter drinks and whores herself in the Capital while being fully incapable of controlling the vile son she produced. My second son’s questionable parentage makes him wholly unsuitable to inherit the family seat. In short, the Lannister legacy is in jeopardy, and Sansa Stark represents my last opportunity to salvage a name for this house that will live on once I die.” 

Kevan nodded. All of this was true, but it seemed there must be more to the story. In time he knew that Tywin would share it with him. In some ways, Kevan was secretly glad for his brother. He had been much too lonely and hardened after Joanna’s passing. He never blamed him for closing himself off, but Kevan hoped that perhaps this woman might soften the old Lion at least a little bit. Kevan believed his brother deserved to feel some happiness after his years of duty.

“When?” was all that Kevan asked.

“Soon,” Tywin said. “I am meeting with her tomorrow to finalize details. This marriage needs to secure peace in the realm. While I have a plan to deal with the Young Wolf, stopping a war with marriage is a preferable alternative than the solution I had been contemplating. It will depend on whether or not he can see reason, or if he is too young to understand all he potentially has to lose.”

Tywin continued, “I need you to summon our sister here, Kevan. She will be required to help my new wife with her transition to Lady Lannister. Ensure that Genna is sent for immediately, but do not tell her why. Simply that it is urgent.”

Kevan rose to leave, knowing Tywin was a busy man. “I hope this marriage accomplishes what is required for our house, My Lord.” Tywin just grimaced.

Taking a chance, Kevan said hesitantly, “She is a lovely woman from what I’ve seen. You do no disservice to your late wife, brother, by seeking another marriage.” Tywin just raised an eyebrow at that. His brother knew him well, and the guilt over marrying anyone else was something he would have to deal with quickly lest it affected his ability to take advantage of this second chance fully. A new wife could not hope to flourish in the shadow of the old one. Tywin meant for his and Sansa’s children to rule Westeros one day. That would require both of their attention to their upbringing. He would not make the same mistakes with his new heirs as he had done with his previous ones.

Acknowledging Kevan’s words for what they were, not a rebuke but a show of support, Tywin dipped his head, and nodded, dismissing Kevan for the day.

Tywin’s most unpleasant task of the day was to call Cersei and Joffrey to his chambers to discuss their treatment of his future wife. Arriving, the two of them looked smug and insolent, and Tywin couldn’t help but wonder where it had all gone so wrong with them. Not a man prone to self- reflection or pontificating on the past, he still couldn’t help but wonder if marrying Joanna had been his greatest mistake. While most noble houses did marry cousin to cousin, had it been too much like what the Targaryen’s practiced that madness and cruelty had been a natural outcome of such a coupling? That was compounded in Joffrey, he realized as the boy was entirely Lannister- both grandparents and both parents. Cursing his children again Tywin sighed and realized he could not fix past mistakes only deal with current issues. He addressed them both, his tone brooking no room for argument.

“The treatment bestowed upon Lady Stark,” Tywin emphasized the lady part of her name, “ends immediately!”

Joffrey and Cersei bristled.

“She is the daughter of a traitor, Grandfather,” Joffrey whined. “She is mine to do with as I please.”

Gods he sounded weak and whiny. 

“She is not, you ignorant fool. She is the potential heir to the North, a true born lady and a valuable hostage of the crown. Her station alone demands that she is treated with respect. The beatings stop. The attempted rapes stop. The mocking stops. It all stops now. If any Kingsguard are caught so much as laying hand on Lady Stark, they will be executed immediately and without impunity.” He glared at his grandson. The king looked at him with such loathing and a gleam of madness in his eyes, that Tywin wondered how long it would be until Joffrey turned on his own family.

“Father,” Cersei broke in, trying to smooth over the situation, “Lady Stark has been insolent and disrespectful of her King. My son was only trying to teach the dear woman a lesson. Surely anything you have heard is nothing more than exaggerated rumours meant to drive a wedge between our family.”

“Do you think me a fool daughter?” Tywin turned his ice-cold emerald eyes on his daughter. She stiffened. “Do not forget for one moment that I know everything that goes on in the Red Keep. Your behaviour had been noted, and found lacking, especially for the position you now occupy.” Tywin watched her swallow down her rage and bitterness. Good. He knew she was angry at him, but he had no time for her antics right now.

“I am waging a war. A war that was started when the two of you foolishly decided to remove Ned Stark’s head from his body instead of keeping him as a prisoner. A war that had financial and political consequences to our house and to the Crown. When you have won as many wars as I have, daughter, I will seek your counsel. You are both dismissed.”

Joffrey sputtered, “Grandfather, what about my Kingsguard?”

Tywin looked at him. He had no desire to release these men, but he also did not have time to replace them. Feeling that a week spent in the black cells was enough punishment, Tywin said, “They will spend a week in the dungeons for their crime.” Tywin pinned Joffrey with a look. “Make no mistake, your Grace, the Kingsguard are meant to be for the protection of the King. See that they are informed of their duty.”

* * *

Tywin summoned Sansa to his solar after breaking his fast the next morning. There was no need to delay. They both knew what his answer would be. Still, he was interested to see if the woman he had seen yesterday was the true Sansa Stark, or if she had just made a good first impression. It would be disappointing he thought if she turned out to be duller and less intelligent than he had seen yesterday. Late into the night, when he had been kept awake by thoughts of his previous marriage, he couldn’t help but harbour a small hope that perhaps there was a chance with Lady Stark to have a wife that would become a true power player in the game of thrones. Indeed, he had hoped she would still be interested in such an alliance as he could imagine what a force they could become.

Not that he trusted her at all. Not yet. But he had a grudging amount of respect for the woman and a healthy dose of attraction that he could admit too once he let his anger go. Tywin was not a base man. He didn’t allow his desires, wants or needs to dictate any aspect of his life. But it had been such a long time since he had access to the pleasures of a marriage bed. Since Joanna had died, he had only very sparingly over the years been with a paid companion, and even those encounters could be counted on one hand. Tywin was interested to see if his new wife was as willing to share his bed as she had indicated yesterday. The more he thought about her, the more he was intrigued.

He had been caught off guard by her yesterday and his goal today was to reestablish their power dynamic- with him firmly in the alpha position. He was the Great Lion, and he would not be like his father, led around by his cock and his latest foolish whore. No, Tywin needed to establish that the lion would be ruling the wolf in this marriage.

Tywin watched as Sansa entered the solar, and made no attempt to hide the fact that his eyes were assessing her. He saw no fear or worry in her eyes and she didn’t squirm or move. She met his gaze and came to stand before him. Good, he thought. Too many people cowered in fear of him, and while useful, this was not a characteristic he wanted, needed or desired in a wife. She just might be the wolf she was born to be. Their children would need a strong mother to raise and guide them. There could be no room for weakness or error. He knew his standards were impossibly high, but she had initiated this game. She wanted the protection of the Great Lion, and that came with certain expectations and obligations for her.

“Sit,” he indicated the same chair she had occupied yesterday.

She arranged herself across from him, murmuring “Thank you, My Lord.”

He once again noted her outdated clothing and planned to send someone to take care of that situation immediately. No wife of his would look anything less than the most stylish woman at court.

Tywin had to admit; he appreciated that she wasn’t one of those ladies that engaged in unnecessary chatter. Sansa held herself with a poise few great ladies achieved over their lifetime. Her face was a mask that gave nothing away until she wanted it too. That pleased him.

“Let’s dispense with formalities, shall we,” he began. “You may call me Lord Tywin when decorum suits, and if preferable when we are alone Tywin.”

She nodded and said softly, “You can call me Sansa.” He was pleased that she was willing to follow his lead.

“You asked me yesterday if you could speak to me truthfully, Lady Sansa, and I permitted it. The conversation that happened yesterday will not be discussed in specifics ever again, and never to anyone outside this room. That is non-negotiable.” She nodded. Pleased he continued.

“I am going to speak to you bluntly. You said your safety and the legacy of your children was the reason you sought out a marriage alliance between us.” He looked at her for confirmation. She nodded again. The woman could hold her tongue, Tywin thought impressed. So many had never learned that skill, chattering on and driving men to the brink of frustration.

“Let me be frank, Lady Sansa. Our marriage can do more than just protect you and grant our children two of the largest of the seven kingdoms. I believe our marriage can end the current war.” Her eyebrows raised at this. “Your brother, while demonstrating some skill on the battlefield has made critical mistakes. Mistakes that are now coming back to haunt him. Your lady mother has not helped her son. In fact, releasing my son without securing your safety may be her downfall. In short, your family is in a precarious position My Lady. What are you willing to do to save your family, Sansa?” She startled at his use of her name. He observed her carefully, seeing her brow furrow as she weighed his words.

“Before you answer me, let me ask another question. You are aware your brother has broken his oath to marry a Frey and has instead wed himself to Jeyne Westerling. You said you studied the great houses, Lady Sansa, including the Westerlands. Now, who do you think sent a pretty young unmarried Westerlands woman into the path of the young wolf?” It was time that Lady Sansa remembered he was a lion. He had teeth and claws and he was ruthless.

He could see the moment when she realized his cunning. Her eyes widened slightly. “You my Lord.”

“Yes. And how do you think a lord like Walder Frey will take such an insult, Lady Sansa?” Tywin asked her.

She swallowed. “His house has a particular need for vengeance when wronged, My Lord.” Tywin nodded at her again. It seemed she indeed had done as much reading as she said. He found it refreshing to engage in a conversation where his partner could keep up with his logic.

“The only thing that will appease that miserable old fool would be a prize of equal value for his house.” He looked directly at her. She paled. Sansa had no intention of being married to a Frey.

“But My Lord, I thought you had said that an alliance between our houses would stop the war?” she almost pleaded.

It pleased Tywin greatly that she did not want to marry anyone else, especially a man from House Frey. All men, even great ones, liked their ego stroked. Even without prodding, Sansa was set on this marriage between them.

“No Lady Sansa, I will not be sending you to be wed to a Frey. My father made that mistake with my sister years ago, and I vowed never to repeat it. I simply give you this information to make you aware that even your release from Kings Landing would not mean that you would return North. And now that your brother has severely miscalculated by breaking his betrothal to Roslin Frey he has made a powerful enemy.” He paused. “I do not want us to be enemies Lady Sansa, not if we are to be wed. I need you to understand what your family would do with you if you had been returned to them. To understand that sometimes my actions may seem harsh and unforgiving, but they are done for the good of the realm.” She nodded.

Then Sansa cocked her head at him. “Why are you giving me this information, Lord Tywin?” Good, she understood that information was power, and to question where it came from and who gave it to her. She continued to delight and surprise him. If he could establish himself as her trusted source of information, and she was willing to share what she learned with him, it would go a far way to creating their power at Court.

“While I believe you were truthful in your intentions yesterday, I need you to understand my expectations on you. You will become the Lady of Lannister and a lion of Casterly Rock. Our children will be raised as lions, not for one year or five years, but life. You are young, just twenty, and Kings Landing has treated you poorly, but our marriage must be about more than just revenge on Joffrey and security. Our two houses are the greatest in Westeros. There are new threats daily. We cannot afford to be divided, nor can I afford for you to have any regrets. The future you once dreamt of is lost to you. I am a harsh and demanding man, Lady Sansa, but you will be treated fairly and with respect under my protection.”

“My Lord,” she began, and he gave her a look.

“Tywin,” she said, “I am aware of my circumstances and the shortcomings of my family. I deduced long ago that they were not coming to save me. After my father died and my sister disappeared, I harboured no illusions about my value to them. I know I will never return north. I approached you yesterday, willing to become a lion. I know that many will see this as a betrayal to my family. I see it as survival. For myself and my children.”

Good, he thought. Sansa knew what she had asked for, and he had made it clear what type of husband he would be.

“We cannot announce our betrothal until we have sent letters to your brother and Lady Mother, demanding peace. It must seem as if the cost of peace is your hand in marriage. No one can know the truth behind our engagement Sansa. Do you understand?” She nodded. “I trust no one in Kings Landing save my brother, and anyone who finds out about this before we want them too could jeopardize our plans.”

“When My Lord?” she asked, eager to announce their engagement to the court so she could finally feel safe in Kings Landing.

“Immediately,” he said. “You will spend the day composing two letters. One to your brother and one to your Lady Mother. Convince them, Sansa, that it is in their best interests to agree to this marriage and to stop the war. Tell Lord Stark that with his agreement to our marriage he can return North. All hostilities will stop, and he will rule from above Moat Cailin. Convince your Lady Mother to take her son North and that this is the only way. The best way.” His eyes were dangerous and hard. Sansa knew that if she could not convince her family of this alliance, more blood would be spilled. She nodded.

“I will have the letters ready by this afternoon, Tywin,” she said softly.

He grimaced, then said, “Good."

Silence enveloped the solar then, each assessing the other.

“There is one more thing, Lady Sansa. Know that I am taking a risk in asking for your opinion on such matters, but you seemed particularly astute yesterday when it came to the assessments of my family.” She swallowed. “I am interested in your impressions on some of the members of the small council. You have been at court for years, and the council has a direct impact on the King.”

She nodded.

“Grand Maester Pycell?” Tywin asked.

Sansa looked at him blankly and said, “I have had no contact with the Grand Maester Tywin.”

“Lord Varys?” She shook her head side to side. She had minimal contact with the Master of Whispers.

“Lord Baelish?” Tywin asked finally, practically spitting out the name. Tywin loathed the little man.

Sansa tensed. She couldn’t help it, and Tywin’s eyes narrowed. There was something there. “Out with it, Lady Sansa, I will not allow for secrets between us.”

“He approached me, My Lord, after my engagement to the King was broken. He indicated he could keep me safe. But only if I were willing to leave with him.”

Tywin’s jaw clenched, and his fists tightened. He knew the Master of Coin to be slippery man, and the stories he had heard about the man’s brothels and the treatment of his whores made even Tywin’s thick blood run cold. He knew Littlefinger to be a particularly ambitious and devious man; he just hadn’t realized the man had been so bold as to approach Sansa.

It had only been a day, but Tywin already viewed her as his. And anyone that attempted to take what belonged to Tywin Lannister generally found themselves meeting an inevitable fate. Lost in his surprising rage at what she had revealed, Tywin realized she was still talking. She had cast her eyes downward as if she were ashamed.

“His eyes, they....” Sansa paused and swallowed, seeming to shrink into her seat, “They look at me in a way that makes me uncomfortable, My Lord,” she whispered. Sansa wasn’t acting; the man truly made her cringe.

Before he knew what, he was doing, Tywin had gotten up from his desk and made his way around it to Sansa. He leaned down and gently grabbed her chin, forcing her eyes up to his. She had flinched when he touched her, and he had to remember that any touches that she had experienced in Kings Landing had been ones of pain and hurt. Looking directly at her, stroking his fingers along her jawline, he asked, “Has he ever taken any liberties with you, Sansa?”

She looked at him directly in the eyes. “No Tywin. But he says I remind him of my mother. And that they were close.” She can’t help but let out another shudder and Tywin felt it go through her body. He already had a plan in place to deal with Lord Baelish, but now it would be expedited. The man needed to be as far away from his wife as possible. Continuing to touch her face gently, Tywin looked at her and said, “It will be dealt with, My Lady.” She nodded, grateful, and held back a sheen of tears coating her brilliant blue eyes. Gods, Tywin thought, the man had truly scared her.

“Lady Sansa, I am not a man that is prone to great displays of affection. I will expect that in public you will always conduct yourself with the utmost decorum.” He held her gaze, green to blue, hoping she could see the truth in his eyes. “I promise I will not touch you in anger.” He leaned down and pressed his lips gently to her forehead and rested them there for a moment, inhaling her scent. She smelled of lavender and lemons and promise, and he knew that from this day forward his will always associate that combination with her. Once she relaxed, Tywin released his hold on her and escorted her to the door.

“You will have Red Cloak guards with you at all times from this day forward Sansa. Please do not attempt to lose them, Lady Sansa. Your safety is paramount. I will call for you after my meetings today. The letters must go out immediately.”

Before he can even register it, Sansa leaned up and kissed him briefly and chastely on the cheek. “I will have the letter ready.” She blushed slightly, then added, “Thank you for everything, Tywin.” Then she slipped out of the room. Tywin stood there, stunned. It had been so long since someone had voluntarily touched him. She is still so young, but whereas yesterday he had only bleak rage at the situation he had been manipulated into, today he could only see all the possibilities that Lady Sansa presented.

* * *

Sansa was escorted to the Tower of the Hand shortly before the dinner meal later that day. Her guard had indicated Lord Tywin wanted to dine with her that evening, and she was to bring the letters he had asked her to write.

Upon entering Lord Tywin’s apartments, Sansa was taken to a dining area, where a full evening meal had been prepared. Lord Tywin stood at the head of the table and gestured to a spot beside him. It would be the two of them dining alone that evening.

Sansa swallowed as she made her way to him. Now that she wasn’t quite so intimidated in his presence, she took a moment to observe him. He was an extraordinarily handsome man. She liked the leather doublet that he traditionally wore and the golden hand of the king pin that stood out so brightly against the black leather. He was also tall and well-muscled from what she could see. Always having been a tall woman, Tywin was one of the few men in the realm that made her feel small and delicate and feminine. His hair was liberally laced with silver, but there was still a golden hue to it, and his eyes were a stunning emerald green. His hands were large, and his face was often set in a severe line, but Sansa had experienced both the gentleness of his hands and the softening of his face when he had touched her earlier. That touch had sent both comfort and a strange heat through her body. She longed for more, and she spent the whole afternoon worrying he would be upset at the liberty she had taken earlier by kissing him. She would ensure she did not act on any impulses like that again. She would follow his lead and allow him to initiate any intimacies between them.

Sansa approached him and offered him the two letters she had spent the afternoon writing to her family. She knew he would look them over, and she hoped they were adequate. He gestured for her to sit, and a servant poured her a glass of wine. Looking around for water, Sansa added some to her goblet. Tywin raised his eyebrows.

“Apologies, my Lord,” she murmured. “I am not too fond of strong wine.”

“Lady Stark, there is no need to apologize for your likes and dislikes. I will simply note it for the future.” Privately he was pleased to see his future wife had no fondness for the drink. Too many ladies had embarrassed themselves and their husbands when they overindulged.

He then opened the letters and read them. He was a fast reader, and Sansa had been direct and to the point. There could be no doubt that the words were hers, and she pleaded with her family to accept the marriage betrothal that would bind their houses and end the war. She bluntly told her brother to return North, to retake their ancestral home from the upstart Greyjoys and to ensure the North had a strong ruler again. She begged her Lady Mother to be happy for her fortuitous marriage and indeed praised Tywin as her saviour and protector. Tywin was most pleased. There was nothing duplicitous in the missives at all. He would see that they were sent by messenger at first light. Time was critical.

As their meal was served, Tywin realized he was pleased to see her again, having sat through a particularly long council meeting that afternoon. During the meeting, his thoughts had kept straying back to her, and he had to school himself to stop time and again, much to his displeasure. It was dangerous how addictive time spent with his soon to be wife was.

Tywin had also kept a close eye on Littlefinger the entire meeting. He thought Sansa would be pleased with his plan for the now-former master of coin. He meant to establish this pattern in their marriage. They would meet nightly to discuss their days, sharing important information about the realm, or what they had learned from their respective networks of spies and confidants.

Tywin was a realist. Sansa would outlive him, and he did not have the luxury of allowing her to become nothing more than a pretty lady at Court. No, if his legacy were to survive, he would need to mould her to become a dominant player in the game of thrones in her own right. It was the only way to guarantee that she had the necessary tools to ensure their children and their House survived. For better or worse, Sansa and Tywin would need to learn to trust and rely on each other, and sooner rather than later.

Tywin praised her for the letters. It was indeed excellent work. If her family was too stupid to accept the terms he had laid out for them, then it wouldn’t be a reflection on Sansa. And he would still be marrying her. Nothing would stop that from taking place now. With or without her brother’s permission or blessing. Sansa Stark would become a Lannister.

He asked if she were interested in reading the letter he was sending to her family. She nodded eagerly. Anticipating her reaction, he had brought it to the table with him and slid it over to her. She took her time reading his elegant scrawl, and Tywin was free to observe her. Her hair was loose tonight, falling like fire down her back, and the gown she had on tonight was simple. He briefly wondered what she would look like draped in Lannister gold. Then he wondered what she would look like in nothing but Lannister gold. He decided he would see the Royal Jeweler immediately to begin to commission some pieces for her.

Taking a sip of watered wine, Sansa laid the letter down. Tywin Lannister’s terms were fair. In return for marrying Sansa, Tywin had proposed an immediate cessation of all hostilities, a retreat by the Northern forces to past Moat Cailin, and an agreement that their second son would foster at Winterfell with the Starks when he was of age. Further, Tywin proposed that the first-born female child of Robb Stark and Jeyne Westerling and the second son of Tywin and Sansa be betrothed, further tightening the two houses. The North was guaranteed aid and support from the Westerlands during Winter, and Tywin assured that his son would have a secure hold on the North. The terms were more than fair. She told as much to Lord Tywin.

“With your approval, I will send a messenger in the morning, Lady Sansa.” She nodded.

“Within days, we shall hear your family’s response. Perhaps you should pray that they see reason in this matter.”

“I will, My Lord,” she said quietly, looking sad and a bit melancholy.

Tywin looked at her then, this woman who was soon to be his wife. He was worried about the expression on her face. This had been all her idea, and now she seemed upset. His face hardened, and his stare seemed angry and somewhat remote.

“We will be married, Sansa. You knew that was one of the outcomes when you entered my solar yesterday. Do not pretend you are upset with this marriage.”

Sansa startled, realizing she had somehow upset him. Forgetting herself and her earlier promise not to touch him unless he initiated the contact, she reached over and grabbed his hand.

“Oh no, Tywin, it’s not the marriage that has me upset.”

Tywin looked down to her pale hand gripping his tanned one. He let out a breath he had been unaware he had been holding. Now that he had decided she was his, he would burn the kingdom down before he let someone take her from him. She didn’t let go of his hand, and he tightened his grip on hers, prolonging their contact.

“I just hope my family can see this opportunity for what it is.” She was quiet for a second. Then breathing deeply, she took another small risk, revealing more of herself to the Great Lion. “Some of their decisions have been suspect my Lord, and I worry they will act rashly and destroy our house because of their pride.”

Tywin thought about that. Once again, she wasn’t wrong. Her family, in particular, her mother, brother and father, had made some disastrous decisions for their House. He hoped for her sake that he did not have to enact his plan to bring the Northern house to heel. It would have a devastating effect on the tentative bonds that had begun to form between him and Sansa.

“You were very brave, Lady Sansa, coming to me as you did. Hopefully, your family will see your bravery and sacrifice for what it is.” Tywin wasn’t a man to pay anyone a compliment, but he felt this woman deserved it for what she had survived.

“Oh no, Tywin,” Sansa said ruefully, “You mistake my bravery for simple survival. It is my sister Arya that is the brave one in our family.” Immediately realizing that discussing her family might not be a welcome topic at the table, Sansa snapped her mouth shut.

“You may speak about your family, Sansa,” Tywin said quietly. “Especially when we are alone. I am not so heartless to deny you that pleasure.”

Sansa nodded at him, seeing the truth in his eyes.

Willing to take him at his word, she added, “You have to understand my sister, Tywin. She and I were complete opposites even though we are close in age. All she ever wanted to be was a knight. Imagine a lady dreaming of being a knight.” Sansa laughed. “She begged my lord father to train her in sword play and archery. It drove my mother mad.”

Arya and Sansa were eleven months apart and her sister had just turned twenty. Sansa’s nameday was soon, and she’d be twenty-one. How was it possible they were his grandson's age, and yet, Sansa was so much more mature?

Sansa chuckled softly again at the memories of Arya following her brothers around the training yard at Winterfell. She was lost in those long-ago times for a moment and Tywin was enchanted by her. How long had it been since someone so pure had laughed like that in front of him?

“And you’ve heard no word on her being alive?” Tywin inquired. Sansa looked at him. Was he asking because he was to be her husband and therefore cared for her family? Or because he is the Hand of the King and having both Stark sisters in his possession would afford him a stronger bargaining position? His face betrayed nothing. Perhaps it was both, Sansa thought and shook her head in the negative.

“She disappeared right; my father was accused of treason. For all, I know she is dead.” Sansa is quiet for a while, and both continued to eat their supper.

After a while, Sansa spoke again. “Although if anyone could survive, it would be her. Did you know that when the King and Queen came to Winterfell, we could barely get her to take a bath and wear a dress? And she had found the hideous helmet and insisted upon wearing it. For all I know she’s disguised herself as a boy and made her way back North by now, my Lord.” Sansa shook her head again, trying to imagine someone as proper as Tywin interacting with her younger sister. He would be scandalized. She looked up at him at that moment and saw a pinched look on his face.

“Why would she dress like a boy, Lady Sansa?” his voice is strained and insistent.

Sansa looked confused. “I don’t know that she is Tywin, only that if anyone would it would be Arya. She had no fear. She was obsessed with warrior princesses. She even named her direwolf Nymeria, after the legendary warrior-queen Rhoynar.”

Tywin was speechless. He remembered Sansa describing her siblings during their meeting yesterday. What had she said about her younger sister? That she looked exactly like Ned Stark. His cupbearer! Tywin was sure that Arya Stark had been at Haarenhal with him. _Foolish idiot_, he chastised himself. How could he ever have believed her to be the daughter of a learned stonemason. She was much too high born and well-read to belong to some common labourer. To think he had both Stark sisters in his possession and now the one was lost.

The only question he had was what to tell his soon to be wife? Now that he knew that Arya Stark was alive just a short time ago, he would send riders to search for her. There was a good chance someone could find her and return her to her sister. Best not to get Sansa’s hopes up at this point. Anything could have happened to her, especially knowing who he had left in charge at Haarenhal. Ser Gregor Clegane was the stuff of nightmares, and Sansa would never forgive him if something happened to her sister because he had let that monster loose on the Riverlands. Distracted by his musings, Tywin felt Sansa withdraw her hand from his. He turned to see what had caught her attention and realized the desert was being presented by his servant.

Her mouth fell open in a perfect O of surprise, and she gasped and smiled at him. “Lemon cakes?” she grinned.

“I was told they were your favourite,” he said, refusing to return her smile lest she thinks him some bewitched greenboy that had fallen for her charms. But he couldn’t help but let his mouth twitch slightly when she moaned in delight as she took her first bite. He appreciated the sounds coming from her mouth, as well.

“There is one more thing I want to discuss with you tonight, Lady Sansa. Today at the small council, Lord Baelish was relieved of his duty of Master of Coin. He has been betrothed to your Aunt, Lady Lysa and will be off to the Vale shortly.” For Tywin, it achieved two critical goals; it removed Littlefinger from bothering Sansa while at the same time limiting the whoremonger’s influence on the King. Tywin believed his news would be met with enthusiasm from Sansa, which was why he was surprised when he saw Sansa frowned at his announcement. It frustrated Tywin. It was an excellent political move, and he had seen the real fear in Sansa’s eyes when she had discussed the odious little man earlier. Why on earth would she question his decision?

“Out with it woman,” he growled at her. Clearly, she had an opinion on the matter. Usually, he wouldn’t concern himself with the views of anyone around him. But he was still reeling from his mistakes with her the day before, and he admitted to being curious to her thoughts. Besides, if this marriage were to be the true political powerhouse he required it to be, he would be an idiot to not take advantage of his soon to be wife’s brilliant brain.

“Oh, no my Lord, I am happy he won’t be in the capital any longer; it’s just that....” She worried her lower lip, biting on it and plumping it up. Tywin had to suppress a growl as lust bolted through his body. She was delectable, and she didn’t even know the effect she had on him.

“It’s just that he’s always had a somewhat unhealthy obsession with my mother and her sister. I wonder at giving him greater access to the Tully sisters.”

Tywin raised an eyebrow. She had impressed him again. Most lazy fools wouldn’t have even be bothered to think of the ramifications of such an alliance, especially as they impacted their own family. Most would have only seen that a threat had been removed from their presence. But Sansa was worried about the long-term implications of Lord Baelish marrying her Aunt. And her mother.

Being able to critically and logically assess family members for weakness was a trait that Tywin developed at an early age as he watched his father destroy their family through his foolishness. He certainly did not expect to find such a quality in Lady Sansa. She had been ruthless with the dissection of his family, and it seemed she was willing to apply to the same logic to hers. Refreshing really.

“I considered that point as well, My Lady, before making my decision. I believe the Vale is a place where Littlefinger can do the least amount of damage to us. At least for now.” She nodded.

“I trust that anything you might hear, you will feel free to share with me, especially once we are wed.”

Sansa looked at the Great Lion then. This man was to be her husband. It was nothing like what she had dreamed of when she was a girl back in Winterfell. But every moment she spent in his company she felt safer. She learned from him. She knew he had the ability to help her navigate court life and intrigues better than she could do on her own.

And she was attracted to him. That was the most surprising thing of all. When Sansa had approached him yesterday, her top priority was her survival. But after spending so much time with him today, and the small touches that she had indulged in, she could honestly say she found him handsome. He was imposing for certain, but she found his strength appealing rather than frightening. There was a warm ball of sensation deep in her stomach when she thought about him, and earlier when he had clasped her hand back, she imagined his fingers skimming over her body. She knew he would never love her the way he had his first wife, but if his gestures and his looks at her were any indication, they wouldn’t have a cold marriage bed.

He seemed determined to include her in his duties as Hand of the King, and Sansa felt more hopeful tonight than she ever had before. Perhaps she was still naïve and was stupid to place her trust in him, but Sansa was out of options. Both she and her family required this marriage. This had been her choice, her doing and she would willingly come to this marriage with the full intention of becoming worthy of the title Lady of Lannister.

“I will try, Tywin,” she said, smiling softly at him. “I hope you feel free to share important information with me.”

He nodded and rose from the table, walking her to the door of his apartments.

“Tomorrow a dressmaker will arrive at your rooms. You are to spare no expense. Your clothes must reflect your new station, Lady Sansa.”

“Thank you, Tywin.” As she reached to open the door, Tywin brushed his hand against her face, running it down her pale cheek. She leaned in his palm for a quick moment, then slipped out the door and made her way back to her rooms, cherishing the moment between them.


	4. Chapter 4

_Kings Landing_

The next few days went by in a blur for Sansa. She was no longer required at court and since no one was aware of her new engagement, she was happy to spend her days with one of the top dressmakers in Kings Landing. Her and Shae laughed and giggled their way through the endless fittings. It seemed that when Lord Tywin ordered something done, there were no half measures involved. Sansa was to be gifted with a full wardrobe, including new slippers and stockings, ribbons and small clothes, even slips and new riding boots. The dresses were modest by Kings Landing standards. Sansa was determined to conduct herself as befitting of her new station. She would not show the amounts of flesh that Lady Tyrell did, nor would Sansa adhere to the tighter and more severe southern styles favoured by the Queen Regent.

Sansa chose gowns that flattered her figure, while showing off least amount of flesh possible; a blend of her northern roots and her own sensibilities. The gowns were made from beautiful fabrics like velvet and silk, and trimmed with lace. The dressmaker had even brought one gown that was more than half-finished. It had been commissioned for another lady before being abandoned. It was fortuitous that with only a few changes, the gown would be ready for Sansa within a day. The only area that she was willing to be remotely scandalous was in her small clothes. Shae assured her that some of the more daring pieces would be well received by her new husband. Sansa blushed furiously, but also felt that familiar ball of heat in her stomach every time she thought of Tywin.

Shae had been naturally curious after Sansa had returned from dinner with Lord Tywin, and even though Sansa trusted her implicitly, she shared very little with her handmaiden, only that he had agreed to marry her and that no one could know yet. Sansa knew it was imperative that their letters reach her brother and that they know his response before they announced their betrothal to the court. Sansa was equally excited and extremely nervous for her engagement to be announced. She knew that Lord Tywin had some measure of control over Joffrey, but she still feared the King’s reaction to their announcement. Being away from court these past few days had been a blessing for Sansa. She had begun to relax and the dress fittings reminded her of her childhood excitement when she received a new gown. Her two Red Cloak guards were always near, and this also increased her feelings of safety.

Sansa missed Tywin. She hadn’t seen him in three days. She knew that he was somehow behind the new two books that she had found in her rooms. One was on the legends and myths of the Westerlands. It was an engaging book, with many illustrations, clearly meant to be tales to entertain children. When she opened the cover of the book, there was his elegant writing. It merely said, For future lions. Sansa felt her heart melt, and she eagerly read the book before bed each night, thinking that one day she might be reading it to their children.

The other book was on legendary warrior women. Frowning slightly, she wondered why Tywin would think such a book would be to her tastes until she found his writing on the second page. This time it merely said, to keep hope alive. She understood it was his way of keeping her connected with her sister. If Sansa’s heart hadn’t already been in danger of falling for the Great Lion, these gifts had surly pushed her closer to the edge. She traced her fingers over his writing. Sansa appreciated the gesture more than she could say and she was beginning to see that Tywin Lannister was a romantic man, in his way.

Sansa knew that Tywin Lannister was a dangerous and powerful man. She understood with perfect clarity that to be an enemy of the Great Lion meant staring death in the face. She knew he had led men in battle and she knew he had killed. But she also knew he was fiercely protective of his people and knew that those in the west loved their liege lord. He would never be as honourable as Ned Stark, but he was loyal to those who earned it.

Sansa wanted to be a wife that Tywin was proud of. She had made herself into something more than what she was, and he was her reward. Which was why when she received a summons five days after her last meeting with him, to attend yet another dinner for the royal couple, Sansa was determined to prove to him that she would be worthy of the role of his wife. It would be the first time Sansa would see him outside of their meeting in his apartments and their first interaction in front of the full court.

Margaery, for her part, had not given up on the idea of Sansa marrying her brother. She had cornered Sansa the previous day in the garden and couldn’t stop praising her brother, Lord Willas. Margaery was determined that Sansa and her brother would make the finest match, and her invitation to Margaery’s dinner the following night was because “I can imagine us as goodsisters Lady Sansa and I must get to know you better.”

Personally, Sansa thought a bit sourly, if Lady Margaery wanted to get to know her better, they should spend time talking over tea and not at a crowded dinner with a full court. Margaery was a few years older than Sansa at twenty-two, but sometimes it felt like they were the same age because of her childish behaviour. It was hard to imagine Joffrey was the same age as her as well. He too seemed immature.

Regardless, as the next Queen, there was simply no way Sansa could say no to such an invitation. She was doubly grateful that at least one fine dress was ready for her to wear, lest she completely embarrass Lord Tywin with her lack of proper clothing. Sansa and Shae got her ready for the evening, choosing to keep Sansa’s hair in a less formal style by weaving strands of pearls throughout her half braided northern hairstyle. The dress that had been ready for Sansa was a deep navy blue, and it highlighted her Tully blue eyes and tiny waist. New slippers had arrived that day, so when Sansa and her Red Cloaks arrived at the dinner, all eyes were on her stunning entrance. More than one lord appraised the northern beauty.

Tywin saw her immediately. He would never admit he was watching for her, but he knew the exact moment she arrived. It was like a current went through the court, and many lords and ladies were enraptured by her elegant beauty. Sansa was grace personified, and she had no realization of her impact on the court. Tywin knew exactly how she was being viewed and he was exceedingly pleased with how she presented herself. She showed none of the flesh that Lady Margaery and his own daughter seemed to insist upon. Once again, she had left her hair down, and it cascaded down her back a waterfall of red and copper.

Tywin would have once said he had only been partial to golden blonde hair, but after watching Sansa walk through the room, he realized that she possessed a rare beauty that was unmatched at court. Her hair was a living flame, her posture tall and regal, and she drew every eye in the room. She was precious and unique, and Tywin longed to possess her. He felt his desire for her increase, and he knew that if he didn’t receive word from her brother soon, he would marry her regardless of the political fall out. If her brother did not agree, Tywin was prepared to wage a war to keep her by his side. Sansa Stark was his, and anyone who stood in his way would feel the Great Lion’s wrath.

Looking around the crowded room, Sansa realized that she had arrived later than most guests. Her eyes immediately scanned the room, looking for Lord Tywin. She caught his eye at the head table, and they held each other’s gaze for a moment. He looked so handsome, she thought again, more like the real king than Joffrey. He was sitting at the head table, wearing his traditional black leather doublet. This one had hooks of bright gold on it, which only served to emphasize his trim form. Sansa felt herself warm at his gaze. He nodded to her once, as if to say he approved of her dress choice, then went back to talking with Cersei who was seated beside him. Sansa barely had time to catch her breath when she was approached by Lady Margaery.

“Lady Sansa,” she exclaimed breathlessly, “I am so happy you could make it to our dinner party.”

_As if I had a choice_, Sansa thought, sighing internally. She flashed the soon to be queen a half-smile.

Grabbing Sansa by the hand, Margaery brought her forward to the head table. Sansa felt her stomach drop, having been sure she would be seated as far away from the Royal Family as possible. Surely Joffrey wouldn’t want a traitor’s daughter seated near him? Instead, it seemed fate had other plans. Margaery led her to a chair on the other side of Lord Tywin; one Sansa had not seen that was open, so caught up in examining her betrothed to care about seating arrangements.

On the other side of the empty chair was a handsome young man, that Margaery quickly introduced her to as, “My dear brother Lord Willas, Heir to Highgarden.” Margaery looked especially pleased with herself.

Then turning to them both, she said brightly, “Brother, please meet my good friend, Lady Sansa Stark.” Sansa thought she was going to be sick. She had no time to tell Tywin about the Tyrell’s increased campaign to marry her to their heir, and now she was to be seated between the two men.

Gathering all her courtly manners around her, Sansa curtseyed deeply to the heir of Highgarden. “My Lord,” she said demurely and took her seat between the man she was betrothed too, and the young lord from the Reach.

“Lady Sansa, a most pleasant surprise this evening. I am sorry I did not stand to greet you. I am afraid my leg pains me most days,” he grinned ruefully and pointed to his useless appendage.

_Oh_, Sansa thought,_ the poor man_. To be so young and have such a limitation, it must affect him horribly. At least he seemed to be friendly enough, and his smile only highlighted how handsome he was. Truly, if Sansa hadn’t been already half in love with Tywin, Lord Willas would have been an excellent choice for her. She could see the kindness in his eyes.

Just as she sat down, Sansa heard a slight cough from her other side and realized she had wholly ignored Tywin! Even if she was nothing to him, to ignore that hand of the king was a grave insult. She turned and bowed her head to him, murmuring, “My apologies, Lord Tywin, I was momentarily disorientated by the seating arrangements.”

He looked at her and then said dryly, “I take it you have managed to adjust Lady Sansa.” He arched a brow at her. She gave him a look back as if to say, I had nothing to do with this. Secretly she was pleased at how they could already communicate without words to one another.

Just then, Cersei asked something of him, and his attention turned away from her again. Lord Willas chose that moment to compliment her, remarking on her beauty and Sansa couldn’t help it as she felt the blush rising through her cheeks. It had been so long since anyone at court had said anything even remotely helpful to her in a public setting, and Lord Willas seemed to be genuine in his praise. What followed was the single most awkward evening of Sansa’s life.

* * *

_Earlier_

Tywin, for his part, was in a foul mood. His new Master of Coin, Tyrion, had informed him that Lord Baelish was not good with money, but instead good with borrowing. The Crown now owed a massive debt to both House Lannister and the Iron Bank. Tywin had instructed Tyrion to begin working out a repayment schedule for the Crown immediately to House Lannister. How Cersei had allowed the man to drive the Crown into a debt of six million gold dragons was beyond the pale in Tywin’s mind. It was further proof of how genuinely incompetent his daughter was. Added to his misery, there was still no sign of Jaime, and he had not received word back from the King of the North if the marriage alliance he had proposed had been accepted.

To Tywin’s shock, he had missed talking with his betrothed these past few days. Even though they had only spent mere hours together, Tywin had begun to realize how much he enjoyed spending time with her. He especially wanted to repeat their dinner, having decided that he would make it a priority for them to share their evening meal once they were wed. Spending time with Sansa had highlighted how lonely his life had become.

True to his word, Tywin had gone to the Royal Jeweler the next day after their dinner meeting. He had three distinct pieces in mind for her, all with Lannister gold and colours. The first piece would be commissioned for their wedding. It would be a choker, full of fine links of gold and inlaid with rubies and diamonds. It was meant to make a statement. The statement that Lady Sansa was now a lion and that Lord Tywin was the richest man in the Kingdom. Their marriage was about wealth, power and linage, and he would let no one forget that. Matching earrings had also been ordered.

The next piece that Tywin ordered would be a statement that his lady wife would wear daily. It was a thick braided torque necklace, made entirely of Lannister gold and on one end there would be a lion’s head, while the other had a lioness. Neither end would quite meet. Instead, both coming to rest at the hollows of her pale delicate neck. No one looking upon Sansa would ever doubt whom she belonged too.

The final piece was something straight from his imagination and would never be seen by anyone but Tywin himself. He had the jeweller craft delicate chains of gold that would fasten around his wife’s stomach. Dropping down from the chains that would rest across her stomach was a single chain that would hold a ruby. The stone was flat and oval and would lay over his wife’s most private area. He was sure his inexperienced wife would find it scandalous and daring, but he had seen her fire in her eyes. She was a wolf after all, and he knew she would be tempted to try it.

* * *

_Back to the dinner_

Bringing his mind back to the evening before him, Tywin gritted his teeth. As if this extravagant dinner wasn’t misery enough, Tywin was now stuck sitting beside his betrothed, watching as she was wooed by a young, handsome, rich lord, who was making his future wife blush. It galled the old lion that no one in the Hall knew that she belonged to him.

Tywin knew his anger and possessiveness were bordering on dangerous territory. He had remembered feeling something like this with Joanna, but even then, it was more a fear that King Aerys would make good on his threats and not a real challenge to the feelings he knew his wife had for him.

This feeling was something almost entirely new to Tywin. He wanted to reach out and smash the man’s face, even though all he had done was kept up a pleasant conversation with Sansa the entire evening about dogs and hunting and birding.

_Gods how very peasant of him_, Tywin thought snidely. Sansa would be bored within a month living at Highgarden, listening to the cripple prattle on about best breeding practices. Sansa Stark was meant to be a queen, not stuck away in the Reach, producing heirs and tending to rose gardens, and Tywin would make her one.

For her part, Sansa had done nothing to encourage Lord Willas, and she had behaved with perfect manners the entire evening. Aside from one blush at the beginning of the conversation, the night had been entirely dull. And Tywin had caught her sneaking looks at his profile when she thought he wasn’t looking, which pleased him immensely.

He had already planned on how he would get her alone at some point this evening when he felt her stiffen beside him. Approaching them were Margaery and Joffrey. Tywin wished there was something he could do to ease her discomfort, but to show any preference for Sansa in front of the boy would risk the disclosure of their engagement before Tywin was ready. He was in no place to openly reprimand the King before the full court. Not yet. 

Sansa knew from just looking at Joffrey that he had been drinking heavily. There was no way the following conversation would be pleasant, and he seemed to sense that she was vulnerable, even seated as she was beside his grandfather.

Approaching them, Margaery held onto Joffrey tightly, talking loudly about how excited she was to introduce him to her eldest brother finally. They had almost made it through the introduction when Joffrey began to apologize to Lord Tyrell about his poor seating choice.

“My dear future wife didn’t get the message that we don’t sit family beside the daughter of a traitor,” he shook his head disapprovingly at Lady Margaery. She paled.

For his part, Lord Willas seemed unaffected. “Your Grace,” he replied kindly, “Lady Sansa has been the perfect dinner companion.”

Joffrey looked incensed. “Did she tell you all her dirty little secrets, Lord Willas? Did she tell you how she was stripped naked and beaten in front of the court because she is the sister of a traitor against the crown?”

Sansa had gone white, and she felt cold all over. She knew Joffrey had hated her, but to bring up her beating in front of his grandfather and Margaery’s brother was inexcusable.

“If you ask me,” Joffrey continued, “I think she might have even liked it. She seems a bit deviant that way.” He smirked and winked at Lord Willas. For her part, Margaery looked horrified at the venom that spewed from Joffrey’s mouth.

Sansa felt the shame and horror from that moment wash over her again. How could Joffrey possibly say these things about her? She was sure that Lord Tywin would want nothing to do with her after hearing about her public humiliation. What man would want a lady that had been stripped before the court? Before Lord Willas could defend her, Tywin stood up abruptly and he motioned to his Red Cloak Commander Jerrod to come forward.

Shooting a hateful glare at the King, he said with deadly intent.

“Think carefully, Your Grace, on your next words. Lady Sansa is an honoured guest of House Lannister, need I remind you?”

Cersei had just realized something was amiss, and she had turned her attention back to the scene unfolding. Quickly seeing the rage in Tywin’s eyes and the gleam of cruelty in Joffrey’s, she moved to intervene, reaching out and grabbing Joffrey’s hand to distract him.

Sansa felt numb. How could she have forgotten that she was never safe from Joffrey? He would never let her go. She had to get out of there, immediately. She had begun to push back her chair when Tywin said quietly, “Jerrod will escort you this evening, My Lady.”

She looked up into his eyes, hoping to see something there that would reassure her of his feelings for her, but all she could see was anger and disgust.

“Thank you, My Lord,” she said woodenly. “Please excuse me, Lord Willas.”

He nodded at her as she left. Sansa felt Jerrod close in beside her, and the feeling of safety returned. She had assumed that he was taking her back to her rooms, but as they made their way across the keep, he guided her to the Tower of the Hand.

Sansa’s heart sank. So, Lord Tywin wasn’t even going to wait until tomorrow to inform her that their engagement was off. Feeling tears gather, but refusing to give into them, lest she let Joffrey steal anything else from her, she pulled herself together. Once at Lord Tywin’s apartments, Jerrod guided her to his solar where a fire was burning. There was a small pillowed bench in front of the fire, and Sansa sat on it, resigned to the fact that Joffrey was determined to ruin everything in her life. She would never be free of him. Sansa didn’t know how long she sat in front of the fire when she heard Lord Tywin come in. He made his way to her and sat beside her on the small bench. He smelled of sandalwood and musk, and she realized how much she would miss him once he broke their engagement. They sat there like that, both quiet for a time.

Finally, sighing, Tywin was about to speak, when Sansa turned to him and said, “I am sorry for embarrassing you tonight, My Lord.”

Tywin looked shocked. What was Sansa talking about? That issue with Joffrey? Tywin put no stock in his taunts. Besides, Tywin had a full accounting of what exactly had befallen Sansa at Joffrey’s hands. There was nothing the King could say that would shock him in regards to his future wife. Joffrey behaviour was borderline insane, and Tywin had to wonder what his grandson's problem was, instigating such a conversation. He was an idiot, but a dangerous one. 

Tywin then looked at her hard. She was still pale as could be, and she seemed to be visibly holding herself back from crying. Before he realized what, he was doing, Tywin picked up one of her hands. It was ice cold even though she was sitting in front of his great fireplace and the solar was warm. Feeling her body shake, it dawned on him then that she believed he was here to break off their engagement. And she was upset about it. Which meant she wasn’t taken with the handsome Lord Willas, but still wanted to be with him. Thank the gods he had figured that out before he let her see his jealousy over the crippled man. He didn’t need this woman to know just how taken he was by her.

Knowing it was entirely improper, but needing to anyways, Tywin pulled Sansa onto his lap, settling her against his chest. She let out a quick peep as he did so, and then to his astonishment, she snuggled into him, even though his leather doublet had to be uncomfortable. Retaking her hand, he began to trace over the back of it with his long fingers.

“Sansa nothing Joffrey said tonight would convince me to break our engagement,” he spoke quietly but firmly to her.

She looked up at him. “Truly?” she asked. He nodded.

“I’ve missed you. These past few days,” she whispered to him. He felt something in his chest tighten at her admission. He just grunted into her hair, inhaling her scent of lavender and lemons and refusing to give words to his baffling feelings for her.

“I will give your brother two more days to respond. Then we will announce our engagement regardless of the consequences,” he told her firmly. Peace be damned Tywin thought. His grandson’s obsession with hurting her was escalating, and he couldn’t risk anything happening to her.

Sansa nodded at his announcement. She never wanted to be at court again without his protection. She had done her best to save her family, but she needed to protect herself first. She had given them all the reasons in the world to accept this alliance.

Sansa had begun to play with the buckles on his doublet. Shyly she said, “I didn’t know that Lord Willas would be there, Tywin. Margaery had cornered me in the garden today. They are very determined to wed me to him and since we are of similar age and birth...,” she looked at Tywin to see if this would anger him. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“I will ask you one last time Sansa and know that if you answer yes, you will be mine. For all time. I will never let you go.” He looked directly at her, and asked, “Do you still want to marry me?” His eyes were full of some emotion she couldn’t identify.

Meeting his gaze, she raised her hand to cup his face, and brought his lips down to hers, where she whispered against them, “Yes Tywin, I want to marry you more than anything.”

And then she kissed him. Or he kissed her. Either way, it was only a single moment as their lips brushed each other’s, but it sealed their futures together. Tywin pulled back, aware he was much too enamoured with his bride to allow them any more time together that night.

Lifting her off him, he said, “I must return you to your chambers. We have to be extra careful, but I promise you, Sansa, this will all be over in a matter of days, one way or another.”

She nodded and made her way out of the tower, where the ever-faithful Jerrod was waiting. As she walked back to her rooms with the Commander of the Red Cloaks, she turned when they arrived at her door and said softly, “Thank you for keeping me safe Jerrod.”

Jerrod smiled at her. He had taken turns with some of the most trusted Lannister guards to protect Lady Sansa. To be honest, it had been an honour to guard her. Jerrod had been by Tywin Lannister’s side for the past fifteen years, and he was happy for his Lord. The Stark woman was a true lady, and Jerrod could already see the subtle changes in the old lion. There was no doubt in his mind that she would win everyone over when she finally became Lady Lannister and erase some of the cruelty and madness that seemed to surround the Lannisters these days. In Jerrod’s mind, she was just what was required at Casterly Rock and for his Lord.

“It is an honour, My Lady,” and he bowed to her slightly before she slipped into her rooms.

* * *

_Riverrun_

The letters from Kings Landing arrived four and a half days after they had been sent by rider. It had been an impossibly hard ride, but none of the riders had wanted to anger Tywin Lannister so they had made the journey almost continuously. When the missives were delivered, Robb Stark was in council meeting with his Lords. His mother and his wife also present. He looked annoyed at the interruption and wondered what could be so urgent to disrupt their plans for war. When he saw the great lion seal a feeling of dread gripped him.

He opened the letters and read through them quickly, unable to process what Tywin Lannister was proposing. The entire council waited on his words. He read both letters twice, before passing them along to his mother. His mind was reeling. Robb Stark felt every one of his twenty-threeyears. His position in the war wasn’t weak; indeed, with his men holding both Riverrun and Haarenhal, the Northern Army could make a push south.

But for the first time since this had all begun, he started to question why he was at war. His sisters were all but lost to him. The letter from Tywin Lannister confirmed that. He knew that Sansa would be wed to the Great Lion, with or without the blessing of the North, and no one had seen or heard from Arya in years.

Robb didn’t fully trust Lord Bolton, even though the man had come when the banners were called. Still, Robb remembered his father had always kept that house at arm’s length, and their sigil of a flayed man did not inspire confidence in their trustworthiness. No something was unsettling about House Bolton and especially Roose. He had too quickly and eagerly agreed to ‘hold’ Haarenhal, a near-impenetrable castle.

And the broken engagement to Walder Frey haunted him. Not that he didn’t love his wife Jeyne, but he was sure there was retribution coming from House Frey. He was ashamed he had broken his word to wed Roslin Frey; he didn’t know the woman, but he knew she had deserved better than that from him. Still, he loved Jeyne. They'd had an instant connection and at twenty-one, she had a maturity about her that spoke to Robb and he knew she'd made a wonderful Lady Stark. 

Robb knew enough that the old man, Walder Frey, to know that he wouldn’t let such a slight go. His mother had briefly said once Sansa was back they would wed her off to one of the old lecher’s sons as if that would make up for his grievous error. And since when did he become a man that made his sister pay for his mistakes? Even Robb could see how much more advantageous her marriage to the Great Lion would be for both of their houses.

Sansa’s letter itself was a puzzle. She seemed to genuinely want to marry Tywin Lannister. How was that possible? What had they done to her in Kings Landing that marrying him was what she wanted? Robb blamed himself for not rescuing her sooner. Of course, he knew Sansa would do whatever needed to survive such a hellhole and try to protect her family. She raised a valid point about Winterfell- it had been taken by the traitor Theon Greyjoy. Surely that was a greater insult to their family than chasing after Lannister armies for vengeance. His mother had the culprit of her son’s crime in her hands and let him go. How many more men had to die to quench her thirst for vengeance? By leaving the safety of Winterfell Robb Stark had lost the North as well as his two brothers. He could blame only himself for that course of action. Robb was a Stark. He knew winter was coming and he longed for home and there must always be a Stark in Winterfell

Shaking himself from his musings, he addressed his war council. He outlined the terms of peace proposed by Tywin Lannister. At first, there was outrage, as expected. But as the insults and threats died, many in the room begun to see the offer for what it was- a graceful way to end this war and to return home. Marriage was the least bloody way to end a war, and this was a good proposition for the King of the North. 

Further, many Northern houses were tired of war. They felt the winter coming in their bones, and they wanted to return home. The terms for peace were more than fair. Most had assumed Sansa Stark was already lost to them forever and this way northern blood would flow in the veins of the next Warden of the West.

Robb looked at his mother, whose face was tight and pinched. Knowing he needed to speak with her in private, he dismissed the war council and said they would reconvene after dinner for a final decision. He also ordered his most trusted guards to bring the two Lannister hostages into the main hall. It was imperative that nothing happened to them, now that peace was so close.

Both Lady Starks accompanied Robb to their private family rooms, along with Catelyn’s brother Edmure and her uncle, the great Blackfish himself. Once surrounded by only family, Robb gave them a look as if to say this was their one chance to convince him not to agree to these terms.

Unsurprisingly it was his mother that begun, spitting her vitriol and hatred for all things Lannister. She was outraged that such an old man could even think to marry her daughter, stating that he surely must have compromised her already to offer marriage now. And how could Robb possibly even consider allowing his dear sister to stay in the lion’s den? It was disgusting and an abomination and an insult to House Stark.

Her brother and her uncle agreed, sharing stories of things they heard the old Lion had done. Tywin Lannister had a reputation as a brutal and unforgiving man.

Robb took a moment to look at his mother. She was already in trouble with him for letting Jaime Lannister go, a decision that looked even more foolish now considering the power having him would have given them in terms of negotiating. The terms of peace could have been even more advantageous for the North had he still been their prisoner. His mother’s single-minded determination to wipe the Lannister name from the history books was destroying House Stark. In her mind, there would never be enough vengeance for her for what was done to Bran and Ned. But Robb did not share her sentiments. War had made sense at the time, but now he was unsure. He was being offered peace. Who was he to order more men to their deaths, to avenge a father who would never return to them? They had already lost so much; Arya, Bran and Rickon. Didn’t they now deserve the chance to take back the North and begin to rebuild their family? He had a wife to think about, and he longed to sit in the halls of Winterfell once again.

He cocked his head and asked his mother quietly, “Wasn’t Sansa raised to do exactly this Mother? Be the lady of a great keep? Raise sons and produce the next great line of warriors and rulers? Secure a marriage alliance that would further our House?” 

His mother sputtered. “Not to him!” she hissed.

“Why not?” Robb persisted. His mother’s hypocrisy frustrated him. “The Great Lion has given himself in this alliance. He didn’t offer his second son. He offered himself and therefore his great keep. Sansa’s children will be the direct descendants of two great houses. They will bind the north and the west together in a powerful alliance of blood and family. Further, any future children we have will only strengthen the bonds of this alliance.”

“You will trade your sister for legacy and power Robb?” his mother spat at him, forgetting she would have done just that by marrying Sansa to a Frey.

He sighed. It was pointless to try to talk sense to his mother these days. How could she not see that this was an advantageous marriage for Sansa? That her daughter would acquire vast amounts of power and wealth that would come from joining with the Lannister patriarch. More to the point, her daughter was practically begging for their family’s blessing.

Taking a chance, Robb’s new wife timidly spoke up. Jeyne was not used to being part of such lively family discussions, and her husband’s family often intimidated her. But she had been raised in the West, and she had a different perceptive on Tywin Lannister.

“Excuse me, my lords, my lady,” she said quietly. They all turned to look at her.

“As a lady born and raised in the Westerlands, you might want to hear how we view Tywin Lannister. To us, he is not a monster. He was our saviour. He brought honour back to House Lannister, and he provided and protected all those under his banners. Men willing to sign up to fight for him, and they willingly follow him into war.” Jeyne paused. “I know it is difficult, given the things that have happened between the families, but Lord Tywin loved his first wife fiercely from what the stories say. He would never hurt Sansa, at least I don’t believe so. Not like some lords do.”

Catelyn Stark shot the woman a look of pure hatred. How dare this outsider lecture her on honour and duty. The little whore from the Westerlands had destroyed her son’s chances of winning the war by lying with him and convincing him to marry her. Catelyn would never forgive this outsider for what she had taken from the Starks.

Looking past her son’s stupid wife, Catelyn tried one last time. “I cannot and will not ever support the marriage of my daughter to that beast, Robb. Do not ask this of me.”

Robb’s face fell, and he knew this decision would drive a wedge between them, perhaps permanently.

“I am sorry, Mother,” he said forcefully, “but I will agree to this alliance. With this marriage, Sansa has secured peace for the North. I will not let this opportunity pass us by.” Catelyn’s face turned pale, and she looked like she would be ill. Loath to lose his only parent, he gentled his tone. “Return North with me Mother, help me take back Winterfell. Help us raise the next generation of wolves.” He took his wife’s hand.

His mother looked at him horrified and realized that all her children were now lost to her. She rose and left the room without a backward glance.

Later that evening, Robb informed his war council he would agree to the terms of peace. The marriage between House Lannister and House Stark would bind the two largest kingdoms of Westeros together, and the promise of support during Winter was enough to win over most of the Lords. Many were tired of war and were happy to return home. Robb spent the evening talking with his men, relief visible on most of their faces and he felt secure in his decision.

Robb had made it clear to everyone that Lady Sansa was as responsible for this peace as anyone, and the men cheered and drank to her name. While there were some Northern lords bitter that they had lost the princess of the North to the Warden of the West, most could find no fault in the terms that the Lion had proposed. It had always seemed like such impossible odds, going up against the Great Lion himself in the South. Now they had a chance to rule from the North once again.

Later as he made his way to his chambers to write his letter of acceptance, Robb stopped by his mother’s chambers. He hated how they had left things and wanted to try to smooth things over. Once they were home again, he was sure things would be better. When he entered her chambers they were completely empty. He was baffled. Where could she have gone? He would send riders looking for her tomorrow.

Perplexed Robb continued to his rooms. He planned to send the two Lannister hostages and his letter of acceptance to the Golden Lion at first light. Robb had a pang of regret that he wouldn’t be there to see his sister get married, but he hoped in time they may be able to meet in person again. At least with the realm now at peace, communication between the two siblings should be able to start again. He looked forward to conversing with his sister if only by letter.

True to his word, Robb’s riders left at first light. It would be four or five days of hard riding, day and night before his message reached Kings Landing. Meanwhile, the Northern forces made plans to retreat home, leaving the southern rulers to their chaos and plots. No sign had been found of Lady Catelyn, and Robb was worried about her disappearance. The North knew winter was coming, and much had to be done to prepare. The King of the North had no time to chase after a mother who had all but abandoned her children.

* * *

_Kings Landing_

The next five days were spent in an endless parade new gowns that arrived daily until Sansa’s wardrobe was positively overflowing with fabrics and colour. Her rooms were much too small to accommodate her new clothing, but she and Shae made do for now. Sansa knew it was only a matter of time before she would be moving into the Tower of the Hand with Tywin. While Sansa appreciated the finery, she was still anxious to hear from her brother. It was misery for her to be away from Tywin and his sharp wit and gentle touches. She had enjoyed every interaction she had with him since that first day. He challenged her and treated her like an equal. She sensed he liked her interest in politics and the game of thrones, and she was curious about the feelings of warmth that always seemed to rise when she was near him.

Tywin had said he would announce their engagement within days. But it had been five days since that awful dinner. Sansa had been requested to break her fast almost daily with the soon to be Queen, and Margaery was relentless in her campaign to wed Sansa to Willas. It wasn’t that he was an unattractive option. Even his cripple leg did not bother Sansa. She had moved far beyond judging anyone on their appearance alone since she had come to live in the capitol. The Lord of Highgarden was generous and friendly, and he treated all the women in his family with smiles and respect. From all appearances, it seemed that they fairly ruled over him. The warmth of the Tyrell family was something that Sansa envied.

But no matter how handsome or kind or gentle Lord Willas was, he was not Tywin. Sansa knew herself to be already betrothed and to the man of her choice. She would never agree to a marriage with the heir of Highgarden. Finally, after four days of being pestered by both Margaery and Lady Olenna, Sansa got frustrated and lashed out at the Tyrell matriarch when another not so subtle marriage proposal was lobbed her way. 

“My Lady,” she said tightly, “You know I am a ward of the crown. If you are so determined to marry me to your grandson, I suggest you speak to Lord Lannister as my fate is in his hands.” Lady Olenna smirked at her but nodded her head. Let Tywin deal with the old woman! After that, Sansa retreated to the library, interested in reading more about the Westerlands. She was determined to know as much as possible about her new House, and all the people she would be responsible for.

Tywin himself was frustrated. He had received a raven the day after that disastrous dinner party from the King of the North. All it said was that his riders were returning with his answer and they would be there within the next four or five days. Irritating boy, Tywin thought. As if time weren’t of the utmost importance, the King of the North had to respond in kind with riders instead of just enclosing his response in the raven itself. Tywin knew Sansa was anxious to announce their engagement. He was too, and after his meeting with Lady Olenna that afternoon, he knew it needed to happen within the next day or two.

Lady Olenna went to visit Tywin soon after her conversation with Sansa and found him in his solar working. No one could ever claim that the Old Lion didn’t work exceedingly hard for the realm. Lady Olenna knew exactly how Tywin’s grandson had treated the key to the North, and she thought her position strong. The young woman was without a sponsor or protection, and her grandson was a delightful boy compared to the horror that was the King.

Tywin of course already knew exactly what the old woman wanted, having discussed it at length with Sansa. Tywin had to respect the old Highgarden matriarch. She negotiated hard for Lady Sansa, but in the end, there was no way the Golden Lion would ever give her up. When he indicated a marriage proposal had already been secured for Sansa Stark and that it would benefit the entire realm, she sent him a sharp look. He could see she had figured out precisely whom Lady Sansa would be marrying.

“It’s a rare enough thing, a man who lives up to his reputation,” she said to him. “Not exactly a difficult burden for you, is it Lord Tywin? She’s beautiful. Fertile.”

Tywin’s face tightened.

“A chance for you to remove the stain of your children’s unnatural attraction to each other by giving Casterly Rock new heirs from an entirely untainted line.”

Tywin shot the woman daggers from his eyes.  
“Well played, Old Lion, well played,” Lady Olenna demurred.

The next afternoon in a meeting with the small council, they were interrupted by news that riders approached Kings Landing bearing both Stark and Lannister sigils. Tywin asked for the riders to be brought immediately to the small council upon their arrival. After that several things happened at once. Tywin indicated his head to Jerrod to fetch Lady Sansa. She should be present for the announcement. Tywin also asked for the King to be summoned to the meeting. With Joffrey came Lady Margaery, and for some reason, Littlefinger was with them as well. It seemed everyone would learn their news today. Good enough, Tywin thought savagely. It was time everyone in the realm knew whom Lady Sansa belonged too.

Waiting for Sansa to arrive, Tywin took the time to look at the faces in the room. Cersei and Joffrey looked puzzled and nervous, wondering what could have had happened without their knowledge. His daughter still believed herself much too smart for her own good, thinking she held the power in Kings Landing still. Joffrey looked a bit excited as if his grandfather would tell him the Starks had been wiped from the map, which might have been the case, mere weeks ago. Until Sansa.

Tyrion was pensive, knowing his father had something to do with the riders, but unable to figure out precisely what had been plotted without his knowledge. Last he knew, they were still at war with the North.

Kevan was nervous, hoping to hear any word about his sons that had been held captive by the Starks.

When Sansa entered the room, her eyes immediately tracked to Tywin’s. He was glad to see that she always was searching for him. Beside her was Jerrod, and he stood as her silent guard, not letting anyone come close to her. Joffrey sneered at her, and Cersei looked angry that she had been included. Neither, however, was willing to make a scene in Tywin’s presence.

Before long, the riders were escorted into the room. Kevan immediately saw his two sons and could not contain his joy that they were alive, and he moved to them quickly. The family reunion took place in a quiet corner of the room. Seeing the boys, Tywin already knew what the King of the North’s answer would be without even receiving the raven.

The letter that had been hand-delivered to the capitol was given to Tywin, and he took it and skimmed, his face betraying no emotion. When he finished reading, he asked that Lady Sansa join him. Cersei practically hissed at her, and Joffrey’s face turned an unusual shade of purple.

When Sansa reached Tywin, she could see the answer in his eyes. They had accomplished what they had set in motion weeks ago. Clearing his throat, Tywin looked at the room.

“Robb Stark has agreed to a termination of the war and has accepted my terms for peace,” he told the shocked faces in the room. Joffrey looked apocalyptic. “What terms, father?” Cersei asked tightly.

“In exchange for an immediate cessation of all hostilities, Lord Stark has agreed to a marriage alliance that I proposed.” Everyone in the room looked shocked. Who on earth was marrying Lady Sansa? Tywin had everyone’s attention in the room. His voice was loud and clear and brooked no room for argument.

“Lord Stark has agreed to a marriage between his sister, Lady Sansa Stark and myself.” Tywin reached for Sansa’s hand, and brought her closer to him, showing all in the room how serious he was about this marriage. “Part of Lord Stark’s conditions include terms that any male child from our union will inherit Casterly Rock.” Tywin heard Cersei’s shocked gasp and saw Tyrion’s bewildered face. Tywin flicked his eyes to Petyr Baelish. The man looked positively green with envy and jealousy.

Tywin revelled in their dismay and confusion. “To further bind our two houses together and to ensure peace in the realm, the first-born daughter of Lord and Lady Stark will be immediately betrothed to our second-born son, upon their births. In good faith, Lord Stark has returned valuable Lannister hostages to our family.” Tywin indicated the two boys at the back of the room.

“Hostilities between our houses will cease immediately, and Robb Stark has agreed to withdraw his troops to north of Moat Cailin. Upon retaking Winterfell, Lord Stark will rule his kingdom from there.” 

Silence dominated the room. In one fell swoop, Tywin Lannister had secured peace for the realm while single-handedly guaranteeing his legacy would live on by placing his heirs in positions to inherit two of the largest of the seven kingdoms. It was a legendary political move, and the ink had barely even dried on the parchment.

Bitterness at being truly disinherited from his family home warred with outright respect from Tyrion. He never thought the Old Lion would marry again, and here he was, tying himself to a northern princess to secure the family legacy. He had to admit; his father was dedicated to ensuring the Lannister name lived on. More so than either he or Jaime were.

Tyrion had thought his father had dropped the idea of wedding the Stark woman to a Lannister after he had vehemently protested their proposed marriage. Having heard nothing more from his father about the matter, Tyrion had assumed his father had resigned himself to the fact that she would be wed to the heir of Highgarden. Tyrion had heard the Tyrell’s had campaigned hard to win her hand. He should have known the old lion would not be outmaneuvered by the Tyrells.

Tyrion then glanced at Lady Sansa, worried he would find a cowering and fearful woman. After all, his father was one of the most fearsome men in all of Westeros. Instead, she was looking at his father like he was her hero, and he could see happiness in her eyes. Interesting, Tyrion thought. So not just a political marriage, at least for her. Who knew the old lion still had it in him? When did the Old Lion have it in him? Tyrion thought. None of his spies, or Varys or Littlefingers’ had whispered a word about an alliance between the Lady Sansa and Lord Lannister. Indeed, when Tyrion observed them now, standing beside each other, he could see their comfort and ease with one another. There was more to this story than anyone knew, that much Tyrion was certain of.

Before anyone could say anything, Kevan Lannister approached Sansa. Breaking all decorum, he scooped her up in his arms, tears streaming down his face, and pressed a kiss along her hairline. The entire room could hear him whisper his thanks to his soon to be goodsister, and Sansa blushed and smiled at him prettily.

Yes, marrying the Stark woman was quite the stroke of genius for his father, Tyrion mused. It would be a relationship to keep an eye on for sure. Deciding that tonight was an excellent night to lose himself in his cups, he approached his father, offered his sincere congratulations to him and his soon to be new mother, and excused himself before the fallout from Cersei and Joffrey could rebound onto him somehow.


	5. Chapter 5

_Confrontation_

The members of the small council had eventually drifted out of the rooms of the hand. Most were having trouble absorbing the shocking news. Tywin knew that the scrambling was just beginning, and like watching rats flee from a sinking ship, he settled into his solar to await the first rodent. He imagined he would have to put up with this for days. There were sure to be major repercussions from all corners of the Kingdom with this announcement.

He couldn’t say he was surprised when it was his golden-haired daughter that was the first to arrive. He was mildly impressed with her restraint. He had half expected her to just start spewing her vitriol in front of the entire council. At least they were to have this conversation in private. 

She was vibrating with rage. Tywin was cool and collected. He knew she could never keep herself together long enough to outwait one of his legendary silences. Indeed, the only person who challenged him in that regard had been Sansa. He pondered how different these two women were. Both ladies born into the upper echelon of Westeros society, but two entirely different creatures. Tywin didn’t have to wait long until Cersei’s brain and mouth couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“Is this to be your legacy, Father, stealing your eldest son’s birthright, and giving it to that traitorous Stark bitch?”

“Yes,” he answered her calmly. She bristled, and her sea-foam green eyes turned violent towards him. _Gods Joanna_, he thought at that moment, looking into eyes that shared the exact same colouring as his late wife, _how did I manage to raise such a petty and contemptible creature?_ He had never felt like more a failure to his late wife then at that moment. Tywin sighed, tiredly.

“I seem to recall my eldest son has repeatedly turned down all offers to become my heir. To marry and produce his own heirs.” Tywin pinned her with a look. “True heirs. Not the abhorrent creatures you two call children.”

Cersei flinched at that. She had held that as her trump card for years, her willingness to threaten to let the truth about her and Jaime become common knowledge to ensure her father would not marry them off and separate them. Now that information was worthless.

“Jaime is your rightful heir, father, or have you forgotten that, as you’ve forgotten him? I didn’t see him returned today in exchange for your precious marriage alliance.”

Tywin banged his hand on the table. “Enough!” he barked at her. “I have been relentless in my search for my son. He was let go from the Stark camp weeks ago, else he would be back here today.”

Cersei couldn’t help it, even knowing how her father hated tears, she felt her eyes fill. “He’s alone father, away from his children and me.”

Tywin assessed her then. He did not doubt her pain at being separated from her twin, but if her actions in her bedroom were any indication, she wasn’t exactly lonely these days.

“Is it your misery over missing your brother that has you sleeping with cousin Lancel, daughter?” Tywin asked crudely, disgusted by her willingness to fuck anything with a Lannister name.

She reeled back.

“Do not think me ignorant of any of your activities daughter. I am not like your dear brother, the last hand. I am aware of all your abominable fetishes.” She sat there seething in shame and outrage.

“If you continue to act as a common whore, I will find a match for you with someone who will share in your desires of the flesh. If you are willing to lie with any golden-haired man that comes along, you might as well be doing it for the good of the family and trying to produce new heirs that might be worth something one day.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she gasped at him. “I am Queen Regent, father, not some broodmare!”

“You are my daughter,” he yelled at her. “Although the way you carry on continues to disgrace the Lannister name.” Holding her hateful glare until she looked away he continued, “You are dismissed daughter. Keep in mind my marriage has secured peace for the realm. Should anything happen to Sansa Stark, I have no doubt the Young Wolf would avenger her death. The crown cannot afford to pay for another war. It can barely afford to pay for this farce you call a Royal Wedding.” He let that statement settle over her, before continuing, “If House Lannister were to call due to all the debts owed to it by the Crown, the King would fall.”

Purple in rage, she leaned forward, “You dare threaten the monarch father? That is treason. Men have died for less. Ask Ned Stark.”

Tywin sighed, completely disgusted and disappointed in her.

“No, you little fool it is not. It is a statement of facts. Were House Lannister to call for full repayment of its loans to the Crown, your son wouldn’t last a week on the Iron Throne before the nobles and commoners alike tore him apart because he bankrupted the Kingdom. He is an idiot and at almost twenty-one, he should know better. That is on you!"

She paled, wondering what Littlefinger had done as Master of Coin.

“I suggest,” Tywin said strongly, indicating it was not a suggestion at all, “that you discuss the current state of financial affairs with the new Master of Coin. Perhaps he can convince you of the dire straits the Crown currently finds itself in. You are dismissed, daughter,” he said for a second time, and this time she rose to leave the solar, determined to pay her father back for his treatment of her today.

As she reached the door, he called out, “And do be sure to share with the King whatever parts of this conversation you think your incredibly ill-informed son may be able to comprehend.” The door slammed behind her.

* * *

_The Map Room_

The morning after his announcement to the council, Tywin stood overlooking his great map of Westeros. He had the map commissioned when he was the last hand of the King, some twenty years earlier. The room itself was off the small council room, on the bottle level of the apartments of the hand. He had a look of deep worry and concentration on his face, although he was alone so there was no one there to see it. He had asked his brother to bring Lady Sansa to the room, as he felt it was a chance to provide her with another political and strategic lesson.

Tywin was deeply concerned about the stability of his new alliance. Robb Stark had indicated two troubling pieces of information in his letter. First, that Catelyn Stark had disappeared from Riverrun, seemingly without a trace. Her outrage at the marriage was apparently the last straw for the unstable lady. But where on earth could the woman possibly have gone? He had not shared this news with Sansa yet, but he would this morning.

The second bit of information was that Robb Stark and his men were planning on heading north immediately. Not much was known about the current state of Winterfell, but disturbing reports had come from those burnt down walls. Tywin did not blame the man for wanting to return home. There were days when Tywin longed for nothing but to gather Sansa and return to the walls of Casterly Rock. But making it back to Winterfell might be a problem for Robb Stark, and for reasons that the Young Wolf was currently unaware of.

It was a plan that Tywin himself had set into motion before his betrothal to Sansa, that now had him worried. The Starks were unaware they had traitors in their midst, and he wanted to share this news with Sansa and discuss the best way to get her brother to listen to them. The last thing Tywin needed was to secure an alliance with the Starks only to have the house wiped out before they could retake their family seat.

Now that Tywin had all but tied himself to the Starks he would do everything possible to ensure their survival. That might even mean lending military support to the Young Wolf. Tywin grimaced ruefully. Such were the machinations of war and politicking, and why so very few were any good at it. Yesterday Tywin had been plotting the Young Wolf’s demise. Today he would willingly lend him an army to defend himself. Most men couldn’t get past old grudges and hurts to use whatever was available in order to maintain power. Tywin Lannister was no such man.

Tywin was also interested to see if Sansa would catch on to his plans when he gave her the information he had in his possession. At the very least he hoped by sharing his strategy and concerns with her it would build on the bonds of trust that they had started to establish with each other. For Sansa to become a true asset to him, they would have to learn to trust each other.

When Sansa entered the map room she immediately noticed that Tywin was preoccupied with the large map of Westeros in front of him so she walked to it and studied it as well. Carved pieces representing each house were placed on the map, and she noticed that Tywin had moved most of the Lions back to either the Red Keep or the Westerlands.

Sensing he had something important to share with her, Sansa held herself still, waiting for him to speak. Finally, he glanced up at her and simply handed her the note from her brother. After reading it through twice, she looked at Tywin, confused.

“Where would she go Tywin?” Sansa asked.

“I was hoping you would have some idea, Lady Sansa.”

Tywin moved his hand and indicated the map. Sansa looked at it closer. Tywin had a Tully fish at Riverrun, where both Sansa’s Great-uncle and Uncle still resided. He had also temporarily left the wolf marker there, although Robb’s letter clearly indicated his desire to return home to Winterfell. Sansa kept looking at the map. Where on earth would her mother go? And how was it possible that she was that upset at Sansa’s upcoming marriage that she would abandon her only living son just when peace had been achieved? Suddenly Sansa’s eyes darted to the far edge of the map, and she moved towards the far side. Tywin and Kevan watched her closely.

“Here, Tywin.” Sansa pointed to the Vale and met Tywin’s eyes.

“Why?” he demanded an explanation.

Sansa shrugged her shoulders. “There is nowhere else for her to go My Lord. She must have felt that her family betrayed her at Riverrun when Robb agreed to our marriage. She cannot go North. And she knows that the Eyrie is impenetrable. No one could get her there even if they wanted too. Not even you, My Lord.

Tywin was impressed. Sansa’s logic was impeccable. It is true that if Lady Stark has ensconced herself at the Eyrie, no army will be able to reach her. The keep was impossible to breach.

Sansa started to worry at her lower lip, swelling and plumping it up, which corresponded with the swelling in Tywin’s breeches. The wedding could not soon enough for his desires as he groaned internally, as he watched her think.

Before he could address the next matter, Sansa asked a question that chilled his blood.

“Has Lord Baelish left the capitol yet Tywin?” Sansa knew he had been in the small council room yesterday when they announced their betrothal. Was his ship still in the harbour?

Too late Tywin remembered his plan to marry the slippery little whoremonger to Lady Lysa Arryn. What will Littlefinger do when he showed up in the Vale and had his choice of the Tully sisters? Was Sansa’s mother so angry with her that she would consider an alliance with Lord Baelish? This was a complication that Tywin and Sansa did not need. Neither of them trusted either her Aunt or Baelish, and now a bitter and angry Catelyn Stark was an unknown variable they cannot control.

“I am unsure, Sansa,” Tywin said to the room quietly, fascinated again with her quick wit and sharp logic. She drew herself inward and folded her hands over her chest, and begun to shake. It was deeply upsetting that her mother has reacted this way. And neither of them knew what an alliance between her mother and Lord Baelish might mean for them. How could she not see that Sansa did what she had to save House Stark? Sometimes Sansa wished her mother were here, so she could see Lord Tywin for the man he was, and not for the monster her mother has created him to be.

Seeing Sansa so upset, Tywin moved towards her and drew her to his side. He tucked her against him and gently rubbed up and down her arms.

“I am sorry she upset you this way, Sansa.” She leaned into him, inhaling his smell of sandalwood that she loved so much, and nodded into his chest, resting there for only a moment before she pushed back from him.

“What else, My Lord?” she asked him evenly, betraying none of the emotion she had been feeling a moment before. Tywin looked at her and sees that she had composed herself. He was immensely proud of how she has handled herself when faced with unsettling news.

“What I am about to tell you will undoubtedly upset you, Lady Sansa. I will not apologize for it, as these were plans that were set in motion before you and I had our first meeting.”

Sansa felt her stomach drop at his words. She met his eyes straight on, willing herself to hold his gaze no matter what he revealed to her. He did not cower or look away, willing to let her see him for the ruthless lion that he was. She needed to know exactly who she will be married too.

“As you are aware, I had not considered the possibility of a marriage alliance to end the war. I set plans in motion to end this war as expediently as possible. My plan required a house loyal to your brother to betray him and his men.” He held her gaze, his eyes hard and unforgiving. No, she thought, he will not apologize for trying to win a war any way he could, especially since she hadn’t even known him two weeks ago. Any harm that would have come to her house before their agreement would simply be seen by him as the price of war.

“I will not go into details of what those plans were. Suffice it to say, I do believe that the marriage alliance between our families is a better and more permanent solution for peace.” It would be the only compliment he would give her on her excellent negotiating skills.

“But we now have a problem. I know that there is a house disloyal to House Stark. One that your brother currently trusts.” He let the implications settle over her. Sansa blanched. What on earth could Tywin have planned that her brother’s very safety is at risk?

“Yesterday we were at war. Today we are in an alliance. An alliance we need to last for years, to bind the West to the North and to ensure our children will rule Westeros one day. In order to maximize this alliance, I require your brother to retake Winterfell and reestablish House Stark as one loyal to us.” She nodded at him, absorbing all he revealed.

“The issue Sansa, is how do I get him to trust that this information is given to him in good faith?”

“Which house, My Lord?” she choked out.

He indicated the board again. He would not just give her the answer; he wanted her to earn it, to prove once again that her brilliant and logical brain was not just a fluke.

Sansa moved back to the map. She traced the path her brother must take to get back past Moat Cailin and be safe in the North again. Past Haarenhal. Past the Twins. Her hand hesitated over the half-ruined castle.

_Whose marker is that at Haarenhal?_ It looked like a grotesque body until she realized it was a flayed man. Her stomach turned. The Bolton’s. They had never been a house her family has trusted, even though they are bannermen of House Stark.

“What did House Bolton ask for in order to betray my House, Lord Lannister?” she asked him coldly.

“The North, My Lady.”

“Well they cannot have it!” she responded sharply. “Our future son is set to foster in the North and marry the next daughter of Winterfell.” She was all fierce wolf now, and Tywin was supremely pleased that she was not too upset at him that she has rejected their well thought out plans for their future children.

“No, Sansa, they cannot. We must ensure this information reaches your brother, and it is critical that he believes it,” Tywin agreed. She met his eyes and nodded.

“There is an event, a silly little thing that happened only to my brother and me at Winterfell when we were just children. If I include that in a note to him, he’s sure to know the information is truthful.”

“Good,” Tywin said briskly. She stared at the map. She sees Robb’s next great challenge- the Twins and the Freys. Her brother must know that the old man will be waiting. Surely, he would be prepared for that? Lost in the strategy of war, and the impossible route to safety that was facing her brother, she missed the package that Tywin had picked up and brought over to her.

Glancing up at Tywin from the map she was confused at first. He sighed deeply as if what he was about to confess will cause her further pain. Then he unsheathed her father’s sword Ice. Sansa gasped and immediately recalled the last time she saw the sword- just before it took her father’s head. Assuaged by the memories, she thought she might be ill.

“This sword was taken from your family, Sansa when your father was accused of treason.” He paused, then pushed on. “To be honest, once your brother had been dealt with, I meant to melt it into two new swords, one for Jaime and one for Joffrey.” She looked even paler at the thought of her family’s tormentors using her father’s steel and Tywin can’t blame her.

“The one blight on the Lannister family name has been the fact that our family sword, Brightroar was lost years ago. Suffice it to say, when I was presented with the chance to rectify this situation for my heirs I was willing to take it.” He tone and look brooked no apology. Tywin Lannister had told her he was a hard and demanding man. This entire morning had only proven that point, repeatedly.

“Once we agreed to our marriage, though, I began to reassess my original plan. While I would like nothing more than to keep the sword in our family, Sansa, for our first-born son, I believe it would do more for our alliance if it is returned to your brother. Consider this an early wedding present.” He looked directly at her.

He could see her anger and disgust in him in her eyes. He was disappointed. He knew she would be unable to fully handle the ugly truths of what was required to rule a kingdom. It had often been said that Tywin Lannister had united the seven kingdoms in fear. It was not a statement that was an exaggeration.

“A moment, My Lord,” she said tightly, and turned and walked towards to window in the room that overlooked the Bay. Her shoulders were tight with rage, but she was otherwise still. She appreciated his honesty with her, even if it was painful. Just over two weeks ago they had meant nothing to each other. She knew she would never be as ruthless as Tywin. He was a cold and controlling man. He lived his life by his own moral code, and Sansa knew that they will not always see eye to eye on that code. She didn't even want to know what Tywin’s plans involving the Bolton’s and her brother were. They were sure to be horrific.

He had lived a lifetime more than her, and she understood that she will never know all his secrets. But what he shared with her today would neutralize some of the most dangerous and painful ones that could have had a devastating effect on their marriage had they been left to fester in the dark.

His actions today had proven to her that he meant to make her a lion and a true player in the game of thrones. She knew what it must have taken for him to share these plans with her, knowing and expecting her to feel hatred and disgust with him. She was not a fool, though. She had come to him specifically because she knew he was the only man with the power, ruthlessness and cunning to protect her and any of her future children. You didn’t become the most feared man in Westeros without being willing to do whatever it took to retain that title. She would not be a hypocrite and condemn him now for his actions when she herself was set to benefit from his fearsome reputation.

She let out a sigh and turned back to her intended. She could see that he has closed himself off, prepared for her to be emotional and irrational in her response. She might have been, a year ago had she been confronted with all this information. But she was not that woman anymore. She was going to be the Lady of Lannister, and she will be required to make impossible decisions to defend her husband, her house and her children. She would not allow what she learned today to impede the feelings she has felt for him. She knew the exact type of man she asked to marry her. When she walked back to Tywin, she saw him almost visibly tense, waiting for her rejection.

“Did you have anything to do with Theon Greyjoy and the killing of my two youngest brothers?” she asked him directly, looking straight into his eyes.

“No, My Lady,” he responded honestly. Her shoulders relaxed and then she laid her hand on his chest and begun to play with his buckles.

“Thank you for trusting me with this information Tywin. My family will welcome the return of Ice, and this, more than anything else will ensure that Robb sees our alliance as true and strong.”

Then she stood up on her tiptoes, and brushed her lips against his, meeting with resistance at first, until he relented and kissed her back. He buried his hands in her hair and pressed himself against her. He was loath to let her go, as he has rarely had any physical contact with her over the past few weeks.

He pulled back and whispered in her ear, “Have dinner with me tonight?” She moaned softly, and he took that as her consent.

Kevan was astonished at the entire conversation he had just witnessed. Sansa demonstrated that she is an extraordinarily astute lady, able to match his brother in his political and military machinations. Kevan had watched people condemn Tywin all his life because his brother was willing to make impossible decisions and they were not. Everyone wanted the lion’s protection, but few had the stomach for what that protection cost.

Kevan had never seen Tywin willing to share his secrets with anyone but him. Sansa and Tywin seemed to be able to read each other’s thoughts and respond to the other’s body language. Suddenly Kevan realized this woman was something much more than just a political alliance to Tywin, and he couldn’t help but feel joy that his brother had finally met his match.

* * *

When Sansa entered Tywin’s solar that evening for dinner, she expected to find her soon to be husband seated either at his desk in his solar or at the great dining table where they had supped before. When he wasn’t in the dining hall, she made her way through his apartments to find him standing rigidly clutching a letter in his hand, staring at the flames in the fireplace. He was wearing only a light tunic and breeches, and instead of making him look less imposing, he looked every inch the rich and powerful lord that he was, only one that was in a great deal of pain.

She paused at the entrance to the room, unsure of how to proceed. His body language clearly indicated he was deeply distressed, and she wondered what news he had received to make him react in such a way. Tywin was not a demonstrative man. He only rarely allowed them to have any type of physical contact. She knew he had parented his children very differently than how the Starks were raised. Sansa’s father had always allowed his children to climb on him, to hug him or show affection. Even her lady mother freely touched her children, and not just for a scolding. The Stark household had generally been one of love and affection.

Sansa wondered if her presence would be seen as an intrusion, or would it be welcomed in his time of pain? Would it be worse for her to acknowledge that she had seen him like this, or to leave and send a note, begging off dinner?

Before she could decide, Sansa heard a sound emerge from him, a broken huff that seemed to arise from somewhere deep in his being. There was no choice for Sansa. He was hurting and therefore she would risk his wrath to attempt to provide some type of comfort. Making no sound, she made her way over to him and simply wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself into his back, resting her face against his spine while her arms wrapped around his front to hold him to her. At first, he stiffened, then as she kept the pressure up, he seemed to relax into her embrace. She had no idea how long they stood there like that, she wrapped around him.

Eventually, he reached one hand down to grasp at the ones she had clenched to his stomach. He pried them apart and gripped one in his. Sighing deeply, he bowed his head briefly, before dragging her hand up to his mouth and pressing a kiss against her palm.

“It’s Jaime,” he said raggedly, then paused. “They removed his sword hand, Sansa.” Horrified, she tried not to react in shock.

“Who?” she asked.

“The Bolton’s.” Cold rage simmered in his words, and she found her own anger at the northern house reignite. He turned and looked at her, keeping them pressed closely together. He seemed to draw comfort from her nearness, and she would not deny him that. Her mind raced. Why on earth would the Bolton’s do something like this to anger the Tywin Lannister? Did they think to blame it on her brother, saying that he had ordered such mutilation, destroying the peace that had so recently been established?

“On who’s orders, Tywin?”

Ahh, there she was, his logical and always pragmatic soon to be wife. Her question jolted him from his brooding. “Not the Young Wolf rest assured. Jaime was caught by some Bolton men, whom upon discovering who he was figured they would still receive the reward for his return, even if he came back missing some pieces.”

Tywin laughed bitterly. “My own gold paid to maim the most legendary swordsman in Westeros. Although how can he hold that title now without his sword hand?”

_Gods_, Sansa thought. She had no love for Jaime Lannister, that much was true, but she wouldn’t wish such a punishment on anyone. And she knew how much this would sting Tywin’s ego. Despite his disappointment in his son, Sansa always heard the note of faint pride and love with which Tywin had spoken of Jaime. She wondered if she would meet Tywin’s first-born son again. She hardly remembered him from his trip north to Winterfell. Both his siblings and his father seemed to love him very much. Beyond the hurt for his son, this was an affront to the Great Lion himself.

Sansa’s mind worked the problem over. The Bolton’s must be dealt with. First as traitors to House Stark, and now to House Lannister. Jaime Lannister was no mere lordling, but the son of the most powerful man in the Kingdom. An idea was forming in Sansa’s mind, an action that would require a swift response. Right now, she believed herself to be the more rational and clear-headed of the two.

“Tywin, can we go to your map room for a moment?” she asked him. He startled. Why on earth did Sansa want to visit the map room? Couldn’t she see he was in pain and reeling from this news? He tried to pull back from her, angry at her selfishness, but she gripped his hand tighter.

“Can’t you see that I wish to be left in my misery, if only for one night? Hasn’t the pain my family suffered at least granted me that consideration? I have no stomach to teach you anything more about war or strategy tonight,” he snapped at her, lashing out because she was there, and she was convenient, and he was overcome with emotion. It was not a comfortable feeling for Tywin. He tried to pull away from her, annoyed at her lack of respect for his pain and wanting to punish her. She held him fast, her grip surprisingly strong. She traced her hands up to his face and drew his eyes to her.

“Vengeance, my Lord,” she said coolly, “must be enacted swiftly and decisively if we are to repay the Bolton’s for their treachery.” That stopped him and he cocked his head at her. What was she thinking? Granting her wish, keeping her hand in his, he led them down the stairs to his map room, bringing along a torch as the room had been unoccupied for hours.

Once there, Sansa moved away from Tywin to stand beside the imposing map. She looked at Tywin then, and said, “Earlier you indicated you needed Robb to make his way back north.” Tywin nodded.

“We both know he will need to fight his way past the Twins and we both know there is no way Walder Frey will let him pass unimpeded.” She moved the wolf figure from Riverrun to the Twins. “That leaves him vulnerable to an attack from behind. From Haarenhal.” She had moved the flayed man to trap the wolf between the twin tower piece. She frowned at the map.

“Earlier today, I believed Robb’s best course would be to attempt to remove Lord Bolton from Haarenhal. But tonight, with this news of Jaime, if Robb were to bypass Haarenhal and proceed to the Twins, it would lull Lord Bolton into a false sense of security.”

Tywin could already see the formation of her plan, but he let her continue. He was supremely impressed and proud of her. He would let her have her moment.

“If Lord Bolton and Lord Frey could be convinced that a vulnerable and friendless Robb Stark was ‘retreating home’ and begging for passage through the Twins, it would leave his rearguard vulnerable to an attack from the south. I believe both armies would come to meet Robb at the Twins, pinching and trapping him between them.” She looked at him and saw the pride and fierce elation in her plan shining in his eyes. He nodded for her to continue.

“Drawing both armies out from nearly impenetrable keeps would be to our advantage,” she said and moved the lion piece from the Capitol to behind the flayed man. “Neither Lord would expect the Lannister army to come from the Capitol to support Robb. Neither army could retreat to their castles. We would have the Twins and Haarenhal,” she finished. “Vengeance, my Lord, for both our houses,” then she looked at him to see what he thought of her plan.

“And what of Haarenhal, Lady Sansa?” he asked giving nothing away yet.

She kept the lion there. “It only makes sense that it is held by Lannister forces. It provides a natural deterrent for any forces willing to try to retake the North, and a logistical staging point for Lannister forces to gather. It would send a strong message to all seven kingdoms as to the true power behind the crown.” She now had lions at Casterly Rock, the Red Keep and Haarenhal. This was a deadly game, and Sansa was playing to survive.

“If this plan of yours is successful, this could mean the annihilation of two houses, Lady Sansa,” he pointed out to her, asking if she was willing to pay such a price.

“Two houses that have betrayed us, my Lord,” came her response. “They would see my family and yours wiped from this map. This is how the game of thrones is played.”

Tywin walked around his map table, to draw her to him. He brushed her hair back from her face, as some had escaped her half braid, and ran his fingers down her perfect face. He looked down at her. She was so beautiful. He loved that her mind was sharp and always engaged. This was a daring and brilliant plan; one Tywin would have come up with himself once his emotions settled. But to know he would soon have a wife that was willing to be as ruthless as he was to defend their family, was beyond any expectations that he had of her. She would make an excellent Queen one day, or at the very least rise to become the true power behind the throne.

He leaned down and rested his forehead against hers, gathering his emotions in. She had given him back everything tonight after he felt he had lost so much. He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, and murmured down to her ear, “It is a brilliant plan, Sansa.” He paused, then added, “Thank you.” She smiled at him. He didn’t let her go, unwilling to be parted from her, and kept his arms around her as he frowned, and turned back to look at the map.

“We cannot just send a raven to your brother Sansa. We need to send someone to Riverrun to discuss our plans in person. And it cannot be either one of us.”

Tywin was right. Her brother required this information and needed to know about their plan, but it had to be someone they trusted implicitly and they had to move swiftly. They both knew her brother was making plans to move his troops north. He could be walking into a trap even as they spoke.

“Kevan,” she said and Tywin looked at her, thinking it over. He had wanted his brother back in the capital with him, as he was the only person that Tywin truly trusted. But things had changed dramatically on that front. Now he had Sansa. Tywin’s need for vengeance, along with the opportunity to work with Robb Stark to eliminate two houses and gain control of both the Twins and Haarenhal was too great an opportunity to pass up. They would send his brother, and his eldest son, Lancel to meet with the Young Wolf. If they managed to take back Haarenhal from the Bolton’s, it would require Tywin to have a Lannister at the keep and it would also remove his nephew from his daughter’s influence.

“We will discuss this plan with my brother in the morning. For now, we must get back to the dining hall.” Pulling Sansa away from the map, he kept his hand firmly in hers, as he drew her back to the stairs. “I promised you dinner tonight, my Lady. While it is sure to be cold, I am certain there will be something there to ease your hunger.”

She smiled at him then, brilliant and warm, and Tywin felt that odd clenching sensation whenever he let himself think about marrying this woman. She was a revelation, and everything Tywin never knew was missing from his life.

Genna was set to arrive tomorrow, and Sansa and he needed to decide on a date for the wedding. Tywin seriously hoped Genna could pull it off in a fortnight. He was tired of Sansa leaving his chambers every night, and he wanted her in his bed, both every evening and every morning when he woke. He had already decided he wasn’t even going to give her the option of her own bedchamber. No, his pretty wife would always be firmly within the grasp of the lion. Settling into the dining room, Tywin let himself relax for the first time that day, knowing a plan was in place to exact vengeance for Jaime and to secure a firmer grasp on the seven kingdoms for himself and his soon to be new family.


	6. Chapter 6

_Tywin’s Solar_

Kevan met with Tywin and Sansa the next morning in Tywin’s solar. When he arrived, Lady Sansa was sitting by the fireplace reading a book, and Tywin was attending to correspondence at his desk. It was a thoroughly domestic scene, and Kevan was almost loathed to interrupt it. He was once again struck with how well suited the two were for each other.

For her part, Sansa much preferred starting her day with Tywin instead of breaking her fast with the Tyrells. She suspected that in a different lifetime her and Margaery could have become friends, but now the woman just seemed shallow to Sansa. She was constantly surrounded by her cousins, and her simpering and placating to Joffrey was stomach-turning. There was simply no way Sansa would want the crown if it came with him.

Sansa had been alone for so long at Kings Landing, that she appreciated Tywin was a man of few words. He spoke when required, and not just to hear his own voice. Additionally, his book collection was vastly superior to anything she had in her chambers. He had told her one evening that any book she was interested in reading was hers. Sansa was excited for when these apartments would become hers as well, and she was loath to leave them most days to return to her small rooms.

As for her handmaiden, once the betrothal had been announced, Shae had become even more protective of Sansa. She always made sure Sansa’s guards were around, and she made sure to ask Sansa daily if Tywin had taken any liberties with her. Sansa had laughed at that. She hardly called a few chaste kisses taking liberties. Sansa also knew that Shae had discussed her betrothal with Tyrion.

Sansa had received a summons to meet with the Master of Coin that afternoon and she was nervous. She was unsure of how Tywin’s sons would treat her now that she was set to become their new mother. Sansa was hopeful that Tyrion would be the kindest to her- after all, he always had been before.

Kevan coughed slightly, to alert the two that he was there, and Tywin gestured for him to take a seat. Sansa rose and met the men at the large desk where Tywin worked. It was incredible to imagine the power and the destruction that had been wielded from behind that one piece of furniture.

Sansa and Tywin had agreed they would give Kevan the information together, stressing how important it was that he make Robb see reason. Tywin informed Kevan of the Bolton’s betrayal, Jaime’s lost hand, and the plan they had for Houses Frey and Bolton. Tywin stressed they. Sansa handed Kevan a letter with the lion’s seal on it, addressed to her brother. When he hesitated to take it, she reassured him that Tywin had already read it and approved it. Tywin nodded his confirmation.

They were so in tune with each other, it was almost scary, and they weren’t even married yet. Kevan couldn’t remember a time when two logical, rational and brilliant people had come together to form such an alliance. And both from such prestigious houses. They had wealth, power and armies at their disposal, and their marriage would make them an unstoppable force if they were able to successfully deal with any threats to their union. Kevan was glad he was on their side. He would hate to be in opposition to them.

Kevan worried about Lady Sansa’s safety. He knew they had conducted themselves mostly behind closed doors, but it would become increasingly obvious to the entire court where the true power in Kings Landing once they were married. Cersei and Joffrey would be sure to react poorly to this. Stannis Baratheon was still a viable threat to the throne. And increasingly, there were disturbing stories emerging from across the narrow sea about the Targaryen woman and her dragons.

Once Kevan had understood his instructions to the Young Wolf, as well as received the implied threat to get his son Lancel under control, the small group moved to break their fast in the dining hall. Kevan would depart at first light for Riverrun, Sansa having already sent a raven imploring her brother to stay there until he arrived.

Kevan enjoyed his meal and conversation with Lady Sansa. Beyond her rather obvious worth as a wife, she was simply a pleasure to be around. She was naturally curious and polite, and she seemed to be interested in getting to know Tywin’s family. Kevan found himself delighted to be in her company and enjoyed sharing tales and exploits of their youthful days with her, always happy to hear her laugh. He also noticed the looks she shot her future husband and the way the Tywin indulged Kevan’s walk back through their history as Sansa was eager to learn all she could about her golden lion. Tywin even was coaxed to share a few stories of his own. It was a rare occurrence for anyone to see Tywin so relaxed and at ease, and Kevan knew that when the Young Wolf asked him about the status of this marriage, he would be able to say unequivocally that the match was simply the best these two could have made for themselves.

The group had almost finished their meal when it was announced that Lady Genna Lannister had arrived. Sweeping into the room, Tywin’s only sister was a revelation to Sansa. Whereas Cersei took after her father, lean and tall and hard, Genna was a generously proportioned woman, beautiful but clearly past her prime. She was loud and nosy and took extreme delight in finding her two brothers with her new soon to be goodsister dining together. Tywin saw the look of confusion on Sansa’s face, and belatedly realized he had not told her of his sister's impending arrival. Knowing that Sansa was distrustful of his children, Tywin pulled her to the side to let her know Genna’s role.

“I apologize, my Lady. I forgot to tell you I had Genna summoned here to help you prepare for the wedding, as well as to help you with any questions or issues you may have as they pertain to becoming Lady Lannister and ruling Casterly Rock.” Sansa just looked at him, one elegant eyebrow arched. He huffed.

“I realize that she is ridiculous, loud and brash, and utterly unable to comport herself in a way that is truly becoming of a Lannister, but,” he said, pausing, “She is fiercely protective of myself and Kevan. She will guide you better than I ever could in preparing for the wedding.” Sansa nodded. He added softly, “She is nothing like Cersei, Sansa. She will not guide you wrong. You can trust her.”

Sansa raised her blue eyes to his green ones and saw they had softened. How did her know her so well? Sansa was overwhelmed with wedding preparations, and to have someone like Lady Genna to help her was a godsend. Wanting to reach out and touch him, but knowing it wouldn’t be proper, Sansa held her fist to her chest and said quietly, “Thank you Tywin.” He looked at her hands clenched in a fist, and knowing his siblings were deep in conversation, grabbed her fist and raised it to his lips, pressing them gently to her knuckles before returning them to their seats at the table.

“Sister, may I introduce you, formally, to Lady Sansa Stark. My betrothed,” Tywin said. Sansa nodded demurely and curtseyed to Genna.

“Well you certainly are a pretty one, Lady Sansa,” Genna remarked. “Must be more there than just a pretty face though, right Tywin? There have been many pretty faces that have thrown themselves at you and at the Lannister fortunes over the years. None have ever gotten a second look.”

Sansa bristled, and Tywin looked ready to murder his sister. “Oh bah,” she said, waving a hand. “Don’t get so twisted Ty, I am only stating the truth. The woman will have to get used to me sooner or later.”

“It could be arranged to be later,” Sansa muttered under her breath at the same moment that the room had gone quiet, and realizing that Genna heard her, she blushed red. Genna let out a barking laugh. “Oh, so the wolf's got teeth! I like her already Ty!”

Shaking her head, wondering how her composed and taciturn future husband could possibly be related to this loud and brash woman, Sansa felt herself relax. She wouldn’t forget that Lady Genna was a Lannister, but she had a feeling that she had just gained a friend in Kings Landing. Maybe her first outside of her handmaiden. And she couldn’t wait to introduce her to the Tyrells at tea! Surely Genna Lannister could hold her own against Olenna Tyrell.

Settling with a large plate of food, Genna looked around the table. “The most important question is when do you want to be wed?”

“As soon as possible,” Tywin said tightly. “Our marriage is the basis for the new peace between House Stark and House Lannister.” He paused then continued. “Plus, I do not trust the King. He will attempt to delay or perhaps even stop this wedding. Our marriage joins two of the most powerful houses...” Genna burst in, interrupting him, making him stiffen in his seat.

“I don’t need a history or a geography lesson Ty. I know exactly what this marriage does for House Lannister. Even if she were ugly as a toad, this is an excellent match for our house. The good news is, she isn’t ugly and your new children will be pretty little lions’ brother.” Genna winked at Sansa and Tywin huffed. Gods, how was he going to put up with his sister for the next few months? Sansa just laughed at his pinched expression, and Genna shot her a look of approval.

The men soon excused themselves, having a meeting of the small council to attend. Pulling Genna aside before he left, Tywin mentioned it was Sansa’s nameday in two days and asked Genna to prepare a small gathering in one of the gardens for her. She nodded. He also informed her that she would be required to attend a full Lannister family dinner the next evening. She rolled her eyes at that. He gave her a stern look, and said, “I will not suffer alone, and Kevan is leaving the capitol.” Genna cocked her head and looked at her brother.

Kevan had pulled her aside when she first showed up to press upon her urgently how much this marriage meant to the old Lion. He told Genna that he hadn’t seen Ty act this way since Joanna. He said the woman was impressive- intelligent, composed and completely smitten with their brother. So, when Genna looked, really looked at Ty, she realized that he was already half in love with the woman. Not that he would admit it. Ever. He probably didn’t even realize it. Men, she thought, rolling her eyes. Tywin truly cared for his intended.

In that moment, Genna Lannister fully committed herself to Sansa Stark. She would be her biggest advocate, her mother, her fashion advisor and her co-conspirator. Any woman who could get her brother to feel again was worth a chance in Genna Lannister’s books. It had been thirty-five years since Genna had seen her brother care for anyone the way he had his late wife. She would do everything in her power to help him with this second chance. And they only had a few weeks to plan the wedding of the decade, her vile nephews’ nuptials be damned. It would be Sansa and Tywin’s wedding that would be talked about for years if Genna Lannister had anything to say about it.

What followed was an exhausting, emotional and truly humbling experience for Sansa. She had never in her life met a force such as Genna Lannister. The woman could single headedly move mountains if she so desired Sansa was convinced. She literally took over the apartments of the Hand and commanded an army of servants to discuss every aspect of the wedding with Sansa. She summoned Sansa’s handmaiden Shae to come to the Tower, and then gave Sansa a questioning look, as if to say, the future Lady Lannister had one handmaiden? Sansa just shrugged.

Soon enough though, the two women were whispering conspiratorially and Sansa worried what they were discussing. She thought at one point she may have heard something about small clothes and wedding night, and something about a dwarf and a whore, but when she turned her head, both had stopped talking, giving her innocent looks. Sansa shook her head at their antics.

It was agreed they would begin to work on the wedding dress the next day, and Genna demanded that the best dressmaker in Kings Landing be at the Hands’ apartments in the morning to begin the fittings. She also demanded that Sansa begin to think about colour and “the statement she wanted to make.”

To that Sansa simply replied, “I just want Tywin to be pleased.” Genna arched an eyebrow.

Sansa blushed. “And for him to think I am beautiful on that day.” Genna felt her heart melt for the woman. How her dour brother had managed to snag such a genuinely thoughtful woman was beyond her. But she was clearly in love with him.

“Sansa, dear,” Genna said softly, reaching out and cupping her cheek gently, “My brother would think you were beautiful if you showed up in an old rag. That man would burn the kingdom to the ground for you if you asked it of him.” Sansa blushed again. “But yes, I agree, we want to stun him speechless on your wedding day.”

Sansa giggled a bit then, and Genna was reminded of just how truly difficult her time her in Kings Landing had been and what joy Sansa was now finding in marrying the Golden Lion. Genna had never had her own daughter, and the days spent getting to know Sansa assured her loyalty and love would remain with the Northern woman.

When Sansa realized that she was late for a meeting with Tyrion, she happily begged off any more wedding talk, exhausted over how much they had already accomplished. It was bittersweet planning her wedding without her mother, although she was happy to have Shae and Genna helping her. Leaving the room, she heard Genna call out, “Tell my favourite nephew I expect him to pay me a special trip now that I am in town.” Sansa was happy that both Kevan and Genna loved Tyrion so much. She knew it didn’t make up for his father’s hatred towards the dwarf, but Sansa didn’t know what would. As Sansa made her way out of the tower of the hand, her two red cloak guards followed her and she arrived safely at Tyrion’s rooms. Knocking softly, she entered the Master of Coins chambers and seeing him at his desk, moved to sit down in the unoccupied chair.

Tyrion watched his fathers betrothed enter his rooms and cross to sit before him. He had to give his father credit, he really had picked the most stunning creature in the entire kingdom to marry. Now that Sansa was free from Joffrey’s cruelties, she had flourished. Her cheeks were flushed and she wore a stunning gown of green velvet today that accentuated her tiny frame. She had taken to wearing her hair in a more northern style, half up but leaving a glorious amount free to flow down her back in a waterfall of fire. Even though she had not been present at Court for days, Tyrion had noted more than one young lady was copying her style. That was sure to drive his dear sister crazy.

How on earth could his father ever have hoped to wed him to her? Gods the man was a fool, Tyrion thought. This woman was meant to be a Queen, not made to suffer by marrying a creature such as himself. Regardless, he hoped their earlier interactions would allow them to be on friendly terms. Shae had told him that Sansa was actually quite a smart woman and that most of what she presented at court was a mask to hide from Cersei and Joffrey. It must be, thought Tyrion, for he couldn’t see his father putting up with a simpleton no matter how good her breeding.

As she sat, Tyrion gestured to the wine in front of her. She shook her head and said simply, “No offence, my Lord, but I have no stomach for the drink.”

“Ahh,” he said, indulging in a long sip, “We have found our first true difference, dear mother, for I find I have nothing but a stomach for it.” And then he winked at her, and Sansa felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

She had been nervous about this meeting, wanting Tyrion to like her, and hoping he didn’t hold it against her that she rejected marriage to him and instead sought one with his father. Although she was unsure how much he actually knew, or if Tywin had said anything to him at all about their arrangement. Deciding not to bring that up, she chooses a different tactic with him.

“I wanted to thank you, My Lord, for what you did for me back when Joffrey’s guards were beating me.”

Tyrion waved his hand away. “Call me Tyrion, mother, and no thanks needed. It was an asinine move by the King.”

Sansa cocked her head and looked at Tyrion. She knew that Tywin couldn’t see past the circumstances of his second son’s conception, nor past the consequences of his birth. But neither was Tyrion’s fault. Every interaction she had with him, she came away respecting his intellect. She knew he had a network of spies within the castle, just like she knew he truly loved her handmaiden. She also knew that he was desperate for his father’s respect. Sansa sighed. She didn’t know if she could ever get Tywin to view Tyrion differently, but she decided that she would take a risk on becoming his friend. She already felt close with Kevan and Genna, and surely being friends with Tyrion would help her navigate her way through the Lannister family.

“Shall we speak truthfully with each other Tyrion?” she asked him. He merely raised an eyebrow and gestured for her to continue.

“I know about you and my handmaiden.” He looked shocked. “I’ve known since the beginning Tyrion. Be careful Tywin doesn’t find out. She is very special to me. I am not sure I could protect her and it would be a grave loss to me for her to be removed from the Red Keep simply because of the company she keeps.”

Tyrion paled. He was sure that Shae was loyal to him, and that Lady Sansa was much too naïve to understand about whores and their sponsors. After all, he’s the one who had gotten Shae the position when she had complained of boredom.

“It’s not a threat, Tyrion,” Sansa said softly. “She loves you very much.” Tyrion goggled at her. Who was this woman to speak this way? Didn’t she know that nasty little creature like him were not worthy of love? He’d been told that his whole life by his family. Except for Jaime. His brother didn’t treat him any differently.

“I didn’t know you knew Sansa. I apologize for installing her in your household.” He actually looked embarrassed.

Delighted, Sansa laughed. “Tyrion, Shae has been a blessing to me since the day she came into my service. I am not upset. I am merely worried about you both. I will try my best to convince your father that you should be allowed your relationship, but you know how he is about these things...” she trailed off. Indeed, he did know how his father was about things when it came to his dwarf son.

_Well, this conversation had certainty detoured off schedule_ Tyrion thought. He had hoped to learn more about his new mother and instead found himself caught unawares again. He had underestimated Lady Sansa at every turn, but looking at her now, he could only see kindness in her eyes.

“Two things, before I must leave. First, your Aunt Genna has arrived.” Sansa suppressed a small shudder. “She is a... force. And it seems she adores you. You are to come to the Hands apartments tomorrow to meet with her.” Tyrion nodded. He and Genna had always gotten along well. Sansa’s voice turned dark, “Be prepared for an endless amount of wedding-related drivel.” Tyrion laughed and regarded the woman. Her humour was dry and cutting, and he found himself liking her more and more.

“Secondly, and I inform you of this event with my apologies already, but you are invited to a full Lannister family dinner tomorrow night.” Her face looked as if she had sucked on a lemon.

“Ahh mother, I feel the same way,” Tyrion said as he thought of his sister and her son. “But you will have some lions in your corner, my lady,” he added softly. She smiled at him, and he was once again stunned by her beauty.

“Thank you, Tyrion.” He hopped down off his chair and proceed to move around his desk to escort her to the door. Before leaving she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his scarred cheek and said, “I hope we can become good friends, Tyrion. It seems I am lacking them in Kings Landing.”

He blushed slightly and mumbled out a reply that he was sure they were well on their way.

Closing the door on Lady Sansa, noting her guards were with her, he felt for his father. He might be the only man in the Kingdom that would be able to keep up with a woman like that and even then, if Tyrion had to lay money on which one of them would wield the true power in that marriage, well let’s just say he wouldn’t bet againstLady Sansa.

* * *

_Lannister Family dinner_

Sansa was exhausted from another long day of wedding planning before she even made her way to Tywin’s dining hall for dinner that night with his family. Her family? Her soon to be family? Gods her brain was tired. Genna was a force of nature to be sure, and Sansa had fallen just a little bit in love with her. Tywin had vacated his apartments as soon as Tyrion showed up, making Sansa sigh in disappointment at him.

Then she was swept up into wedding dress planning while Genna and Tyrion proceeded to drink, eat and jape their way through the day. To be honest, it warmed Sansa’s heart. When she had approached Tywin those many weeks ago, all she could see was her safety from Joffrey and Cersei. And maybe Tyrion if he was angry at her for stealing his inheritance. She hadn’t counted on gaining Kevan or Genna or Tyrion or Jerrod. She hadn’t expected to gain a family, but she had. They were nothing like the Starks, but once you got to know the Lannister’s well, they were a charismatic and charming lot, who continued to steal parts of Sansa’s heart.

If only the meal tonight was the four of them, Sansa would use it for an opportunity to try to mend the relationship between Tywin and his son. But with Joffrey and Cersei present, it would be critical to behave with as much decorum as possible. She needed to give them nothing that they may try to use against her.

Sansa was wearing yet another new gown, this one a soft rose colour that should have clashed horribly with her colouring and hair, but only served to soften her features and make her look fresh and womanly. She chose the gown precisely because it would emphasize her youth and beauty. She would never openly mock the Queen, but she wanted Cersei to know she wasn't afraid of her anymore now that she had power and friends.

When she entered the dining room, all eyes were immediately drawn to her. She was the last to arrive, save for the King himself. She felt her stomach drop, for she was sure she had been on time. Walking into the room, she felt the chill from Cersei, although both Genna and Tyrion sent her warm looks.

Tywin moved to bring her to his side. He was determined to show his daughter and his grandson this marriage would take place, despite their objections. Normally a man who abhorred any fawning in public, he was determined to set Sansa at ease in their presence. Plus, Tywin simply enjoyed touching her. He lightly ran his hands down her arms, as he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, feeling her body relax against his.

All of it was for naught when Joffrey showed up, trailing his two Kingsguard behind him. Tywin felt Sansa stiffen, and he knew these two guards were the ones responsible for her last beating. He was incensed that Joffrey would bring them into his apartments, but he knew to make any issue of it now would only prolong the misery of the evening.

The family moved to seat itself for dinner, and Cersei automictically moved to her normal spot beside her father, who was seated at the head of the table, while Joffrey took the other end. Tywin gave his daughter a scathing look and she sent daggers Sansa’s way as she moved to find a different seat, leaving the place beside her father for Sansa.

“Well, this is unpleasant,” said Tyrion, reaching for the wine. “A good introduction to the Lannister family dysfunction Mother,” and he winked and toasted to Sansa. Tywin growled at his son’s japing.

The meal proceeded with awkward silences and stilted conversation. Before long, the entire room was deep into their cups, with only Sansa and Tywin abstaining from the wine. Genna chose that moment to comment on the wedding plans, and Joffrey struck. The King sat at his end of the table, smug and insolent.

“Perhaps we should have a Maester examine your intended grandfather, just to make sure she truly is a maiden.” Tywin glowered at his grandson. “After all, she is a traitor’s daughter and was left alone unsupervised in Kings Landing for years. Who knows where she has been.” It was such a typical Joffrey taunt that Sansa barely reacted. Tywin had promised that there was nothing the King could say that would break their betrothal and she just had to endure this dinner. Neither Sansa nor Tywin visibly reacted, other than for Tywin to shoot the boy a glare.

Joffrey, drunk by now, and unable to heed the warning in his grandfather’s eyes, wasn’t finished. “I’m sure you’d like to get a glimpse at what you’re buying, grandfather. After all, what type of woman gets you Casterly Rock?” Tywin seethed, and Genna and Tyrion looked worried. Even Cersei shot a look at her son, as if she could will him to shut his mouth. It did not work.

Joffrey hummed as if he were contemplating some great problem. Then he said, “Perhaps I should reinstate first rights on the night of your wedding. I’ll put a Lannister cub in your wolf bitch. After all, she belonged to me first before I discarded her.” Sansa tensed. She would slit her own throat before she ever let Joffrey touch her again.

Tywin was done. “Another word from your mouth, Your Grace, and I will not be held responsible for my actions.” He had warned him. He shot a look to Cersei as if to say, _this is what your loins produced?_

Joffrey was either completely unaware of the rage simmering in Tywin or too drunk to notice a line he was about to cross, “I even have some men who could hold her down for me grandfather,” and he gestured to his Kingsguard. “Not to worry, they’ve already seen more of your soon to be wife’s flesh then you when they stripped her in front of the entire court like the whore she is.” Joffrey’s eyes glittered with madness and cruelty. Sansa felt physically revolted.

Before anyone could process what was happening, Tywin moved towards the king. He was lethal and powerful and moved with purpose. Red cloaks moved in front of the two Kingsguard Joffrey had brought with him preventing them from getting to their King. Tywin grabbed Joffrey and slammed his face down on the table, before producing a knife and holding it very closely to the King’s eyes which had gone wide with fear.

Leaning down to whisper into his ear so no one else could hear him, Tywin seethed, “If you ever speak about my wife in such vulgar terms again, I will personally cut your useless cock from your body and feed it to you until you choke on it.” Joffrey’s eyes widened, and he started to speak before Tywin applied more pressure to the King’s neck.

“Listen carefully, your grace. You are only in power because I allow it. You only sit on the throne because my gold supports you. You only win wars because of my army. I own everything about you and your throne. And at any time, I can have you removed.” Joffrey looked at his grandfather in hatred. “Do I make myself clear?” he asked softly. Joffrey could barely move his head in consent, Tywin’s grip was so tight.

Letting him rise, Joffrey sprung to his feet. He spun around the room and looked at his family with panic and hatred. “Mother,” he screeched. “We are leaving. Now.” And then moved quickly out the doors.

Cersei rose and looked at Tywin. “You disgrace the Lannisters Father, by allowing your eagerness to fuck this Northern whore blind you to your true allegiances to your family.” Then she swept from the room.

Silence reigned. Tywin retook his seat and proceeded to eat as if the entire outburst had never happened.

“Well, that was uncomfortable,” Tyrion stated. “He makes my transgressions look positively saintly.”

Tywin glowered at him. Genna sat stone still. It had been years since she had seen her niece and grandnephew. She had heard the rumours about Joffrey’s behaviour and Cersei’s inability to control him, but witnessing it was another thing entirely. Their hatred for Sansa was real, and madness and cruelty shone from their eyes. Genna hoped that Tywin took the threat to Sansa seriously. She was a lovely woman, and Genna couldn’t imagine how she had survived before she had come under Ty’s protection. She felt a chill run over her spine. There wasn’t enough space in Westeros for Cersei and Joffrey to exist alongside Sansa and Tywin. Even escape to Casterly Rock wasn’t an option. There were too many ways inside the castle, and it would only take a single assassin to get to Tywin’s new wife. Genna loved Tywin’s children, but her first loyalty would always belong to her brother. And now to Sansa.

The meal broke up shortly afterwards, and Genna and Tyrion left. Sansa needed a private moment with Tywin to wash away the feeling of disgust and horror that always came from interacting with Joffrey. Tywin grabbed her hand and silently led her out of the rooms, choosing a door that led to the outside. When they stepped outside they were immediately surrounded by a lush garden that was protected by the high walls of the tower of the hand. It was serene and smelled heavenly, nothing like the stench that permeated Kings Landing most days. In the center of the garden was a bench and a small pond and Tywin and Sansa made their way over to it. The night was chilly, but Sansa felt refreshed just breathing in the flower-scented air. Arranging himself on the bench, Tywin pulled Sansa down to him, settling her on his lap as they had sat once before.

Decorum be damned, he thought. He needed to feel her and make sure she was ok. She settled on his lap, content to be held by him. He inhaled her hair and felt his rage recede. He knew this wasn’t over, with either Joffrey or Cersei. 

He briefly wondered whom he could marry Cersei to, so she would be forced to leave Kings Landing. More dangerously, he seriously began to contemplate how to remove Joffrey from the throne. He could not be allowed to rule, not with the cruelty Joff had shown a panache for. He would wait until they were wed before discussing his plans to remove Joffrey from power with Sansa. He was sure she would have some idea on the matter, and after what the King had put her through, she deserved a chance to plan his demise.

Turning his attention back to Sansa, Tywin had expected her to be more upset at what had happened at dinner. He was surprised she was so composed. When he asked her about it, she simply replied that she had endured that behaviour from Joffrey for years. Turning her head to meet his eyes, she said, “At least tonight I had you to stand up for me.”

His heart twisted thinking of what Sansa had put up with before he came into her life. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, and she responded eagerly. He felt himself stiffen, and it took all his legendary control to not push things further with her.

“Please tell me the wedding is on schedule, my Lady,” he asked her ruefully.

She giggled and said, “Of course my lord. Didn’t Genna tell you?” He shook his head. “Two weeks Tywin.”

“Thank gods,” he whispered back to her and settled her back on his lap. He decided then and there he would present the lion torque necklace to her on her nameday celebration. It was time that everyone saw a physical reminder of whom she belonged too when they looked upon her. His grandson included.

Right before Tywin was set to take her back to her rooms, Sansa’s voice drifted up to him. “Promise me we will do this when we are married Tywin.”

“Hmmm?” he asked distracted by her hair that he had been sniffing. “Do what my Lady?”

“Be together. Like this. Just the two of us. No matter how busy and important our lives become, promise me you will always make time for us. Like this.”

Gods she was so pure and innocent. Any other woman would have been demanding jewels and favours from him. But not Sansa. She just wanted him. It was intoxicating and he felt his ego swell. It was the easiest promise to make to her when it was fast becoming something he craved as well.

“I promise Sansa,” and he felt her nod into his chest.

* * *

_Sansa’s name day celebration_

Two days after the second disastrous dinner party Sansa had recently attended, she found herself being led to one of the smaller gardens in the Red Keep. Genna and Tyrion were with her, and though she had told no one it was her nameday, she had a funny feeling that the Lannisters knew. That feeling was confirmed when Genna whisked her into a lovely afternoon garden tea party, filled with the lords and ladies from Court, tables teaming with food and brightly wrapped gifts.

Sansa was so unused to being at the center of attention unless she was receiving some type of punishment that she clung to Genna. She was so grateful for the older woman’s presence that she didn’t leave her side the entire afternoon.

While Cersei had to be there, it appeared that Joffrey would not attend, feeling that this event was much too below his status to require his presence and she gradually began to relax.

Sansa spent an inordinate amount of time surrounded by Margaery and her cousins. Normally their chatter would annoy her but on a day like today, bright and sunny and fun, Sansa allowed herself to feel happy and enjoyed the company of other ladies. She even had the chance to speak with Lord Willas and while she still found him rather boring, he was genuine in his delight at seeing her again. And Tyrion had managed to keep her laughing all afternoon, with one smart witticism after another.

It had been so long since anyone had even remembered her nameday, that at one point in the afternoon she turned to her soon to be goodsister and grasped her hand. “Thank you so much for the lovely party, Genna,” she gushed.

“Nonsense, my dear, everyone deserves a special moment on their nameday,” Genna said, brushing a hand over Sansa’s cheek. She had never had a daughter, and Cersei wasn’t exactly one to inspire feelings of maternal love. Genna had delighted in getting to know Sansa these past few days. She was a treasure, and so starved for love and affection. “Besides, it wasn’t my idea at all!”

Sansa laughed. She should have known Tywin was behind this. For a man that claimed to be so hard and unyielding, he was surprisingly attentive to her needs.

As if thinking of him could conjure him out of thin air, he had suddenly appeared in the gardens. He was carrying a large square box, but all Sansa could focus on was him. He always looked so handsome, but today he looked especially striking, dressed a new black leather doublet in matching boots. He certainty cut an impressive figure and Sansa felt the heat build in her as she watched him walk towards her.

By now the entire Kingdom knew about their betrothal, but this was the first time they had appeared together in public. Most of the ladies of the court were in attendance and a fair number of lords. He knew whatever happened here today would be the talk of court for days to come. This was about more than her nameday; Tywin was making a statement. He approached her where she was sitting at the head table and brushed a kiss against her temple when he reached her, lingering for a moment longer than was proper, and then sat down beside her.

“Lady Sansa,” he said, loud enough that many at the party heard his voice carry. “Happy nameday.” She felt the blush rise through her cheeks. “I am sorry I am late. The small council meeting ran late.”

“No need for apologies, My Lord, you are here now,” she said demurely, although she truly had no idea he had even planned to attend the party. Anyone looking at her could see how besotted she was with him. Good. Let them see that the Old Lion still had it in him, he thought. She was his, and after today there would be no doubt at court as to whom she belonged too.

Margaery jumped up and clapped her hands. “Dear friend it is time for your presents.”

“Oh no,” Sansa protested, “I couldn’t possibly accept anything. This party is more than enough.” The amazing part was, she was being truthful. She really did not expect a single gift.

Margaery laughed. "Sansa I expect a grand party for when I turn twenty-three."

Cersei rolled her eyes and took another large gulp of wine. Honestly how on earth could her father possibly put up with the simpering fool? It was just too much. Cersei didn’t think she had even been that innocent and naïve. She was set to marry the richest man in the Kingdom. She should be demanding jewels and lands and castles.

“Come now Lady Sansa,” Cersei drawled, “You’re only what, nineteen once? Surely a few bobbles will make you happy.”

“Twenty-one,” Genna replied, “although since you’ve had twice as many nameday celebrations as Lady Sansa I’d imagine it’s hard to remember them all.” Cersei turned red with anger. Tyrion howled in laughter, and Tywin shot them both looks of warning.  
  


"The same age as your loathsome son, although you'd hardly know it," Genna continued, either oblivious to Cersei's anger, or simply not caring. 

Margaery eagerly proceeded over the gift-giving, the members of the court had spared no expense to win favour with the Hand’s soon to be wife. Sansa could hardly keep up with the extravagant and elegant things she received until at last, all that was left was one.

She looked at Tywin and he gestured to the box. A hush had fallen over the gathered crowd, and Sansa reached to open the box from the Royal Jeweler. When Sansa flipped open the box, she gasped at the necklace inside. Picking up the braided golden torque, she felt the heaviness of it. It was a stunning piece of craftsmanship, and the cost would have been astronomical. Inlaid on the lion’s eyes were emeralds, while the lioness’ had sapphires in place. The crowd delighted at such a piece, and Sansa shot a look to Tywin, happiness and tears shimmering in her eyes. She immediately got the symbolism of the necklace, and even though they weren’t wed yet, he had clearly marked her as a lion.

He reached down, taking the necklace from her hands, and said, “Allow me.” She tilted her neck towards him, sweeping her long hair to the side, and he brushed his fingers over the narrow column of her neck, her pale flesh enticing. He fit the necklace around her, allowing the two lions to settle in the grooves at the base of her elegant neck. The piece was heavy but comfortable, and its ringed Sansa’s neck with clear intent.

“Beautiful,” he said softly, and she knew he was referring to seeing her wear his symbol on her body for the first time. Heat flared between them. The two of them were so caught up looking at each other, with Tywin’s hand still resting on her neck, that it wasn’t until Margaery exclaimed in delight that she had never seen a more perfect gift that they realized they were not alone. Withdrawing his hand, and moving to stand, he excused himself from the party, knowing Genna would ensure Sansa’s safety and return her to his solar that night for dinner.

Watching Tywin leave, Sansa had to physically force herself back to the present and to focus on the ladies now gathered around, everyone wanting to look at the necklace. When Sansa finally raised her eyes, she caught Cersei’s and the hatred that radiated from them chilled Sansa to the bone.

* * *

_Riverrun_

Lord Kevan Lannister and Ser Lancel Lannister arrived at Riverrun six days after they had left Kings Landing. They were welcomed into the castle, Robb having received the raven from his sister almost a week earlier. Both he and his men were suspicious but curious as to the reason behind such a hasty visit, but Robb trusted Sansa.

Even though Kevan had ridden hard to make it to Riverrun and was exhausted upon his arrival, he wasted no time in asking Lord Stark to gather his most trusted advisors for what he needed to tell them. Barely taking any time to clean himself up, Kevan met with Robb’s council mere hours after arriving at Riverrun. He instructed Lancel to stay behind in their rooms, disappointed in his son and his relationship with Cersei. It would take time for Kevan to trust his eldest son again.

Walking into the war council of Robb Stark, Kevan was nervous. It was critical that he make the Young Wolf believe what he was about to say to him. Gathered in the room were Edmure Tully and the Blackfish, along with Lord Glover, Lord Umber, Lord Hornwood and Lord Cerwyn. All bannermen and loyal Stark supports. Robb Stark himself looked every inch the Northern King he had been proclaimed to be, and at twenty-two was comfortable in the presence of his bannermen.

Swallowing thickly, Kevan looked at the seven men in the room. They had been at war just days ago, and now they were supposed to be allies. Kevan knew there were men in this room that still wanted vengeance for Ned Stark’s death and he couldn’t rightly blame them. If anyone had removed Tywin’s head from his neck, Kevan would tear the kingdom apart for revenge. But these men had also agreed to peace. Kevan cleared his throat.

“To begin, Lord Stark, I thank you for the safe return of my sons. House Lannister owes you a debt for that.” Robb nodded tightly.

Kevan produced the two letters from Sansa and Tywin and gave them to Robb. Opening them, he read them quickly, before looking up at Kevan.

“Explain,” he said tightly.

“Before the marriage alliance, plans were put in place to expedite the end of the war. Those plans involved the betrayal of House Stark by one of your bannermen.”

“Impossible,” Lord Karstark cried out.

“Included in that letter is a story from Lady Sansa. A story that only she and Lord Stark know. Is this correct My Lord?” Kevan asked.

“It is,” Robb replied.

“Tywin Lannister knew you wouldn’t just believe him.” Kevan sighed. “War is war, young Stark and any of us would do whatever it took to end it with the least amount of bloodshed possible. Now I can assure you that Tywin Lannister wants to see House Stark back at Winterfell and ensconced as the Wardens of the North. That is why he felt it was imperative to share this information with you, even as much as it may anger you.”

“Lies,” another lord shouted.  
Sighing, Kevan realized this wasn’t going the way he had planned. He had to get them to listen.

“As House Stark moves north you must pass through the Twins. Does anyone in this room honestly believe that Walder Frey will let you pass by unmolested?” The room was silent. “As your army is engaged with the Frey’s at the Twins, the traitors to House Stark will attack your armies from the rear. From Haarenhal.” Kevan let that statement settle over the room. Of all the houses that were bannermen to the North, House Bolton was always the one that sat uneasily with most. There were always disturbing rumours coming from the Dreadfort, and it was suspicious how easily Lord Bolton had settled himself in Haarenhal, while all the others choose to remain with Lord Stark at Riverrun.

Robb spoke quietly. “We need to get past the Twins to get home, Lord Lannister. And we do not have the forces to attack Haarenhal. It is a castle designed to repel a million men. We could never do it with the numbers we have.”

Keven scratched at his beard. “Lady Sansa has developed a plan.” The men scoffed. He drilled them with a look. “You’d be well advised to listen to your northern princess. She has a brilliant mind for war strategy. Reminds me of another young Stark,” Kevan said, paying homage to Robb’s cunning during the war.

“As the Stark forces approach the Twins, you will beg for passage. When the Freys attack you will engage them, drawing out Lord Bolton’s forces from the south. Lord Bolton will think he has you pinned between his forces and the Freys. But the Lannister army will attack from the south.”

“And I suppose the Lannisters want Haarenhal back?” Robb asked quietly.

“Yes, the Lannisters will hold Haarenhal, and the North will hold the Twins,” Kevan confirmed

“And you want me to believe that my sister, Lady Sansa, willingly came up with a plan to annihilate two houses?” Robb asked incredulously.

“She doesn’t seem to take too kindly to traitors, my Lord. And well, she is a wolf.” Kevan grinned, thinking of his soon to be goodsister when she had informed him of the plan. At that moment, Robb Stark realized that Kevan Lannister not only likes his sister but has a great deal of respect for her.

“Even if we believe you, how can we know for certain that her note was not written under duress,” Robb finally asked.

It was at that moment that Kevan reached down and unhooked his sword belt. Holding the sword in its scabbard, he gestured to Robb Stark and asked if he may approach. Walking closer to the Lords, he handed Robb Stark the sword and said, “We are returning this in good faith to your family, Lord Stark, and to seal our alliance. Think of it as an early wedding gift, from Tywin for his betrothed.”

Robb could scarcely believe what had happened. He was almost afraid to reach out and touch the sword. It could not be possible. Finally, he gathered himself, and he stood and unsheathed his family Valyrian steel sword Ice. He thought he would never see it again, sure it must have been melted down and forged into something new. It is a treasure beyond measure that had belonged to the Starks of Winterfell for generations. All the lords in the room know the value and symbolism of this sword, and in that moment, they knew the Great Lion was serious in his commitment to this alliance.

Robb could barely contain himself. He felt the connection to his father and his grandfather, and his great-grandfather and all the Starks that had come before him when he held his family’s sword again. Eight thousand years of Stark blood had run through their Northern House, and now to have his family’s sword returned, Robb knew instinctively that he would sit in the halls of Winterfell again. He looked to his bannermen, the men loyal to him and to his father, and he knew with this one gesture they will make it home again.

“My lords,” he said, his voice choked with emotion, “We will see the North again. This I promise you. And we will make the traitors to our house pay in blood.” A cheer rose from the room, and Kevan couldn’t help but think Tywin’s gamble had paid off. Without the sword, the North would never have trusted them.

Later Robb asked Kevan to meet with him privately in his room. The only other person there is Edmure Tully.

Robb was holding the note from Sansa. “Lord Lannister you have executed your duties to your brother faithfully today, as well as restored my family’s sword to the North. I ask one last thing of you before you retire for the evening. How is my sister? Truthfully my Lord. If am to fully commit to retaking Winterfell, I cannot turn my back on the south knowing my sister is being kept against her will or under duress- no matter what her ravens say.”

“I speak the truth to you, Lord Stark when I say that the match between your sister and my brother is a good one for both of them.” Keven paused, then decided, “It is more than a political alliance, my lord. For them both I believe.” He looked directly at Robb then. “I am not quite sure how it came about; Tywin and Sansa have both been quiet on that front. But they are a force together my Lord, and there is deep affection between the two of them already. Perhaps even more.”

Robb could see the truth in the man’s eyes, as well as his joy and pleasure when he talked about his sister. “She is a fine lady, Young Wolf, and she will be treated well as the Lady Lannister.”

Robb nodded to Kevan. It was still difficult to hear that Sansa has been lost to them, but he was happy to have a first-hand account that the marriage will not be miserable for her.

Robb then smiled fiercely. “Since you are to be my goodbrother soon, Lord Lannister, may I invite you to our war meeting in the morning where we shall make plans to deal with the threats to our Houses?”

What was it about these Starks, Kevan thought, that they inspire such loyalty? Surely the Lions and the Wolves can rule this Kingdom and bring peace back to these ravaged lands. Kevan nodded his head at Robb, and said, “It would be my pleasure, brother.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence in the chapter and character death

_The Throne Room_

It was two days after her nameday celebration when Sansa finally decided that she would attend court. Tywin had told her that morning at breakfast that Joffrey was away from the keep, hunting in the Kingswood. Tyrion had been her loyal friend since their first meeting and had shown up at the Hand’s apartments most mornings after she had broken her fast with Tywin and Genna. Sansa sighed, hoping that one day Tyrion would feel free to join them. That day had not yet come.

Today Tywin was acting King with Joffrey not around, and Tyrion said he needed to discuss the first repayment of the crown to House Lannister with him. Sansa needed a break from all the wedding planning so they made their way to the throne room.

Sansa didn’t know what to expect when they approached the Throne room, but seeing her soon to be husband sitting on the Iron Throne, ruling like the King he was in all but name, Sansa felt a pull of desire so great shoot through her body she almost felt weak-kneed. She was startled at how different he looked sitting on that horrid chair than Joffrey. He didn’t fidget or move about or look too small in it. Instead, he sat still and straight and dealt with petitioner after petitioner, fairly and justly from what Sansa could see. He truly was the King of Westeros in all but name.

Sansa was so enthralled with watching Tywin, that she didn’t notice the attention directed her way. She was wearing the lion necklace and her hair was loose and flowing. She looked fresh and lovely, and the fickle lords and ladies of the court were captivated with her beauty. These were the same lords and ladies that had stood idly by when Joffrey was beating her, so Sansa was less captivated with them. Even now they wanted to win her favour, to be in her friendship, to gain her eye. They knew she was set to marry the wealthiest and most powerful man in the Kingdom, and it was no secret who the true power behind the throne was. Sansa had very little time for any of them. Instead, she had eyes for her husband only. Tywin had known exactly when they had entered the hall, and even though Sansa couldn’t see it, his eyes tracked her every movement.

When a break was given, Tywin made his way down to Sansa and Tyrion. He approached them and wondered at their growing friendship. It bothered him, he admitted, but he could hardly tell Sansa to not be friendly with the dwarf. She knew all their secrets, and so far, had treated him no differently than she would any natural-born son of his. And she seemed to be somewhat of a champion for him, always remarking at how amusing and witty he was. Tywin had also noticed that Tyrion was drinking less, and his rage and bitterness seemed less pronounced. No doubt because he was busy fucking Sansa’s handmaiden. That was a conversation him and Sansa had yet to have. It was unseemly that a whore was an attendant to the Lady Lannister. Tywin was prepared for a battle on that front, as it seemed Genna was also enamoured with the woman. It was only because the whore was so important to Sansa that Tywin hadn’t had her removed yet. Or worse.

“Lady Sansa, Lord Tyrion,” he said quietly, raising his eyebrows and silently asking what they were doing here.

“No worries, Father,” Tyrion said blithely, “I am only here to inform you that the first repayment for the loan will be made by weeks end. And Lady Sansa needed a break from the wedding preparations.” Tywin nodded, happy that at least Tyrion had the repayment schedule under control.

Sansa just looked at him and said quietly, “I just wanted to see, My Lord.”

He moved fractionally closer to her, leaning in so only he could hear his words. “See what, Lady Sansa?”

She rose up then, on her tiptoes, and whispered to him, “The true King on the throne, My Lord.” His eyes widened at that, and he startled a bit. The woman had to know that such words were treasonous, and should never be spoken out loud at Court. But she was still learning how to play the game and was prone to make a foolish mistake from time to time. He would have to discuss it with her later that evening. Still, Tywin felt that familiar surge of lust when he caught the excitement in her eyes. Power was intoxicating and his little wolf was getting a taste for it.

“Excuse us, My Lord, as we take our leave. Wedding preparations await.” Then she curtseyed perfectly before she turned and made her way back to his apartments.

That afternoon, all the gossip in the Red Keep was about the whispered words that no one heard between the Hand of the King and the Princess of the North. When word filtered back to Cersei about that little display, she smashed her glass against her stone wall, enraged at the game the traitorous Stark bitch was playing, and vowing her revenge.

* * *

Tywin had just made his way back to his rooms when he received a summons from the King to appear in the Throne room. It seemed Joffrey had returned from his hunt early and required an update from the small council. Sighing internally, Tywin made his way back down to the Great Hall. He had been looking forward to a quiet evening in his apartments with his family, not spending time placating the king who refused to do his duty and act like the ruler he was. Still, to anger him over this would be pointless.

Tywin entered the throne room to see his bastard grandson slumped on the Iron Throne.

Gods, Tywin thought, did he have no idea just how many people had died so that he could sit there? Or was he just too ignorant to care? His insolence and obliviousness were truly staggering. He too had a recent name day, but he acted years younger than his twenty-one. 

It seemed that Joffrey was upset about the manner in which he was being advised. Tywin didn’t know what amused him more- the fact that he thought he was capable of ruling at all, or that he had the nerve to lecture the Great Lion himself on matters of state. And then he wanted to talk about dragons? Could he not see the threats that were closer to home? Stannis and his army, while repelled once were not gone, and the Tyrell’s were an ambitious and cunning lot. The only reason the war had ended with the North was because of Tywin. And winter was coming.

Just as Tywin thought the King was finished asking him about useless matters and was going to ignore their previous altercation involving Lady Sansa, Joffrey slunk back into his chair and flicked a hand towards his grandfather.

An insolent smirk crested his face and he said, “I wasn’t lying, Grandfather, when I said I could put a cub in your whore wife’s belly.”

He grinned, knowing the room was filled with Kingsguard and Tywin had left his Red Cloaks beyond the doors. Tywin narrowed his eyes at his grandson, his mind racing. Why on earth would Joff seek to rile him now? For what purpose? He seemed to want to keep Tywin there, either in a meaningless conversation to complain about small council meetings, or to goad Tywin into a battle about his future wife. His wife! 

_Sansa!_ Tywin’s mind screamed. The King was keeping him here, stalling him and preventing him from something that was happening. Joffrey’s smirk grew larger as he saw his grandfather had realized his intentions. Tywin turned on his heel and strode from the room, desperate to find his betrothed.

As he left the Throne Room he heard Joffrey call out, “Be sure to give my regards to Grandmother. If there is anything left of her.” Tywin’s blood ran cold and his stomach clenched as he wrenched open the doors and called for Jerrod to make their way to Sansa’s chambers.

* * *

*_**Character death, rape and violence. Turn back now if there are any triggers for you****_

Tyrion and Bronn walked back into Maegor’s Holdfast to retrieve Shae from Lady Sansa’s room. It was a long walk to a relatively deserted part of the Keep, as Cersei had thought to punish Sansa by giving her the smallest rooms she could that were well beneath her station. Tywin had tried to get her to move, but as their marriage was only days away, Sansa had deemed it pointless.

Tyrion was aware that Lady Sansa spent every evening having dinner at the Tower of the Hand with his father and his Aunt, and that left him plenty of time to entertain Shae. It was a situation that worked out nicely for everyone involved. Bronn was only with Tyrion because Tyrion had lost a bet earlier that day and Bronn was holding him to his payment. They had spent a pleasant afternoon getting increasingly drunk at a brothel down in flea bottom. Every so often Tyrion liked to rub elbows with the common people. It was amazing what one could learn when loose women and strong ale flowed freely.

Tyrion was in a surprisingly good mood. It seemed that Lady Sansa had truly had tamed the Great Lion. Oh, not outwardly that anyone could see, but Tyrion had grown up watching his father his entire life. He had to be constantly vigilant around the lion, lest he be on the receiving end of Tywin’s legendary temper. The changes were subtle, but for the first time in his life, Tyrion could say his father might actually be happy. Not happy the way that fat King Robert was happy after a day of whoring and hunting. No, Tywin’s happiness was subtle and subdued. It was in the smallest of gestures, the slightest softening of his eyes, the glances he let linger just a moment too long. And all of these things were directed at Lady Sansa.

Sansa brought laughter and joy and happiness and grace to Tywin’s life, and coupled with his Aunt Genna, Tyrion had never seen such lightness surrounding the old lion ever before. Of course, this was overshadowed by the crippling debt the Crown still found itself under, as well as the increasing madness exhibited by the current King, and the fact that the entirety of Kings Landing was preparing for not one but two great weddings. Mad times indeed. Still, Tyrion was experiencing a relatively peaceful time in his life. He got along with Sansa very well, and she seemed to appreciate his sharp wit and bawdy jokes. Aunt Genna was a delight as always. And he and Shae had more time to be together than ever before. He loved Shae, who at twenty eight was truly a woman he could see spending the rest of his days with. 

That was why, when Tyrion approached the empty hallways to Sansa’s rooms, his ever brilliant and sharp mind could not quite comprehend the sounds that he was hearing. At first, it sounded like someone was fucking right outside his soon to be mother’s bedchambers, but that couldn’t be right. Knowing something unusual was happening, he shot a look at Bronn who gave him the same bewildered look and the two of them rounded the corner onto a scene straight from Tyrion’s nightmares.

At first, all Tyrion could register was the sheer amount of blood that strained the stones. The whole hallway seemed to be painted red. He glanced up to see three white cloaks. One had Lady Sansa pinned to the ground, holding her head in a brutal grip to the stone walkway and forcing her to watch the horror of Meryn Trant raping Shae. Boros Blount held a knife to Shae’s throat to prevent her from screaming.

Trant was positioned behind Shae, thrusting into her, grunting and pawing at her, holding her head back as Blount slowly drew his knife back and forth across her neck, threatening to cut her throat with every thrust of Trant. Unsure of where all the blood was coming from, Tyrion took in the fact that two of his father’s red cloaks were slumped over, both their throats slit. He must have made a sound, for at that moment, Shae opened her eyes and spotted him. In them he saw she knew it was only a matter of moments before she was dead, and her last words might have been _I’m sorry_, before Trant and the other Kingsguard realized they had been discovered and slit her throat as if she were nothing more than a pig on slaughter day.

Bronn reacted first. He reached the one who had Lady Sansa pinned to the ground and thrust his sword through his back, spraying Sansa with his blood and soaking her gown. Bronn threw the body away from Sansa and she scrambled towards Trant and Blount, desperate to get to her handmaiden. Bronn attempted to hold her back, but she was possessed to reach her.

Tyrion had picked up one of the fallen red cloaks’ swords and ran towards Trant as he pushed himself off of Shae corpse. Tyrion briefly registered the fact that the man’s member was covered in blood and seed before a rage enveloped him and he cut the man straight through his flaccid center and up into his bowels. Shit and urine and blood spilled from the fallen Kingsguard as he howled in rage. Blount had reacted quicker, trying to grab at Lady Sansa, but Bronn was the superior swordsman and cut him down with ease. All Kingsguard had left their armour off this night, to their error.

Sansa had managed to crawl over to Shae and had her cradled in her lap, her blood soaking Sansa’s gown and hands, coating her arms as she rocked the body, moaning and whispering to her friend. Tyrion dropped to his knees, unable to comprehend what had just happened, while Bronn stood over Trant who was howling in pain, alive but under control.

At that moment Tywin and Jerrod came careening around the corner and took in the scene of horror before them. Walking swiftly up to Bronn, Tywin barked out, “What happened?”

“Near as I can tell My Lord, these three fuckers slit the throats of your fancy Red Cloaks as the ladies were returning to Lady Sansa’s chambers earlier tonight. Seems they then proceeded to pin Lady Sansa to the ground and forced her to watch as they raped Lady Shae,” Bronn trailed off, knowing nothing more needed to be said. Tywin glanced down at Sansa, seeing her covered in blood.

“Is she dead?” he asked brusquely indicating the woman cradled in Sansa’s lap.

“Instant, My Lord.” Bronn pointed to Blount. “That one there was the one who slit her throat. I stabbed the one holding Lady Sansa, then took him out.”

Tywin nodded. “And him?” he pointed to Meryn Trant.

“Ahhh, well, he was the one raping Shae, My Lord. Tyrion here grabbed a sword and it looks to me like he’s cut his cock off and taken some of the fucker’s bowels too if the stench is anything to go by.”

Tywin looked to his youngest son. He was splattered in blood and had crawled beside Sansa to touch Shae’s hair, shock covering his face.

Sansa had remained rocking her handmaiden, murmuring softly to her, her eyes glazed and her face pale. Tywin knew he needed to get the situation under control immediately. He pulled Jerrod aside, giving him instructions and ordering him to ensure that Trant was kept alive. Tywin would personally see to his torture. He also instructed Jerrod to ensure that all of Lady Sansa’s things were moved directly to the Hand’s apartments. Calling Bronn over, he instructed him to get Tyrion and Shae back to Tyrion’s chambers. They would deal with her body later.

Tywin turned and approached Sansa. He leaned down and gently tried pried her hands from Shae’s body. Her grip tightened. He stroked a hand down her cheek, then said softly, as if approaching a wounded animal, “Sansa, love, you have to let her go.” She turned her blue eyes to him, and they overflowed with shock and hurt. “That’s right, Sansa love, let her go.”

By this point, Tywin was practically crooning to her, and to his relief, she transferred her arms to around his neck. He scooped her up and walked away from the scene, vowing she would never walk in that hallway again, even if he had to brick it up and tear the rooms down. He made his way back to the Tower of the Hand, carrying Sansa the entire way, blood soaking through both of them. She had nestled into him so tightly he was afraid he would hurt her with his grip, but he had come too close to losing her tonight to let her go.

Sansa remembered being scooped up by Tywin and wrapping her hands around his neck. She clung to him like a child, too stunned to feel any of the punches or kicks that had been delivered to her. She was covered in blood, both the Kingsguard that had held her down and Shae’s. Shae. Sweet, loyal, loving Shae. Her first and only friend when she was unprotected and unloved in this horrid place. Shae. Oh, gods, she thought, Tyrion! Sansa’s mind blanked and she just burrowed into Tywin as close as she could. His posture was rigid and controlled, and she could feel him shaking in rage. Sansa was lost in a fog until they reached the stairs and her body jostled. Then the pain hit her, full force and she whimpered and cried out.

Tywin tightened his grip, and whispered, “Almost there, love.” He entered his apartments with a force, Genna jumping up to meet him, a look of stunned bewilderment on her face. “Get the bathing room prepared and a maester here,” he barked. “Immediately.”

Genna called for Tywin’s steward and set things in motion. Tywin carried her through to his bedroom and even covered in blood, set her down on his large bed uncaring of the mess it would make. He didn’t let her go, just positioned himself on the bed with her still clinging to him. Before long Maester Pycelle arrived and approached them in the bed.

“My Lord,” he gasped, “What needs to be done?”

“My betrothed was attacked tonight Grand Maester. She needs to be attended too. Nothing will be spared for her care.” He pinned the Maester with a look. “Nothing that happens in these rooms is to be reported to the King or my daughter. Am. I. Clear?” He ground each word out.

The Maester nodded his head vigorously. Lord Tywin had continued to hold the Sansa throughout their conversation, and she made no indication she heard him. Genna then walked into the room, announcing the bath was ready. She made her way over to the two of them sitting on the bed and laid her hand on Sansa’s arm.

“Sansa dear,” she said gently, stroking the woman’s arm, “We need to get you washed up now.” Sansa started to shake.

Tywin then turned his head to hers, gently forcing her eyes to meet his. “Sansa love,” he said firmly, “Look at me.” She turned her blue eyes, so filled with pain and sorrow on his. “Genna and the Grand Maester will take you and clean you up.” She started to shake her head no, clinging to him harder. “Yes Sansa, you need to be cleaned up. Then they will bring you back here. You will spend the night here. Safe Sansa. You will be safe. With me. Always with me now Sansa.” He gave her this order. She needed a firm had right now. Later, when she was clean and, in his arms, he would allow her to fall apart.

Right now, he had matters to attend too. Tywin brought Sansa to the bathing rooms that were part of the Hands apartments, and gently pried Sansa’s hands from around his neck. He put her into Genna’s arms and stroked her face. “I will be back later Sansa. You are safe here.” She finally lost a bit of the fog in her eyes and nodded at him, before he kissed her forehead and turned to leave the room.

If either the Grand Maester or Lady Genna thought it improper that an unmarried woman would spend the night in the Hands bed, neither said a thing. Both saw the devastation wrought on this woman.

“Come on love,” Genna said softly, “let’s get you out of this dress.” The Maester and Genna proceeded to cut the bloodied gown off of Sansa, dropping it to the ground where it would be taken away and burnt. The Maester had excused himself to make her a concoction so that she would be able to rest later, so Genna was left alone with the woman she had come to view as her surrogate daughter. She was eventually able to help Sansa out of her small clothes, and seeing the woman’s naked back she let out a gasp. It was covered in thin white scars, long healed, but clearly, someone had regularly beaten this woman. Genna almost wept at the cruelty.

“From Joffrey’s Kingsguard,” came Sansa’s dull voice. Genna shook with rage and horror.

She helped lower Sansa into the water and it immediately turned pink. The woman was covered in blood. Picking up the soap and a cloth, Genna gently washed her, as she would a newborn, crooning softly. Looking at her face, Genna could see the tears tracking silently down her face. Eventually, the water turned tepid and Sansa was clean. Genna bundled her up and wrapped her in the only clothing available in the bathing room- one of Tywin’s robes and a tunic of his. Both were huge on her, but Sansa seemed to take comfort in the smell and feel of them, and she pulled the robe tighter around her. Genna walked the woman back to Tywin’s bedroom, noting that the sheets had been changed and no hint of blood or gore marred them. The Maester approached Sansa with a drink in his hand. “For you, My Lady,” he said and she dutifully swallowed it. She climbed into Tywin’s bed, still wrapped in his robe and curled into a tiny ball in the middle.

“Sansa dear,” Genna said, “I’ll just sit here and wait until Tywin is back.” She got no response and settled in to watch over the woman.

* * *

When Tywin left the bathing rooms, he was enveloped in a rage that he had never felt before. Not even when he had watched Joanne die bringing Tyrion into the world had he felt such devastation. It was a stunningly cruel act that had been perpetrated against his family, by his family. Tywin knew there was simply no way that this was Joffrey’s plan. No, this was all Cersei. She knew exactly what Sansa’s handmaiden had meant to her. And to Tyrion. It was meant to drive a wedge into his family, and to destroy his new wife before they could even be wed.

The only question Tywin had was if Sansa was supposed to suffer the same fate as her handmaiden, or was she only meant to bear witness to such an act of savagery? Moving swiftly, he left his apartments and made his way to the dungeons. There he found a full complement of Red Cloaks ‘guarding’ the prisoner. The controlled fury on their faces spoke to just how highly they had come to regard Sansa. And their fallen brothers.

Meryn Trant would not live. Tyrion’s strike through his genitals and into his bowels was lethal, although it would take an exceedingly long time to die.

“Has he said anything?” Tywin asked. Jerrod shook his head. The man had only screamed in pain and hadn’t stopped. Given the amount of pain, he was in, torturing him to get any more information from him would be pointless. Tywin sighed. He was unsure if he would be able to discover anything from him, but he had to try. Moving towards Trant, he waited until the man met his gaze.

“You are dying. It can be quick if you give me what I want. Or it can go on for days.” Trant just sneered.

“All I require is two things. On whose orders did you attack my betrothed? And what was your plan for Lady Sansa?”

“Fuck. You.” Trant spat.

Tywin sighed. The man was past the point of rational thought. He turned to Jerrod. “You are free to do whatever you deem necessary to get the information I require. Keep him alive as long as possible. His death should be as painful as you can make it.” Jerrod nodded.

As Tywin turned to leave, he heard Trant say, “I told your wife we were only doing to that whore what you had already done to the dwarf’s first wife. Think she’ll look at you with those pretty blue eyes now, Hand?” Tywin tensed. He turned back to the man and grabbed a hot iron that had been prepared, jamming it through the man’s shoulder as he screamed in pain. “My men will break you. They will destroy every single piece of you before you are allowed to die. You never need to think of my wife again.” He pulled the iron from the man’s shoulder and threw it to the ground as he left the dungeons.

Tywin made his way back to his apartments and found Genna guarding Sansa. Pulling Tywin outside the bedchamber, she told him about the scars on Sansa’s back and exactly how they got there. Tywin thought the night couldn’t get any worse, but it seemed that at every turn a new horror was unleashed. He thanked Genna for the information and made his way back into his bedchamber.

He stripped down, pulling off his doublet and boots until he was left with his breeches and tunic. He did not care what anyone said, Sansa would be spending the night in his bed. Tonight, and every night until they were married and beyond. It was the only way he could guarantee she was safe. Making his way to his huge bed, he saw that she was curled up tight in the very center, drowning in furs and what appeared to be his robe. He lifted the covers and climbed in, moving towards her, fearful of waking her. As he got closer, he saw that she wasn’t asleep, but silently crying, her eyes swollen and red. As he settled into the bed, he gathered her in his arms and she clung to him, weeping and shaking. They lay there for hours until he felt her body relax and the tension leave her shoulders and she slept curled in his arms, until he followed her into oblivion.

Weak morning light woke Sansa the next day. For one moment she forgot what had happened yesterday, and just took in that she was curled up, sleeping in Tywin’s bed and in his arms. The moment was shattered as soon as the events from the previous day came rushing back to her. She thought that she must have woken first until she looked up and saw Tywin looking down at her with those cat green eyes of his.

They were serious and he said quietly, “We need to talk about yesterday Sansa.” She nodded. He made no move to remove them from the bed. He thought that maybe if he kept her in his arms it would be easier for her to talk about what had happened. He simply waited for her to begin speaking, stroking his hands along her back, trying to give her whatever comfort he could.

The silence stretched until she began to speak softly, “We were on our way back to my rooms when they attacked the guards. Before I even knew what was happening they had hit me and pinned me to the floor. The one guard, he just held my head, and made me watch as Trant....” She trailed off, once again tears filling her eyes. “He looked at me as he did that to her, and he said....” She stopped talking then.

“Go on Sansa, tell me what he said,” Tywin said firmly. He was loath to talk about this with her, but he refused to hide the truth. Even if she hated him after today, he would never lie to her if he could help it. 

Sansa swallowed. Then said softly, “He said that this was what you had done to Tyrion’s first wife, so I should have expected this when I let a whore who was fucking the dwarf be my handmaiden.”

Tywin sighed. He knew there was simply no way to condone what he had done to Tyrion all those years ago. It was abhorrent and Sansa would hate him for it. Anything that had been building between them would burn to ashes, here in this bed where alone at night he had foolishly built his hopes on what his marriage to his new wife would be like. It was a brilliant move by Cersei and one he should have anticipated. Tywin cleared his throat, ready to try to explain his actions from so very long ago.

Before he could speak, Sansa reached out and grasped his face, her eyes blazing as they found his. “I don’t want to know Tywin. Nothing. No details.” He looked at her confused. What did she mean?

“I know it was horrid, whatever you did. I know I will never understand your reasons for it. And I don’t need to know the details to know that. I will never understand it, and there is nothing you can say to justify it.” She looked at him fiercely then. “I know why Cersei did this to us. I know it wasn’t Joffrey, despite the fact that it was the Kingsguard. I promised you before that I wouldn’t condemn you for your past actions. And I won’t.” He looked at her then and saw the emotion in her eyes. _She would give him a pass on this? On one of his most heinous acts? Why?_ he thought.

Then she said, “I need you to do one thing for me.” He nodded at her, a small bit of hope blooming in his chest that Cersei might not have destroyed their relationship after all.

“I need you to reach out to Tyrion.” He stiffened and tried to pull away and she held him tight. “He is your son, Tywin, even if he isn’t your blood. And he is in pain. You are the only person who knows what it is like to watch the woman you love die. He needs you.” Gods she asked the impossible!

She gripped him harder. “I need my family now Tywin. I need you, and Genna and Kevan. And Tyrion. He is my friend and he is our family. And Cersei and Joffrey are trying to destroy us. We cannot let them do this. We cannot let this destroy us.” She was gripping his face hard between her hands, her eyes glittering with emotion. He nodded. “This is my price.”

“I will try, Sansa.” His eyes were hard. “That is all. I will try.” She slumped against him then. It was enough. It was a start. She began to shake again then, and he pulled her closer, and ran his fingers through her hair. He pressed kisses along her forehead and murmured nonsense to her.

“You will stay here Sansa. The wedding is mere days away and I need you safe.” He tightened his grip on her, horrified to think again at how close he had come to losing her. “All of your belongings have been moved into my apartments. You will share my bedroom. You will sleep in my bed. And you will have more guards at all times.”

She looked a bit shocked, and then said, “But what will people say? We aren’t married yet Tywin.”

“I don’t give a fuck what anyone says, Sansa.” Her mouth popped into an O. She had rarely heard Tywin curse. “The Lions do not concern themselves with the opinions of the sheep, my Lady. And we are lions.” She nodded at him, and ran her fingers through his beard, like how it felt in her hands. “Although I will not bed you until we are married, my lady,” he joked quietly. She blushed. They just held each other for a time, both realizing how close they had come to losing whatever had started between them.

“I have to leave soon, Sansa. You will stay here today. Allday. Genna will be here with you.”

“Are they dead, Tywin?” she asked then.

“Two of them. The third was on his way.”

“Good.” They remain together a while longer, neither wanting to leave. Soon though, Tywin rose and began to dress for the day. Sansa remained in bed and watched him move about the room. It was a scene that felt so intimate and so right, that it warmed a part of her where the ice that had started to form. Eventually, Tywin pulled on his doublet, and as he moved to buckle it, Sansa suddenly wanted to be the one to do it. She rose from the bed, draped in his robe and wearing his tunic. The tunic was large on her, falling to just above her knees, but it left much of her long legs exposed. She walked to Tywin then, surrounded by his colours and his clothing, a vision even after the horror she had survived, and reached to begin to finish the buckles. She then reached down to fasten his Hand’s pin to his breast. She ran her fingers over it, concentrating on her task, missing the heat in Tywin’s gaze. It was such a wifely thing to do. Gods he was proud of her. Cersei’s actions yesterday could very well have destroyed them. Instead, he vowed it would make them stronger. He pulled her hands from his chest and rested them in his.

Looking at each other, communicating silently, they both knew their relationship had irrevocably changed. Sansa was family, a Lannister in all but name, and Tywin would do whatever it took to protect her- even from his own offspring. Dropping her hands, he turned and walked out of his apartments, schooling his features to give nothing away. Cersei would be on the hunt for blood today, and Tywin would give her nothing.

* * *

Sansa had spent the entire morning ensconced with Genna going over last-minute wedding details. The ceremony was days away, but all the joy and fun of preparing had been lost. Taking pity on her, Genna eventually settled her onto a cushioned window seat, wide enough to seat two adults, with Tywin’s robe wrapped around and a hot drink by her side. The woman’s mind was elsewhere, and she needed a break. Tywin had stopped by before the noon meal to check on her, and Genna had watched as Sansa leaned into him, drawing support from him.

Later that afternoon, Tyrion finally showed up. He made his way over to the window seat where Sansa sat, looking out at the Bay. Without asking, he hopped up onto the seat with her, and Sansa turned to meet his eyes. She saw the raw pain there, hers but reflected a thousand-fold. The horror and the guilt came rushing over her.

Brokenly she whispered, “I am so sorry Tyrion. This is all my fault.” The dwarf startled at that. Her fault? Gods, it could never be her fault. All the blame lay with his monstrous family. He had blamed his father, Cersei, Joffrey, hell even himself, but never Sansa.

“My lady,” he rasped “nothing could be further from the truth.” She reached out then and gripped his hand hard.

“She was my handmaiden Tyrion. She was in danger because Cersei hates me. She was attacked to get to me.”

“Oh Sansa, she was in danger the moment a crippled creature like me attempted to have her in his life. It is not the first time a family member has done something like this to me, and I don’t suppose it will be the last,” he pinned her with a look. Sansa swallowed hard.

“I can’t know the details, Tyrion, not of what Tywin did. I know it is inexcusable, but if he is to be my husband, I can’t know anymore. I know that makes me the worst type of coward and hypocrite...” she trailed off.

Tyrion shook his head. “Forgive me, mother.” She could see him withdraw taking his hand from hers, thinking she had chosen Tywin over him. She reached out and pulled his hand back to hers.

“I choose family, Tyrion. You are my family. Tywin is my family. I choose to not allow Cersei to tear us apart over this vile act. I told Tywin I would forgive whatever heinous act he was responsible for in the past if he just tried with you. For us. For our family. That is the price of my forgiveness,” she looked Tyrion straight in the eyes praying that he saw the truth in them.

He was shocked. No one, other than Jaime, had ever stood up for him. Not to Cersei and not to Tywin. Suddenly his father’s awkward visit to his chambers earlier made sense. He had been trying to comfort him.

Lost in his own thoughts, he almost missed Sansa’s next words, “I know he is capable of unimaginable cruelty, Tyrion, but I cannot help how I feel about him.” He drew his attention back to the woman in front of him. He could see her struggling. “I hope you can forgive me for that.”

Shaking himself, he gripped her hand, “There is nothing to forgive Sansa. We cannot help who we love.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she whispered softly, “No we cannot.” The two of them sat there for hours, drawing comfort from one another before Tyrion hopped down off the bench before evening fell.

“Thank you, Mother,” he said softly, “For what you have tried to do for me. For us. We will never be worthy of your grace and kindness.” He paused. “But I will try to earn it.”

She smiled slightly at him, “It is freely given Tyrion.” He nodded and then left.

Tywin found her that way, still wrapped up in his robe, staring out the window. It had been an exhausting day. Meryn Trant was dead, tortured until he confessed it had been Cersei’s plan all along. All Joffrey had been instructed to do what keep the Hand in the throne room. They were to leave Sansa alone, instead of inflicting as much damage as possible onto her handmaiden.

His small council had no idea anything untoward had happened, other than Cersei flashing a triumphant smile when the Master of Coin did not show up for the meeting. He would leave it to her to explain to Joffrey how three of his most trusted Kingsguard had ended up dead.

Standing beside Sansa, he heard her say, “Part of me wants to hate you, knowing that you are capable of such violence and cruelty against your family. And the other part of me, the darker part of me, is glad to know you are capable of it because I know that it means you will do whatever it takes to keep me safe.” She paused, and he held himself still. She turned to look at him, blue eyes filled with pain. “I know you abhor weakness Tywin, but I do not know if I can ever be that cruel. If that’s what it takes to be a ruler, to be part of the game of thrones.”

He moved then and swept her up into his arms, bringing her back to his bed and settling her in there, propping himself up against the headboard while she settled against him. “Sansa, it is not a weakness that you could never order something like that to be done. And as long as I am alive you will never have too. You’ve shown your willingness to exact revenge on those who required it for justice for our house. It is enough, my Lady. It is more than enough.”

She had begun to softly weep. “I am just so tired, Tywin, tired of the game. Every time I gain a moment of happiness, they steal it away. And I am afraid they will take you from me.”

“I’m in this world a little while longer, Sansa,” he said, brushing his lips over her forehead, “And I will do everything in my considerable power to ensure that you and whatever children we have are safe.” He rocked her then, determined to ensure she slept more this evening. “The Maester will be here soon with a sleeping tonic for you Sansa. I have more work to do, but I want you to take it and try to rest.”

She nodded. “Thank you for talking to Tyrion today, Tywin.” She felt him stiffen, but pressed on, “It meant something to him. And to me.” He relaxed, grateful she hadn’t asked for more. It was impossible to believe that it had only been a day since this horror had been unleashed upon them. While devastating, it wasn’t crippling, and Tywin felt himself falling deeper for her. Cersei, in trying to destroy them, had only allowed them to grow closer, faster. Plans for vengeance would have to be made, but for tonight, Tywin was content to have Sansa in his arms, in his bed, and somehow against all odds, with her forgiveness.

* * *

_Riverrun_

After Kevan had met with Robb that evening, he made his way back to the chambers he had been given with his son. It was time him and Lancel talked. His son was a massive disappointment to Kevan, and clearly in great danger if he continued to align himself with Cersei. There was simply no way that Tywin would never allow such a relationship. Marching into their rooms, Kevan found Lancel lounging, clearly having bathed and eaten after riding hard for days. _Gods_, Kevan thought, _ he was lazy and insolent. Where had they gone wrong with their children?_

The difference between Lancel Lannister and Robb Stark was striking and not just in their features. Robb was only a year older than Lancel but he had already been crowned King of the North, waged a war against the Great Lion himself, won some decisive victories and married. What had his son done with his twenty-two years? _Fucked his cousin,_ Kevan thought disgustingly.

Kevan proceeded to sit at the table, to eat the dinner provided to him. He looked at his son and said, “Tywin Lannister knows you are fucking his daughter.” Lancel paled. “You have been given this one,” Kevan emphasized the word one, “opportunity to prove your loyalty to House Lannister. To Tywin Lannister.” Kevan let his words settle over Lancel. “We are loyal to Tywin only in this family. Not Cersei. Not Jaime. Not Joffrey. Tywin. He is your liege lord. More importantly, if you betray him again he will kill you.” Lancel swallowed hard. “And I will let him.”

Angrily, Kevan tore into his dinner. “You are a disgrace. One Battle on the Blackwater, and you are knighted for the sword in your pants and not the one at your side. Lord Stark is younger than you and has already accomplished more in his lifetime than you can ever hope to. You have grown weak and indulgent and it ends now.” He pinned Lancel with a look. “When the Lannister army next rides to war, you will be there. You will lead men on the battlefield. You will earn your title of Knight.” He slammed his fist on the table and rose, anger coursing through his body. “Do not betray me, son. No one who betrays the Great Lion ever lives for long,” and left the room to call for a bath, praying he had the sense to heed his words.

The next morning Kevan met with Robb Stark and his war council. Having spent most of his life in the Westerlands, he found the Northmen particularly interesting. They were a fierce and loyal bunch, and they were thirsty for the blood of the Boltons and the Freys. A plan had been agreed upon, and while some adjustments had been made, it was essentially the plan that Sansa and Tywin had crafted. Kevan planned to ride back to Kings Landing, hoping he may make it in time for the wedding, before promising to lead the Lannister forces north again. Robb pulled Kevan aside and thanked him for his counsel and the return of his family’s sword.

Before leaving, Robb said, “Please tell my sister that the first heir to Winterfell is on its way, My Lord.” When Kevan looked at Robb he had a smirk on his face. “And tell my goodbrother that if he expects our children to be wed, he best make sure they aren’t too far apart in age. I take it the Old Lion still has it in him.” Kevan’s eyes got wide before he laughed. Truly, deeply laughed. Gods the cheek of these wolves. 

“I will tell my soon to be goodsister of your good news. I will not poke the old lion though. Mayhap one day you will meet in person and you can raise your japes with him directly.”

Grasping hands, the two men clenched at each other’s forearms. “Safe travels, brother,” Robb said. “Good luck in the wars to come, brother,” Kevan said back, and then turned to head for Kings Landing.

* * *

_The Eyrie_

Catelyn Stark arrived in the Vale at the Eyrie several days after fleeing Riverrun. She had convinced three of her husband’s most loyal men to accompany her, desperately pleading that she needed to see her sister and that Robb needed her to leave in secret as to not alert their enemies. She hated lying to the men but she needed to be away from her son. Catelyn was still reeling from Robb’s betrayal. She could not accept the terms for the peace, and she needed to be far away from Robb and his wife whom she detested. So many places were lost to her now including Winterfell and Riverrun. She knew her sister would welcome her at the Eyrie, despite their differences when they were growing up. Catelyn conveniently forgot the jealousy and sisterly competition that had marred their childhoods.

Upon her arrival, Catelyn soon realized that Lysa had slipped further into madness. Her young son, Robin Arryn, was much too attached to his mother and was a sickly boy. Lysa was fluttering around the Castle, muttering about preparing for a wedding. She kept saying that he was coming. Catelyn did not understand who her sister was talking about and anytime she tried to speak with Lysa she was shushed as if she were an errant child.

Cat spent most of her time sequestered in her rooms as if she were either a threat or as if she were being punished. She had also begun to notice that guards were posted outside her door. Within a week, Catelyn Stark had realized her mistake in coming to the Vale. One day, she was barred from leaving her rooms completely, and she demanded to see her sister. Lysa did come by eventually, and she told Cat it was only temporary, until after the wedding. Then she laughed shrilly and locked the door, effectively trapping Cat inside.

Left to her own devices, devoid of any other contact except for the young woman who brought her food, Catelyn Stark’s mind begun to spiral into madness. Someone was responsible for all the horror that had come to her family, and she could only find blame with the Lannisters. And now her precious daughter was set to marry the worst one. Gods, poor Sansa, Catelyn thought again and again.

It was with shock and delight that after being locked away in her rooms for some time, that Catelyn found her childhood friend Petyr walking into her rooms one morning. “Petyr,” she cried and threw herself into his arms. They tightened around her and Cat sunk into his embrace. It had been so long since she had felt the arms of someone she loved around her. He hugged her to him and begun stroking her hair, murmuring into her ear, “Precious Cat, I just found out she had you locked away.”

It was too much for Catelyn Stark. Too much had gone wrong in her life, too much bloodshed, too much death. She was alone and crippled with rage and grief and Baelish took it all in. He listened to her story, sympathized with her outrage, and fed her lie upon lie until the only person she knew she could trust was him. Petyr wove a tale debauchery and deceit about what was happening in Kings Landing. He told her had he had been abruptly removed as Master of Coin, only to be replaced by the Imp. That the Old Lion himself was replacing members on the small council with only his family. How Tywin Lannister was planning on ruling Westeros. 

Petyr also told Catelyn how he had tried to rescue Sansa, to help her escape Kings Landing, to come with him to the Vale, but that she was too scared of retribution from the Lannisters that she had stayed. It was everything that she had feared for her daughter. She had told Robb this was happening. How could he be so blind? They spent countless hours together, much to the increasing rage and mad jealousy of Lysa Arryn. Catelyn was so happy to have a friend and champion in her corner that she, missed the increasing fury building in her sister.

That was why it came as a shock one afternoon when Lysa summoned Cat to the High Hall. It seemed that her jealousy had reached its peak, and overcome Lysa attacked Cat. When the moon door opened and Lysa attempted to push Cat through, it was Petyr who once again saved her. He pushed her sister to her death and pulled Catelyn back to safety. She collapsed on him, crying and wailing. He wrapped his arms around her, comforting her and whispering in her ear. Suddenly, she realized that her sister was dead.

“What have we done?” she whispered in horror.

“We have eliminated a threat to our safety, my Lady.”

“What do we do now?” she asked him somewhat bewildered.

He tightened his grip on her, holding her close and whispering in her ear. “Now, my Lady, we must decide. How much do you want to exact revenge on the Lannisters?” Catelyn leaned into him, happy to be held in arms that loved her again.

Her response was a fierce smile, tinged with madness.


	8. Chapter 8

_ Kings Landing _

Sansa slept better the second night after Shae had been murdered. She didn’t know whether it was that her body was exhausted, or the knowledge that she was safe in Tywin's bed but when she had woken curled up beside him the next morning, she smiled. He was stable and warm and safe. And he had held her through the night, never acting like she was a burden or unwanted.

By the time the day before her wedding came around, Sansa was used to sleeping beside Tywin, and she hoped that these few days spent waking in Tywin's arms each morning were a precursor to how things would be in their marriage. Tomorrow was her wedding day, and she had heard that many wives never shared their husband's bed. They were instead relegated to their own chambers, only visited when their husband demanded his marital rights with his wife. Sansa didn't want to sleep away from Tywin for any reason, and she hoped he wasn't planning on moving her to a separate bedchamber once he had deemed her recovered enough from the trauma of Shae's death. Sansa mulled this over, biting at her lip again, unaware that Tywin had woken up and was watching her the entire time.

"Something is on your mind," he murmured to her, his voice raspy and deep from sleep. He ran his lips along the shell of her ear, sending shivers down her spine, and a pit of heat into her belly. Between his breath, his voice and his lips, she felt her core tighten.

Sansa turned and smiled at him and reached up to run her hands over his face, burying her fingers in his beard and stroking his whiskers. She loved feeling him, and alone, in bed with him, she could forget the world of politics and lies and death.

"I am just wondering, My Lord," and she paused to look at him, her face serious, "If you will make me sleep in my own bedchambers once we are wed?" He returned her gaze, and he could see that was the last thing she wanted. It pleased him greatly that she didn't want to be separated from him.

Tightening his grip on her, and pulling one of her hands to his mouth, he began to suck on her fingers, one by one. Lust bolted through Sansa, and she moaned.

"Now." Suck. "Why." Nibble. "Would." He drew the tip of one finger deeper into his mouth and sucked harder. "I." He rolled his tongue around her other finger. "Ever." He brought two of her fingers into his mouth and did something obscene with his tongue between them. "Do." He gently bit down on the sensitive tips. "That?"

"Tywin...." she moaned breathlessly, drawing his name out. "Do what?" She asked. She had forgotten her question. He chuckled at her. She was a passionate creature, and he couldn't wait until they were wed. He had plans to keep her occupied and in his bed for days at a time. Putting an heir in Sansa Stark would be a most pleasurable task. Taking advantage of her position below him, he leaned down and nuzzled along her neck, running his tongue up and down the delicate column, licking and sucking at her.

"No Sansa," he said between kisses, "You will _not _have your own bedchambers. These are now your rooms. I am a possessive man. Soon you will belong to me, and I will not tolerate you to be out of my reach." Sansa felt her heart trip when he spoke to her about belonging to him. She had been alone and adrift for so long, and now she finally had a place again.

She moaned again as he found a particularly sensitive spot on her neck and kept his lips there, driving her wild, as she involuntarily began to buck her hips. He laid a hand over her stomach, gently keeping her pressed to the bed. "Truly?" she asked again, wanting and needing him to voice his possession of her again.

"Yes," he answered. He kept up his ministrations, running his tongue over any sensitive spot he could reach, marking her gently with his lips and tongue, raising tiny welts on her delicate skin and then blowing on them until she was a quivering mass of need and want below him.

"I want you to imagine how much I want you today." He growled at her. "As you go through your final fittings for your wedding dress, when people are flitting about you, and your mind is bored, I want you to think about our wedding night, and the pleasure I will bring you."

She moaned again, and said breathlessly, "Yes Tywin." Propping himself up on one arm, he looked down at her. Her face was flushed and red, her eyes filled with unsatisfied lust and a deeper emotion he didn't want to examine too carefully. Tywin could not believe he would have a wife again tomorrow. It felt at once like the quickest engagement in the history of Westeros and at times the most prolonged and most torturous.

Ensconced in his massive four-poster bed each night, Tywin had held Sansa as she had cried and mourned her handmaiden. They never discussed it outside of the bedchamber, and Genna had reported that each day Sansa made an effort to go through the wedding preparations. He was proud of her. Her behaviour reflected her station and was a testament to her upbringing and her lineage. Cersei had not broken her after all.

Word had reached them that Kevan would make it home in time for the wedding, and Sansa had requested he escort her down the aisle in the absence of her father and brother. Tywin knew his brother would be pleased. Sansa had not left his apartments since that horrid night, and Tywin refused to speak of what had happened with Cersei, letting her think she had destroyed his woman. She would see tomorrow that she had not.

To his surprise, his relationship with Tyrion had taken a subtle turn after their awkward conversation the morning after Shae's death, prompted by the promise Sansa had demanded of him.

_Tywin sighed as he made his way to his son's room, frustrated that Sansa had asked this of him. He had so much anger towards his second son, and he did not know how to begin to talk with him. It was no secret that Tywin blamed Tyrion for the death of Joanna. He had from the moment he was born, and she had died. And then to watch him grow, seeing the Targaryen influence on his son, knowing that Joanna's life had been the price to bring a child of rape into the world it was too much. The child had been his natural target. Tywin felt the Gods must certainly be punishing him for all his successes to saddle him with such an ill-made creature that wasn't even his own. Tywin had no choice but to give the boy his name and legitimize him. The Lannister's would not have recovered from the scandal, and he refused to allow the boy to take anything more from this family; he had already stolen Tywin's wife and the twins' mother. The funny part was, both Kevan and Genna doted on the little boy as if they knew that Tywin's rage and anger had to be compensated somehow._

_Tywin could admit his greatest shame was what he had done to Tyrion and his first wife. He was not a man that looked back upon his mistakes often but seeing the hurt and the disgust in Sansa's eyes, knowing that she had to watch Cersei reenact his most vile crime against his son once again, it shamed Tywin in a way he hadn't believed possible. And, as Sansa mentioned more than once, Tywin knew what it was like to watch the woman you love die. Tyrion had done so twice now. That thought sat uncomfortably with Tywin._

_Knocking on Tyrion's door, he pushed himself in when all he heard was a grunt. His son was seated at his desk, still in clothes covered in his whore's blood. Tywin grimaced._

_"If you've come to gloat, father, about me losing the latest woman I love in such a manner, don't bother. We both know where my dear sister came up with such an idea." Tyrion paused. "Gods, our family is full of monsters."_

_Tywin was annoyed. He knew the boy was in a great deal of pain, but his dramatics grated on the old lions' nerves. Still, he had promised Sansa he would try. Sighing deeply, Tywin spoke, crisply and quickly. "We both know any apology for what was done in the past is superficial and entirely pointless. I wouldn't mean it, and you wouldn't accept it. At the time, I acted in a way I believed was best for the interests of the Lannister name."_

_Tyrion chuckled darkly. "If only you knew how impossible it would be to marry me off, you might have just let me, and my common-born wife hideaway in the Westerlands, Father. Not even your gold or your fearsome reputation could make a single house marry one of their precious daughters to me."_

_Tywin reigned in his temper. He had no time for the self-pity the dwarf was feeling. The past was in the past. Tywin could not, and most likely, would not change anything. But there was his promise to Sansa. The price of her forgiveness for one of his darkest deeds._

_"I am here to offer my condolences for what was done last evening. It was not done on my orders and had I know about your sisters' plans I would have done whatever I could to have stopped it. Being unable to prevent this from happening...Well, for many reasons, I am sorry."_

_Tyrion's eyes widened at this statement. He wasn't sure his father had ever apologized to him in his life, for anything or any reason._

_"I am not... so heartless that I don't know what it feels like to lose someone you love. Even if I disapproved of your choice in companion," Tywin ground out. Tyrion just sat there in shock. Tywin continued, "I know what it is like to watch a woman you love die in front of your eyes. I am sorry you are experiencing this again."_

_They eyed each other then, each unsure of what to say. Neither had any idea how to bridge the years of hate between them, and Tywin turned to leave._

_Before he reached the door, Tywin added, "I know Lady Sansa would appreciate your company later today. You are welcome to visit her in my apartments whenever you wish. She will be staying there permanently." Then without a backward glance, Tywin strode out the door._

Tywin knew that Tyrion and Sansa had talked that afternoon, and after that Tyrion had begun to show up for breakfast each morning in the Hand's Tower, neither one willing to acknowledge that something had changed. Sansa was fearsome about family, and she had a small satisfied smile on her face the morning that Tyrion had waddled in and hopped up on his seat as if he had always had a place there. No one said a thing, but Sansa had reached over and squeezed Tywin's hand, a silent thank you for trying.

For his part, Tywin had expected Tyrion to descend into a pit of drinking and debauchery, as he had been known to do in the past. To Tywin's surprise and pleasure, he did not. It seemed that Tyrion was determined to remain sober and sombre. Both Lannisters knew that Cersei would have to be dealt with, sooner rather than later, and Tyrion seemed to cloak himself in his grief, turning his cunning mind into plots against his sister and to helping his father rule the Kingdom. There were no doubts whose side he was on.

It had shamed Tywin his entire life when people said his dwarf son, the one who he was sure was not of his seed, had a mind that was most like his. Tywin had stopped speaking to Genna for a half year when she told him that one time. But now, because of his vow to Sansa, his promise to _try _with Tyrion, he was starting to see some of what others saw in him. He still thought him much too crude and clever for his own good, but Tywin recognized the ravages of grief he was going through, and at least grudgingly respected the fact that he wasn't drowning his sorrows in wine and whores. No, it seemed like Cersei's plot to drive a wedge into the family had only backfired on her, making the current Lannisters at the Red Keep a tighter and more protective group of each other.

Tywin pulled himself from Sansa, knowing if he stayed any longer, she would not be a maid on their wedding night. The plan was for Sansa to spend the evening in Genna's chambers and to get ready for the wedding there. Tonight, there would be a small family dinner with Tyrion, Genna, Kevan, Sansa and himself in the hand's dining hall. Tywin did not care if Joffrey and Cersei saw this as an insult for their lack of invitation to his table. He would not subject Sansa to them before the wedding. She would have to put up with them at the wedding feast, and that was bad enough.

As was her custom, Sansa exited the bed with Tywin, helping him dress and attaching his Hand pin to his chest. She turned her blue eyes up to him, her voice soft and loving and said, "The next time I do this, it will be as your wife." Her eyes were bright and excited, and Tywin was once again grateful this woman had forced his hand those many weeks ago. It was already impossible to imagine his life without her. His chest constricted at the thought of being married to her. He had spent the past thirty-five years never even considering another woman for the role of wife. And now, this northern princess would be his. She continued, "You will be my family, Tywin," and she laid her hand on his chest over his heart, which thumped harder.

Overcome with emotion, Tywin grasped her hand tightly, then pulled her close to him briefly. "I will see you tonight at dinner, My Lady," he said before kissing her gently and turning to leave for the day. He had a busy day and had no time to break his fast with his family today.

Before long, Sansa had dressed, her new handmaiden helping her, a sweet woman that had come with Genna from the Westerlands. Tyrion showed up at his normal time, and Sansa was glad for their support as they made their way through the final wedding plans.

* * *

As Jaime and Brienne made their way through Kings Landing, Brienne realized that none of the peasants recognized the Kingslayer. She felt bad that the former best swordsman in the realm could easily pass by them now, unrecognizable; although his long dirty hair and the rags he was wearing did not lend itself to any Lannister glory.

Brienne had her world rocked when she'd seen Jaime defend her. Never in her twenty-six years had anyone stood up for her the way he had. And he'd paid such a terrible price. 

Arriving at the Red Keep, the guards refused to let him in, until Brienne rose to her full height and practically shouted his name at them. They moved aside, still unsure if it was truly Jaime Lannister that rode by them. Dismounting his horse and thanking Lady Brienne for her company in returning him to his family, Jaime immediately made his way to Cersei's rooms. It had been an impossibly long time since he had seen his sister, and he had missed her desperately. Entering her rooms without knocking, he had expected a warm reception. Instead, she had just looked at him in shock, then relief and then in pity and shame. Her eyes darted to his stump.

"Ahh sister," he asked brokenly, "Can't love me knowing that I am missing some of your favourite pieces? And here I thought you would be overjoyed that I had returned." He laughed bitterly.

"Jaime," Cersei said tightly, not believing he was back, unable to keep her eyes off his missing hand. A hand that she knew as intimately as her own. It was just gone. How was it possible he could be missing something so vital to his identity? Cersei loathed anything weak. It was why she had mocked Tyrion relentlessly their entire lives, why she thirsted for power and influence. Cersei was not a woman that could tolerate any perceived weakness. She didn't know what Jaime planned to do now, but all she could see was what he was lacking.

Jaime knew Cersei almost as well as he knew himself. While he had hoped she would look past what happened to him, he knew she had a loathing for anything that was weaker than her. Sighing dejectedly, Jaime turned to leave, when she suddenly moved towards him, motioning for him to stop, and he paused.

"After you have cleaned yourself up you must go see father immediately Jaime." He heard the worry and the panic in her voice. He quirked an eyebrow at her. What game was she playing? He had no plans to see their father until at least tomorrow after he had slept and fed and bathed.

She continued, her voice tight and low. "It is urgent. He is set to wed tomorrow. His marriage will steal your birthright and inheritance. Casterly Rock is to be given to his new heirs - heirs that he puts in the traitorous bitch he is marrying." She had spat out the last words out, full of venom and hatred.

Jaime was beyond confused. Their Father, marry? The Great Lion of Lannister? Impossible! He laughed for the first time in what felt like ages, and it sounded hard and rusty and just a bit bitter.

"Cersei, you and I both know that Tywin Lannister will never wed again. Do not jape with me sister; I am sore and tired from a long ride to get back to a family that does not want to see me." He couldn't help but send a subtle dig her way, and he waved his stump in her face. He was still hurt and reeling from her earlier rejection.

Moving quickly, Cersei came closer still and hissed at him, "It is no jape, Jaime. Tomorrow father is set to marry Sansa Stark, to seal an alliance with the West and North." She paused and let her seafoam eyes fill with tears, knowing he had always been powerless against them. "I think he means to steal the throne from our son Jaime. You must talk some sense into him now that you are home. He is blinded by his whore, like his father before him. I have heard talk that he moved her into his apartment's days ago, most likely because he couldn't stand being away from her. He is just like grandfather." Cersei paused, letting the tears fall, making herself seem small and pitiful and alone. "He means to destroy our house, Jaime. He means to destroy our family."

Jaime frowned, seeing real fear in Cersei's eyes. She was shaking. "Even now, she is by his side while I am unwelcome at his table. He has cast us aside Jaime. Me and Joffrey." She was openly pleading with him at this point, desperate and fearful. He nodded at her and then left her to find their father.

After washing and dressing, thankful a young Lannister squire had been in the family apartments to help him, Jaime felt presentable again. He had even managed to cut his hair. Cersei's eyes had unnerved him. She was terrified, and Jaime wondered just how far his father had gone this time to preserve the precious Lannister name.

When Jaime walked into the Hand's dining hall, he witnessed something that he had never experienced in his entire life. A happy family dining together. Seated around the table of the Hand of the King, were his father, his Aunt Genna, Uncle Kevan and his little brother Tyrion. And the beautiful Sansa Stark, who was no longer the girl Jaime remembered from that time in Winterfell, but a stunning woman of twenty-one. Kevan was laughing, and Genna kept adding in bits to a story about two boys being chased from the kitchen by the servants, and something about stolen pies. Tyrion was smirking, and Sansa positively glowed. Even his father had a slight look of amusement on his face, and Jaime could see his father's eyes never left Sansa's face. Before anyone could say anything more, Jaime walked into the room. All conversation stopped, and everyone's eyes immediately went to the Kingslayer, shocked to see him there.

"Father, Aunt, Uncle, Brother," Jaime acknowledged them all with a bow of his head to each. He turned to Sansa and cocked his head and said, "I am not sure what to call you, my Lady. Is it mother? Or the woman who is willing to fuck my father to gain Casterly Rock?" Everyone in the room looked shocked at his outburst, and Tywin's face tightened into a controlled rage. Sansa felt her face pale immediately. Too angry and upset to notice their reactions, Jaime continued, "I must admit, it's an impressive reward for a maidenhood."

Turning to look at Tywin then, Jaime sneered, "Are you sure you haven't overpaid father? I mean, she is beautiful. But is she worth the greatest Castle in the Kingdom?" Jaime felt the rage at his family grow. Cersei was terrified for herself and their son. She was alone and secluded. And here sat their father, japing and laughing with his soon to be new wife.

"Enough," Tywin spat at his son, banging a fist on the table. Tywin was at once overjoyed to see his firstborn son, and furious at his audacity. "I suggest you refrain from saying anything else before you have been appraised of all the facts."

Tywin rose and gestured for Jaime to follow him into his solar.

Jaime caught Tyrion's eye as he passed him. He had expected to see the normal support and sympathy in his brother's eyes when either one of them was called before the Old Lion. Instead, all Jaime saw was disappointment and anger.

_What in seven hells was going on here? _Jaime thought.

Hopping down from his seat, Tyrion made his way over to Jaime. The brothers embrace briefly.

"It is good to see you brother, even missing a piece or two," Tyrion said softly. "If I may, a word of advice." Jaime nodded. "Be careful trusting our dear sister, Jaime. Things have...changed around here. Come see me later, after you've met with father." Jaime just looked at Tyrion, questions in his eyes before he made his way into his father's solar.

Tywin had taken his seat at his impressive desk and gestured to the chair opposite him. "I'll stand," Jaime said shortly anger and indignation radiating in waves off of him.

"I take it by your tone that you've spoken with your sister," Tywin stated.

"I have."

"And she has told you what?" Tywin paused, then resumed talking. "No, let me guess. Something about how I am stealing your heritage and plotting the demise of her and the King." Jaime startled. What did his father know?

"Something like that," Jaime replied cautiously.

"Did your dear sister tell you that _your _bastard son is a cruel and vicious King. That he seems intent on leading the realm to ruin and that he is a particularly unpleasant and inept ruler. That at twenty one he acts like a petulant child and is going to bankrupt us all?"

Jaime reeled unable to comprehend that his father knew about Joffrey's true parentage. And what was this about the King being cruel and vicious and inept? Cersei said none of those things.

"Perhaps she is upset because she told you my children with Sansa would steal your birthright."

Jaime's mouth tightened.

"Have things changed, Jaime? Are you willing to give up that ridiculous white cloak and take your rightful place as my heir to Casterly Rock? To marry and produce heirs?" Tywin asked him point-blank.

Jaime paled and shook his head. He had no intention of taking his father's place.

"Of course not," Tywin spat, "That would mean you would have to stop fucking your sister." Tywin pinned him with a look. "I know all about your disgusting relationship with her." His father paused, angry.

"Did your sister mention that my marriage to Sansa Stark has brokered an alliance that ended a war with the North? A war that she and your useless offspring started. She must have forgotten to mention that." Tywin paused again. He could see his son was reeling, but he couldn't stop now. He needed his son to know what they were dealing with in Joffrey and Cersei. Jaime shook his head again.

"Did she happen to mention that your son has repeatedly beaten and threatened to rape my betrothed? Or that not five nights ago, she ordered two Kingsgaurd to attack my soon to be wife, holding her down while men raped her handmaiden, forcing her to watch? A handmaiden that your brother just happened to be in love with? Were any of these things mentioned to you before you came into _my _dining hall, insulted _my intended _and made a fool of yourself like normal?" Tywin sat there; rage and hatred were radiating off him as he listed the crimes against his daughter.

Jaime stood there, stunned, trying to process what was happening. Surely all his father said couldn't be true? What had happened here in Kings Landing while he had been away? His father must be exaggerating to justify his marriage to Lady Sansa.

"Sansa Stark and I _will _be wed tomorrow. You _will _show up for the wedding, in this ridiculous Kingsguard costume you persist on wearing, and you _will _treat her with all the respect the Lady of Lannister is due! Do I make myself clear?" Tywin practically shouted, rapping his fist on the table.

"Perfectly father. Please excuse me. It's been a long and trying day." Jaime spun and turned and walked out of the room. Making his way back the dining hall, he saw everyone at the table give him wary looks, his Aunt and Uncle sitting close by Sansa, almost as if he were the interloper and they had to defend her from him. What was going on in the Lannister family? He nodded at his Aunt and Uncle and ignored Sansa Stark. He looked to Tyrion. Maybe his baby brother could make sense of things for him. Hopping down, Tyrion fell in set beside him.

Before they left the hall, Tyrion said, "One moment, brother." Jaime then watched as Tyrion made his way over to Sansa. Reaching her side, she grasped his hand before placing a kiss on his cheek. "Get some rest tonight Lady Sansa. Tomorrow is your big day." He winked at her, and then he said, "Remember, we are lions! Hear us, roar." Sansa laughed prettily and murmured her thanks.

Approaching his brother again, Tyrion gestured for him to follow. "Come, Jaime, we have much to discuss."

Minutes later, Jaime found himself in his brothers' room, a flagon of wine between them and a multitude of questions on the tip of his tongue.

"What has gone on here while I've been gone Tyrion?" Jaime asked bewildered.

"Cersei and Joffrey have gone mad with power and self-importance, to put it simply brother. Joffrey is a particularly useless ruler. He persists in tormenting anyone who displeases him, and many people displease the King. He has no true interest in learning how to rule, preferring to hunt and whore and drink. Funny how he takes after King Robert even though they share no blood. He needs to grow up, Jaime. It is long past time he learns how to rule properly."

Tyrion paused before continuing.

"Cersei has no control over her son. They have run the Crown into crippling debt, and Joffrey uses his Kingsguard to torment and instill fear in anyone he doesn't like. It has been a difficult time since you left for the war," Tyrion finished tiredly.

"And what of father's engagement? Why now? What about your inheritance?" Jaime asked outraged on behalf of his little brother. Tyrion laughed bitterly.

"We both know I was never going to inherit the Rock, Jaime." Tyrion sighed. "No one knows how it happened. Father and Lady Sansa announced their engagement weeks ago, securing peace for the realm in an alliance with the King of the North."

Jaime was incredulous. "And father agreed to this?"

"Father initiated it."

"But why? Why marry now?"

"Perhaps because he knew you would never consent to leaving the Kingsguard and producing true heirs? He knows, Jaime. About you and Cersei, the children. All of it. He knows."

Jaime nodded, having gathered that much from his discussion with their father earlier.

"And Sansa Stark? Are you ok with this woman marrying our father? Do you not think is it suspicious that she's willing to be married to _him_?" Jaime asked snidely.

Tyrion's eyes flashed, angry for the first time that night.

"Careful brother. I love you best, I always have. But Sansa Stark is neither a traitor nor a whore. She is too good for any of us Lannisters, but she seems to love us anyway." Tyrion paused. "She is in love with our father."

Jaime was flabbergasted. _What in seven hells was happening?_

Tyrion continued softly. "I suspect father is already half in love with her. At the very least he's taken with her and she with him. Both Uncle Kevan and Aunt Genna already love her, and they are fiercely protective of her. Before you arrived, Kevan was regaling us with tales of his trip north to meet with Robb Stark. It seems they've formed a bond, our uncle and Robb Stark, whereas mere weeks ago they were enemies on the battlefield. It is new times, Jaime, where the Lions and the Wolves are building a new empire. One that has the potential to reunite the seven kingdoms and bring peace."

He added quietly, "An empire that has the potential to challenge the King. An empire that our dear sister will do anything to crush."

"And what about our sister? It seems you've all decided that she is not worthy of being included as a Lannister anymore. She is an outcast, denied our protection and all alone. Is she not even worthy of being invited to dine at father's table anymore? Do we not protect the family above all else? She has been set aside by the pride because a new lioness has arrived! This is madness," Jaime shouted. He felt sick at what had happened.

Tyrion smashed a fist to his table. His eyes filled with pain and his voice rasped.

"Five nights ago, I watched the woman I love raped before her throat was slit by two Kingsguard on Cersei's orders. They killed two of father's Red Cloaks, beat Sansa and pinned her to the ground, forcing her to watch as her only friend in this hellhole suffered unimaginably before she died. Do not presume to talk to father or me about Cersei, Jaime. This time she has gone too far."

Jaime reeled. It had to be lies. There was no way Cersei would ever order something like that to happen- not knowing what their father had done to Tyrion's first wife.

"This is madness," he repeated. And turned and left the room.

Making his way back to his room, he ran into Brienne of Tarth. "Have you seen Lady Sansa? Is it true? Is she set to marry Lord Lannister tomorrow?" she asked him, a look of worry etched on her ugly face.

Jaime nodded, and she paled. "We must rescue her, Jaime, immediately," Brienne said urgently. "We made a vow to Catelyn Stark to return her daughter to her. We cannot let her stay here and marry that man."

Jaime laughed, bitter and cruel. "We are too late, my Lady. She is in the Great Lion's jaws now, and he will not let her go. He will cut through you like butter before you even get near Lady Sansa. And from what I've seen, she would let him."

Puzzled, she frowned. "What are you saying, Jaime?"

"Don't you get it Brienne of Tarth? Lady Sansa, with the blessing of her brother, the King of the North, is set to marry the most powerful man in the Kingdom tomorrow. She will become the wealthiest woman in the realm, able to command an army of loyal servants and followers. She will unite two of the greatest houses in Westeros. And she does so willingly. She does not need or require our rescue."

Brienne straightened. "I made a vow to Lady Stark, Ser Jaime, and I will not rest until I am dead or my vow is fulfilled." Jaime scowled at her.

"Then I hope you've made arrangements for your funeral, my Lady." And he pushed past her to get to his rooms. His mind was racing, his hand was throbbing, and for the first time, Jaime regretted coming home to his family.

* * *

_The Riverlands _

"Is that the Blackwater?" Arya asked.

"The Blackwater? Where do you think I'm taking you?" The Hound asked.

"Back to Kings Landing. To Joffrey and the Queen."

"Fuck, Joffrey. Fuck the Queen. That's the Red Fork. I'm taking you to the Twins."

"But why?" Ara asked.

"Cause your brother is there, and he'll pay me for you." The Hound grunted.

"Why would he be at the Twins?"

"Those outlaws you love so much never told you?" The Hound was incredulous. "The whole countryside's yapping about it. Your brother signed a peace with the Lannisters. Traded your sister's maidenhood to marry the Old Lion. So, quit trying to bash my skull in and we might make it." It was the longest speech Arya had heard him make. She pondered his words.

"Robb wouldn't do that. Not to Sansa. He wouldn't marry Sansa to _him_." Arya shuddered. "And what do you know of Tywin Lannister?" the Hound asked.

"What do you?" She snarked back.

"I'm a Clegane. I squired for the Lannisters. I spent my entire life in the service of House Lannister. So, answer me this. How does a little wolf-like you know the Great Lion of Casterly Rock?" The Hound was curious.

"I was his cupbearer. At Harrenhal."

"His cupbearer?" The Hound roared. "And what, he let you go? Just like that?"

"No," Arya said defiantly. "He didn't know it was me. I pretended I was from House Dustin. A commoner." She paused. "Although he did correct me once. Told me I was too smart for my own good. Told me I didn't talk like a commoner."

"That's because you don't," but Sandor laughed at this. "The Old Lion had you in his jaws the whole time and never knew who you were." Sandor howled again. Gods to see that old bastard's face if he ever found out.

"It's not that funny." But Arya cracked a smile. She had come to feel a weird affection for her reluctant rescuer. "But why would Robb marry Sansa to him?" Arya asked, serious again.

"To end a war, to ensure peace, to go home. Marriage alliances have been used to end wars for centuries," the Hound responded.

"Yes, but."

"Will you shut up. Clearly Robb Stark and Tywin Lannister agreed to it. It's better than her marrying Joffrey. At least the old cunt will be dead soon, and your dear sister will be the richest woman in the land."

"She doesn't care about that." Sandor shot Arya the look. The look that said, _don't be stupid._

Arya sighed. Sansa did like pretty things. Was it possible she was ok with this marriage? The Hound had let things about her sister slip out about her time in Kings Landing- how she was treated, how he rescued her, and what Joffrey did to her.

As disgusting as it was to think about her sister with Tywin Lannister, he had to be better than Joffrey. This much Arya knew from her time at Harrenhal. Settling in on Stranger, Arya's brain wouldn't shut off. She still couldn't believe that Sansa was about to be married. But she was also excited to learn that she was close to Robb and the Hound was returning her to him instead of Joffrey and Cersei. She had never thought to see her family again, and somehow, against all the odds, Arya knew they were getting close.

* * *

_King's Landing - The Wedding _

Sansa woke in Genna's chambers on the morning of her wedding. She had slept sporadically, missing Tywin and unable to settle. Bustling about, Genna ripped back the covers and hustled her to the bathing rooms. There were hours of work ahead to get Sansa ready, and she let herself drift along as an army of servants prepared her. The only thing Sansa had argued fiercely about her hair. It would be left in a northern style, half braided and how she had always envisioned it on her wedding day, with a cascade of red falling down her back and studded throughout with rubies and diamonds to match the Lannister choker.

Everything else today, save for her maiden's cloak, was designed for her to look and feel the part of Lady Lannister. Sansa had settled on an ivory white silk dress, overlaid with gold lace, with lions embroidered with silver silk thread throughout the skirt. Last night after dinner, Tywin had presented her with the choker he had commissioned, and the necklace would take center stage on her body. Matching earnings had also been included, and Sansa had been overwhelmed by his generosity and thoughtfulness. He had to have had it commissioned when they first agreed to this marriage. This, more than anything else, proved to Sansa that Tywin truly wanted to marry her. Not just for her title, or her access to the North. He could have married her without doing anything special for her.

Sansa was scrubbed, washed, lathered and pampered. Her hair was brushed until it was dry and it shone. Then she was helped into her small clothes, embarrassingly scandalous she believed and had stockings rolled onto her feet. Genna helped her into her dress, the layers of fabric heavy and comforting, creating a vision in gold and white. The choker was applied at last, along with the earrings, and as the small team that had assembled to get her ready for the day stood back, everyone gasped at her beauty — Genna began to cry. Sansa Stark, true born daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, a woman grown at twenty-one and of noble blood, was finally ready for her wedding day.

Then Tyrion, Jaime and Kevan showed up in the apartments. Kevan approached her and pressed two gentle kisses to either side of her cheek and whispered to her, "Welcome to the family, sister." She beamed at him, glad he had ridden hard to make it back for this day.

Tyrion approached her next, having to leave soon to take his place beside his father and escort his Aunt to the Great Sept of Baelor. He came up to her, and she made a point of kneeling so they were eye level. "You are the most gorgeous woman in the Kingdom, Lady Sansa, and my father is a lucky man." She blushed. "I am happy you are here with me today, Tyrion." She gently pressed a kiss on his cheek.

Jaime was next. It was awkward, their only interaction being the horrible things he had said to her last night at dinner. But he was also part of this family, and Sansa knew Tywin loved his eldest son. She didn't know if Jaime loved his sister more than his brother and his father. Time would tell which side of the family Jaime would choose. For there were two sides to the Lannister family.

Now all Sansa could do was behave as a lady was expected. She reached for his one hand and gently squeezed it. Looking directly into his eyes, she said softly, "I truly care for him, Ser Jaime. I hope you can come to see that in time." Then raising herself up, she gently pressed a kiss to his cheek as well.

Jaime was stunned. Where on earth had his father found such a woman? She was remarkably beautiful, intelligent it seemed, warm, friendly and composed. She should have been outraged at him for his treatment of her last night. If Cersei had been treated that way, she would be spitting venom at whoever came near her. Jaime looked hard at Lady Sansa then. He couldn't have crafted a more ideal companion for his father. She was precisely the type of wife that would suit Tywin Lannister. And it seemed she cared for him. Unbelievable.

At that moment, Jaime knew that what his father and his brother had said was true. His son and his sister had committed unspeakable atrocities against this woman for nothing more than their jealousy and hate. He was humiliated for siding with Cersei so quickly yesterday and for the awful things he had said to his father's soon to be wife. He vowed to keep an open mind when it came to Lady Sansa. She seemed willing to forgive him. Jaime also felt better about not keeping his word to Catelyn Stark. This was not a woman who was walking to her doom, but one that was running to her destiny. He could see the love she had for his father in her eyes. He shook his head. He would never have believed it if he hadn't witnessed it himself. He didn't think the Old Lion was lovable, let alone by this highborn woman.

He squeezed her hand back and said softly, "Welcome to the family."

Her eyes glazed with tears, and she sent him a grateful look.

Genna, Jaime and Tyrion then took their leave, to stand beside Tywin in the Great Sept and await Sansa's entrance. Left alone for a few moments with Kevan, Sansa let out an impatient breath. Kevan laughed at her. "Soon enough, my dear, you will belong to him. And then I pity anyone who attempts to take you from him." Kevan cleared his throat. "Tywin loves deeply, Lady Sansa, if rarely. I never thought that the day would come again. Even if he never says the words to you, do not doubt his affection for you." She looked directly into Kevan's eyes and saw the truth. She nodded.

"Dear brother," she said softly, "Do not worry. Tywin shows me with every touch and every gesture what he feels for me."

Kevan nodded and smiled at her. He was so happy for his brother. He had seen him suffer for too many years, alone and closed off, hardened. Kevan cleared his throat, taking a moment to pass along Robb Stark's message to Sansa. "Your brother sends his warmest regards today, Sansa, and he wished he could be here to see you wed." Kevan saw the emotion on her face. He cleared his throat. "Also, he wanted me to pass along that his wife is with child."

Sansa's face lit up brilliantly, happiness and joy radiating from her. She threw her arms around Kevan, hugging him tightly as she whispered, "Thank you."

Gathering themselves, he offered Sansa his arm. "Shall we, my dear? We both know how Tywin detests tardiness." Sansa grabbed his arm, her laughter following them out of the Tower of the Hand as they made their way to the Great Sept of Baelor. Sansa was truly and deeply happy on this, her wedding day. She never thought it would be possible when she was still betrothed to Joffrey. It was Tywin that made all the difference. Sansa and Kevan were flanked by Red Cloaks, led by the faithful Jerrod when the group was approached by the largest woman Sansa had ever seen. The woman was exceedingly tall, mayhap even as tall as Tywin, muscled and encased in armour. As she neared them, she began to speak.

"Lady Sansa, I am Brienne of Tarth. I have made a sacred vow to your mother, Lady Catelyn Stark to return you to her. I am here to see that vow honoured." Sansa frowned. What on earth was this woman talking about? Sansa looked to Kevan who looked as bewildered as her. Clearly, this woman had her confused with someone else. Everyone knew that this marriage had the blessing of her brother. There would be no stopping the marriage from taking place.

Gently, so as not to startle the brutish woman, Sansa said, "You must be mistaken, my Lady. I am to wed shortly with the blessing of my family."

Brienne frowned. "You mother, My Lady, she made me promise..."

Sansa broke in. "My mother, Lady Brienne, has disgraced her family by refusing to honour my brother's wishes for this union. She has left his protection, and her whereabouts are unknown." Brienne reeled back. Why had Lady Stark left the Stark army? Brienne had heard of the peace, but she was honour bound to return this woman to her mother.

She tried again before Sansa finally showed her irritation. "Lady Brienne, if you insist on this course of action, I will be required to use force to have you removed. My wedding to Tywin Lannister _will _take place. And I will not be late." Sansa met Brienne's eyes, anger and frustration glittering in them.

Brienne was at a loss. The woman certainty seemed intent on going through with his marriage. Was it truly possible Robb Stark had agreed to it? It was then that Sansa's companion broke in.

"Lady Brienne," Kevan Lannister said, "I have the personal approval of this marriage from Lord Stark himself. I obtained it when we met not five days ago at Riverrun, where I returned the Stark family's ancestral sword as a wedding present and an act of good faith to seal this alliance." Brienne reeled. It must be true then. There is no way the Lannisters would give up a prize such as a Valyrian steel sword.

"My lady if you insist on going through with this marriage I must pledge myself to your service..." Before Brienne could continue, Sansa interrupted again. She was beyond frustrated, but she tried to reign her temper.

"Lady Brienne. I am late for my wedding. A wedding I am most eager to be at. See me in a few days. We will discuss anything you wish to at that point." Then leaving the woman stunned and gaping after her, Sansa practically pulled Kevan to the carriage that would deliver them to the sept. She muttered to Jerrod, "You have my full permission to personally strike down anyone else who gets in our way, Ser Jerrod." He chuckled, amused at how eager she was to wed the Old Lion. He couldn't help but think Tywin Lannister was a lucky man.

Sansa arrived at the sept wearing her maiden cloak on the arm of her soon to be goodbrother with no further delays. She had thought she would feel nervous, but instead, she was just excited to get the ceremony done. She was to become Lady Lannister, and she was ready. The marriage ceremony today would be vastly different than marriage before the old gods in the North, and Sansa had felt a pang of homesickness that her wedding would have none of the customs she had grown up with. Still, it had been imperative that they marry in a ceremony based on the Faith of the Seven. Everyone in the Kingdom needed to see this marriage for what it was- the start of a new political dynasty.

Tywin waited inside the sept, his children, sister and grandsons at the bottom of the steps. Jaime and Tyrion had briefly spoken with him, and Tyrion commented that his father would be well pleased with his bride this day. Tywin snorted. He knew that Sansa would be a beautiful bride. She was stunning at all times. Tywin knew he was marrying one of the most exquisite women in the entire seven kingdoms today.

Moreover, Sansa never comported herself without the utmost dignity, and he expected no less from her today. No part of him would admit to being eager to see his soon to be wife, nor would he ever acknowledge his pride in her beauty. No, Tywin would keep those thoughts to himself. He would allow the envy of those around him to stroke his considerable ego, knowing that he had snatched the key to the North from even the most ambitious players gathered in the Hall today. Thinking on this, his eyes met Lady Olenna Tyrell's and she dipped her head in acknowledgement of his cunning. Seated beside her was Lord Willas. Tywin sneered looking at the crippled lord, once again thinking he would never have been a fit husband for a woman such as Sansa Stark. She was his.

Even Jaime seemed less hostile towards the union, although deeply confused. He had mumbled something about blessings on the marriage before he had fallen back to stand between his siblings, holding himself uncertainly. Cersei and Joffrey could barely contain the hatred in their eyes. At least the King had his fawning betrothed to distract him. For once, Tywin was grateful to the Tyrell woman. But Cersei couldn't drag her gaze from her father's figure. She couldn't believe that her father would dare marry another, and a traitorous whore at that. She saw the hunger with which he gazed upon Sansa Stark. She raged at being replaced as the most beautiful female in House Lannister.

Genna looked as if it were her own daughter getting married today, and Tywin had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at her emotion, her eyes puffy and red from the tears she had been crying. He had to admit though, his sister had come through, and the affection between his soon to be wife and his sister pleased him.

The Sept was filled with the lords and ladies from Court, everyone eager to see this northern princess marry the great Tywin Lannister. No one had ever believed this day would come. Tywin Lannister, the richest and most powerful man in all of Westeros, willing to be married again. And to a Northerner! No, there wasn't a seat to be found in the Great Sept that afternoon.

Once the officiating Septon had recited several prayers to the audience, Sansa entered. Tywin waited at the front while Kevan led Sansa to Tywin. Even though Tyrion had warned him of Sansa's beauty today, Tywin felt his breath catch when he first saw his bride. She was exquisite, a stunning vision in white, with Lannister gold and rubies dripping from her neck and ears. She had left her hair partially down, eschewing the more formal southern styles and ushering in a new era of fashion in the capital. Sansa Stark was a bride that would be talked about for years. She was elegance and grace and serene beauty, and by the look on her face, everyone knew she was a woman who was in love with the man she was about to marry.

Sansa's eyes met Tywin's as she approached him, twinkling in delight. She noted he was wearing a new doublet today, red and stitched with golden Lannister lions, and he looked so handsome to her. Sansa kept her eyes trained on him during her walk down the aisle, as she walked towards her future, never doubting this was what she wanted. She clung to Kevan's arm, only so that she didn't trip and make a complete fool of herself, or else run down the aisle to him, causing a total embarrassment of herself. Kevan, at one point, reached over and patted her arm, and she flashed him a huge smile. Tywin saw the excitement and anticipation in her eyes that their wedding was finally here.

_Good,_ Tywin thought savagely, _the woman was about to be his, and she knew it and by her look she wanted this marriage as much as him_. There were no doubts in Sansa's bright blue eyes.

When she reached Tywin, the Septon called out, his voice strong and loud, and told Tywin to cloak the bride and bring her under his protection. Tywin unhooked her white maiden's cloak with the direwolf sigil and let it fall to the ground. In his hand he held his Lannister cloak, red and trimmed with gold, a roaring lion on its back. He hooked his cloak around her, and the red only emphasized the stunning white and gold gown she wore. She looked every inch a Lannister in that moment. He leaned down to whisper to her "Mine," and she felt a shimmer run through her, as she nodded slightly, meeting his eyes, and whispered back, "Yours." His green eyes flashed with emotion. It was a moment for them only.

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness to the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." Tywin reached and held Sansa's hand in his as they continued to stand side by side. The Septon lifted their joined hands and tied a ribbon that Sansa had stitched, red with gold lions, around them and in doing so said, "Let it be known that Tywin of House Lannister and Sansa of House Stark are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." Tywin risked a small glace at Sansa, and he saw her lips curve into a small, fierce smile. He felt his heart clench again. "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity," and he unravelled the ribbon, letting it float to their feet. The Septon then commanded them to "Look upon each other and say the words of the Seven."

Tywin and Sansa turned to each other, hands still clasped and looked into each other's eyes as they repeated simultaneously, "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger."

Then Tywin said, "I am hers, and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," while Sansa looked directly at Tywin, eyes alight with love and repeated, "I am his, and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days."

When they had both repeated their vows, Tywin's voice then carried "With this kiss, I pledge my love," and leaned down to kiss Sansa before their gods, their family and the full court. It was no chaste kiss. Instead, he poured his desire and longing into the kiss, letting the Court see how much he cared for his new wife. Lingering, he pulled back slightly and looked into her eyes, seeing her love and trust in him.

A bit stunned about everything that had happened since this woman had come into his life, Tywin kept his hand tightly in Sansa's. He turned them so that they faced the audience in the sept, who then let out a huge roar. Sansa looked at Tywin, a brilliant smile gracing her face, unable to believe that she was wed. He was her husband. She squeezed his hand and felt him return the gesture as they left the sept.

Sansa Stark was now Sansa Lannister. She was married to the man that she had somehow, unexplainably and against all the odds, begun to fall in love with. Despite the pall of Shae's death and her attack, Sansa felt a peace and happiness settle over her for the first time since she had left Winterfell, and she leaned into Tywin as he led them to their wedding feast.

The feast was typical in nature for a wedding between two high born people, although Genna and Sansa had limited the meal courses down to a reasonable amount. They had heard rumours of the obscene amounts of excess that was being planned for the Royal Wedding and wanted none of that indulgence. Sansa knew the realm had just experienced a war. Many were struggling to eat, and she would not have overindulgence associated with her wedding. She would not be wasteful when so many went without. The commoners loved that the new Lady Lannister was not a greedy and spoilt noblewoman. They had begun to enjoy the northern princess for her grace and her sympathy with the common people, and they wove tales of her generosity.

Sansa and Tywin's wedding begun to be commonly referred to as the _Wedding that Brought Peace to the Realm_, and everything about Sansa and Tywin's wedding was a reflection upon them. It was not ostentatious or gaudy; the food was perfection but not indulgent and the musicians tasteful but not bawdy. This wedding would be remembered throughout the Kingdom as one of supreme elegance and grace, the blending of the West and the North. There would be no tasteless bedding ceremony, no drunken fights, no angry words. Everyone at the wedding and the feast understood that the Hand would not stand for disruption of any kind. And who could blame him? The woman at his side, the new Lady Lannister had quickly become beloved by the Court and the commoners. She was kind and generous with all those she spoke with, the perfect lady on the arm of the taciturn and fearsome hand. She was rarely at Court, and everyone hoped that now that the wedding had taken place, she would be seen more frequently. Her absences had made the curiosity about her grow, and to all those who looked upon her, they saw that the lady was happy with her marriage.

To any who didn't know Tywin, he appeared no different that he always did. He was imposing and in control, his face a mask of indifference and set in its standard hard line. It was only those closest to him, his family that could see the slightest softening whenever he looked at Lady Sansa, a slight warming in his eyes or the barest glimpse of a smile that tugged at his mouth. Tywin ruled over the feast, for once having the seat at the head of the table in view of the full court. Joffrey and Margaery were placed, along with Cersei on his side, while Tyrion, Genna, Jaime and Kevan sat on Sansa's side. Genna and Tyrion had kept up a running commentary about the lords and ladies of the court, and Sansa found herself smiling alongside them. The lions were well and truly in charge of Kings Landing. And Tywin and Sansa ruled over the court. Many in attendance longingly wished they were the true King and Queen.

Jaime was uncomfortable. He had not been at court for months, and he been surrounded by so few people recently, and the entire affair was overwhelming to him. He knew his father planned to escape with Sansa early in the evening, and he was glad. He was so overcome with the mere presence of a full-court that he retreated into a deep brooding silence, waiting for the night to end.

Cersei was deep into her wine, drunk and brooding as she looked upon the redhaired whore that had stolen her father from her. She seethed that the woman was so bold in her affections with her father, loathing that he couldn't see what a laughing stock he had become. The wedding that brought peace to the realm. How ridiculous she fumed. Her son ruled the Iron Throne, not her father, and he would do well to remember that. Cersei was able to ignore all of the poor choices she and Joffrey had made, and place blame squarely where she felt it was deserved- on Sansa Stark. While she drank, she plotted. She knew there were houses out there that were still loyal to her. She only had to convince them that her father had turned into Tytos and she knew she could rally men to her cause. She knew Sansa Stark still had enemies. Cersei still had options. Lord Baelish. The faceless men. The Greyjoys. The Golden Company. Even cousin Lancel if she could find where her father had him hidden away. Yes, Cersei smiled, she still was in the game, and she would do whatever she had to protect her family and her son. And it was time to bring Jaime to her side. Joffrey was his son, and he needed his father's protection.

The only blight on the night came when it was announced the first dance would begin. Before Sansa and Tywin could rise, Joffrey jumped up and announced that as Father of the Realm it was his duty, no it was his delight to have the first dance with his grandmother. Tywin's mind raced on how to extricate Sansa from having to participate, but the musicians had started the music and Joffrey moved to take her down the steps. Tywin kept his eyes on the King the entire time, watching as his wife gradually paled and stiffened the more Joffrey leaned in to touch her. Finally having enough, Tywin stormed down and interrupted, taking Sansa in his arms to finish the dance. She looked up at him gratefully.

"Thank you, My Lord," she whispered.

"What did he say to you, Sansa?" Tywin asked tightly. She swallowed hard.

"Nothing I haven't heard before." Tywin actually growled at that. Then she looked up at him, fear in her eyes. "No matter what happens, please do not ever let him touch me again, Tywin." She was shaking. He was incensed at his grandson. He tightened his grip on his wife, furious the King dared threaten her again, and with him standing only a short distance away. It was like he had a death wish.

"We will be leaving immediately after this dance Sansa." She nodded, grateful to him. He ensured his grip on her was secure and loving. Once the dance finished, Joffrey stood up and cried out, "Now for the bedding ceremony."

Sansa paled, and she thought that Tywin's hand might crush hers. Tywin stared his insolent grandson down. The room had quieted, so everyone heard the Hand's voice ring out through the hall, rage and authority behind his words, "There will be no bedding ceremony, Your Grace." Joffrey looked enraged to be publicly dismissed, but Tywin didn't care. He just turned and led Sansa from the hall.

Sansa and Tywin arrived back at the Tower of the Hand as quickly as they could, an entire complement of Red Cloaks accompanying them. No one would risk the safety of Tywin and Sansa tonight. Moving swiftly, Tywin dismissed everyone from his rooms- his steward, his servants, even Jerrod. Tonight, he wanted no interruptions and no distractions from his wife.

He led Sansa to their bedchamber the one they had been sharing for days now, hoping that the desire he had seen in her earlier would be present tonight. Taking her maidenhood, while necessary, was often an unpleasant experience for a woman and Tywin didn't want tonight's encounter to crush any of the passion she knew was in her. He left her at the foot of the bed and went to add more logs to the fire. As he turned back to her, he was once again struck by just how stunningly beautiful his new wife was. Approaching her, afraid he'd see the fear in her eyes, he was pleasantly surprised when all he saw was curiosity and maybe a touch of anxiety. She had no idea what to do or how to proceed. Once he reached her, he leaned down and inhaled her hair, taking in the scent that was uniquely her; lavender and lemons.

Stroking his hand down her face, he murmured, "I will do everything in my power to ensure you enjoy yourself tonight, Sansa." She swallowed and looked up at him, blue eyes impossibly wide. "It can hurt, the first time a maiden lies with a man. But I will try to be gentle."

"I know Tywin. You always are with me."

_Gods what this woman made him feel, _he thought. He didn't know if anyone had ever looked at him with the trust that she did. He had done horrible things his entire life to protect his family, and yet somehow, here in his twilight years when he was least expecting it, he had been given Sansa. His second chance. He wasn't a faithful man, but at that moment he prayed to the Gods that he didn't believe in that he wouldn't mess it up with her. Reaching down, he unhooked the Lannister cloak that marked her as a lion and let it drop to the floor. He gently turned her, so that her back was to him as he began to undo her dress. Funny how quickly things like helping his wife with her gown came back to him. It was these moments of domesticity that Tywin had missed most after Joanna had died. And he was determined to capture them all with Sansa.

Once he had all the laces and stays undone, he let the dress fall to the ground, a pool of white and gold. Sansa stepped out of it and turned back to him, clothed only in her small clothes and jewels. She was a sight. Someone, most likely Genna, had decided that his virginal bride would wear undergarments that accentuated Sansa's tiny waist and generous breasts, pushing them up and begging them to be touched.

Looking at Tywin, Sansa could see his approval and his pleasure at what she was wearing.

He swallowed, reaching for her corset, and asked, "May I?" She nodded, and he removed it until she was standing before him in only her stockings and slippers and the Lannister choker. He drank her in. Her skin was pale and creamy, her legs impossibly long, her breasts magnificent and her curls that hid her woman's place were Lannister red. She was a vision, untouched and unspoiled and entirely his.

He felt his possessiveness of her grow, and he knew as long as he lived, he would destroy anyone that tried to hurt her, his daughter included. He reached down and touched her, cupping a breast in his hand, testing its weight, holding it in his palm, before he lowered her head and drew a rosy tip into his mouth, sucking at her.

She moaned and reached down to hold his head to her chest. Sansa didn't know she could feel like this. She was achy, and there was a wetness pooling between her legs. Suddenly grabbing her, Tywin lifted her and deposited her onto the bed. She lay there, naked except for long stocking covered legs and his gold at her neck. She was a feast for a lion, and he was ready to devour her. He quickly divested himself of his leather doublet and his boots, dropping both the ground.

Clad only in his tunic and breeches, he crawled over her on the bed and leaned down to kiss her. She responded eagerly to him, matching his passion. He let his hands roam over her, cupping her breasts again, pulling at her nipples until they hardened into peaks. He leaned down, trailing his tongue along her neck, nipping and sucking at her, marking her delicate skin. He was relentless, hands and mouth moving over her body. He moved his mouth down to recapture her nipple in his mouth, and as he did so, he trailed his hands down her body, over her tiny waist, until he reached her entrance.

Tywin focused on building her passion, tugging more aggressively at her breast, and as soon as she let a little moan escape, he brushed his fingers through her curls. He growled into her when he felt her readiness on his fingers. She was dripping for him. He slowly brushed his fingers across her nub, feeling her writhe under him until he dipped his fingers into her. Gods, she was so tight. He worked one, then two fingers into her, while she continued to moan. He raised his head and brought his lips back to hers, looking into her eyes. They were glazed with lust. He was as hard as he ever had been. But he wanted her to peak before he took her. Forcing his hand to stop, her eyes finally focused on him.

"Do you want more Sansa?" Emerald green eyes met bright blue ones.

"Yes, please," she gasped.

He nodded at her. He would own her in every way possible, but for tonight, he wanted to ensure that her mind was so consumed with pleasure that she would always turn to him in their bedroom. He knew that tonight would set the course for the rest of their lives.

Running his beard along her delicate skin, he left a trail of reddening marks across her pale skin. Tywin made his way down her body once more, nipping and sucking. He pressed kisses to her stomach and imagined her one day soon swollen with their child. He kissed her there, overcome with the thought of her pregnant with his child, before moving lower. Sansa just watched him, her eyes curious, until he reached her entrance. He could smell her arousal, and he hardened further. Her passion was a welcome surprise in the bedroom. Too many highborn ladies were raised were to be cold and unresponding. Looking her directly in the eyes, Tywin lowered his mouth to her, licking at her. He ran his lips through her, making her moan. She arched off the bed and immediately brought her hands to his head, as if to keep him there indefinitely, thrusting her hands into his hair.

"Tywin," she groaned. He didn't answer her, overcome with her response and he continued to lick and nibble at her, using his tongue to dive into her core, thrusting it in and out of her, his tongue mimicking what he would be doing to her soon. She began to tremble as he kept the pace up. He moved his lips up and found her nub as he brought his fingers back and worked them inside her again. Pressing down, he thrust them into her over and over again, and he suckled on her until he felt her tighten and then wetness pool out of her. Sansa screamed as she peaked, unable to comprehend that she could feel that good.

No one had ever told her it could be like that. She floated, vaguely aware that Tywin had raised himself to divest himself of his breeches and his tunic. Then he was back, naked and in front of her. She eagerly reached up and brought his face down to hers to kiss him. She tasted herself on him, and she let out another little moan.

Pulling back, she looked him in the eyes. "I didn't know it could be like that," she said softly. He chuckled lightly at her.

"That is only the beginning wife. They call that the Lord's kiss and I will be happy to kiss my wife like that as often as she'd like."

Sansa blushed but nodded, eagerly. It felt incredible what Tywin's mouth had done to her!

Her heart clenched. She was Tywin's wife. She was in her husbands' bed. She was married. To Tywin. And he had just made her feel better than she ever had in her entire life. Recovering quickly, Sansa reached out and begun to explore him.

Tywin had rolled them, so he was now laying on his back, while his beautiful wife was spread out over him, free to allow her hands to roam about. Tywin settled his hands on her lower back, briefly feeling the raised scars there. He hated that he knew who had caused them. Quickly he ruthlessly pushed the thought away. He would give his attention to them later. Right now, it was only him and Sansa.

Tywin was no young man, but he was still well-muscled and lean. His chest was covered in light golden hair, and his arms and stomach were pleasing to look at. He let her hands roam over him, tracing the lines and contours on his body, pausing to press a kiss here or there at an old scar or injury. His body was a testament to the fact that he had spilt blood, commanded armies and won wars. Heat pooled in Sansa again as she mapped her husband's body. She let her hands roam down his stomach until finally, she found his manhood. Sansa had nothing to compare Tywin too, but she didn't know how he was going to fit inside her. Eyes wide, she looked at him.

"Can I," she blushed prettily. "Can I touch you?" He nodded, and Sansa reached out to feel her husband's member. It was long and thick and warm. She grasped it in her tiny hands and rubbed them up and down his shaft. Occasionally she would do something and he would grunt, and she vowed to learn how to please him as he did to her. The more she touched him, the more liquid seemed to leak from the tip, and before she could even think what she was doing, she leaned down to lick it up. Tywin jerked, completely undone by his eager wife. Knowing things were spiralling out of his control, he made a promise to himself to teach his curious wife everything he had learned in the bedroom. But right now, he just wanted to be buried inside her.

He grasped her and turned them, once again settling her beneath him as he lay on top. He lined himself up to her entrance and begun to coat his cock. Looking her in the eyes, he rocked gently forward, easing inside a little bit further each time. They never took their eyes off of each other, each needing to be seen by the other as they took this last step to seal them to each other forever. Finally, Tywin felt he was coated with enough of her wetness that he wouldn't tear or hurt her any worse than he had too.

He leaned down to kiss her and pulling back ever so slightly he whispered, "I'm sorry" before he thrust into her and claimed her maidenhood. Sansa startled a bit with the brief flare of pain before it retreated, and she found her husband fully and deeply seated in her.

_Gods, she felt good, _Tywin thought. It was impossible to describe how strongly she gripped him. Slowly he pulled back, having seated himself in her to her core with his first thrust, and he began to build a steady pace. He looked at her face again, noticing that the pain had disappeared and that her eyes had started to glaze over again in lust. Her hips had begun to move, jerky and clumsy at first. He reached down to rotate her slightly, gently guiding her on how to move her body, until they built a steady rhythm. The world had receded until it was the two of them, lost in each other, as close as two people could be. Sansa started to let out a small series of moans, and Tywin could feel her walls fluttering, pushing him closer to his release.

Reaching down, he flicked his fingers on her nub and rasped out, "I need you to peak for me Sansa," and then he felt her. He thrust into her twice more before he emptied deep into her womb. Careful not to collapse on her, Tywin lay over her, letting himself slowly soften in her. Her eyes had closed at the last moment, and they now popped open again, pinning him.

She reached up and brought his face back to hers, kissing him softly. She whispered against his lips, "Thank you, Tywin," she breathed, "that was wonderful." Tywin felt his heart tighten and fall.

Even knowing he was feeling too much for Sansa, it was impossible to stop the emotions that flooded through him. She was everything in his life; he never thought he would have again. His second chance. His future. His wife. Determined to pull back emotionally tomorrow, in the light of day, tonight he let himself feel everything that he had locked away for the past thirty-five years. Gathering her to him, he settled her back against his chest and pulled her to him tightly. Sansa just snuggled into him, content to be held by him. She never knew that laying with her husband could be like that. Though she was exhausted from the day, she was eager for more. She hoped that he was happy with her.

As if reading her thoughts, he leaned down to trace his lips along the shell of her ear, whispering to her, "Happy wedding day, Sansa."

She smiled to herself and felt herself drift, feeling Tywin's hand roam her body, keeping the low hum of desired stoked in her body.

She wasn't sure if she had slept or not, but sometime later, she felt his hands move along the scars on her back. She started to stiffen before he gently scolded her. "Every part of you is beautiful Sansa."

He leaned down to kiss the scars that lined her back from her beatings at the hands of the Kingsguard.

"Every scar means you are a survivor." He traced them lower and lower.

Suddenly, he said, "I want to be in you again. Are you too sore?" Sansa shifted, feeling her body protest lightly, but she didn't feel that sore. She shook her head.

"Good," he murmured before positing himself at her entrance, their coupling from earlier allowing him to ease his way in. He took her languidly then, with no rush, letting his hands and tongue to roam her body as he gently moved in and out of her. When Sansa came close to peaking, he would retreat, pulling back on the most intense pleasure he was giving her, then start again to build her up, until she was quite literally a quivering, shaking mass of need and want.

Finally breaking, she grabbed his head and smashed her lips to him, and growled, "Tywin please...." Moaning and drawing out his name. He grunted and pumped harder into her, bringing them both up until she exploded in his arms and he followed her over. Collapsing onto the bed, he once again gathered her to him, settling them in, both too exhausted to do anything more than fall into a dreamless sleep. 


	9. Chapter 9

_ Kings Landing _

Tywin woke before Sansa the morning after the wedding as was his custom. He was an extraordinarily busy man, and he rarely allowed himself the luxury to waste any part of the day. But today he was reluctant to leave the bed where his new wife lay curled up beside him. He traced his hands over her body, happy she had not attempted to cover herself in the night. She had instead slept beside him, winding her longs legs through his, needing to be touching him, naked and content. He never wanted her to leave his side.

As he watched her sleep, he knew that his promise to himself last night to pull back and to feel less emotion for her were just words in the wind before he had even finished the thought. There was no pulling back, no feeling less with Sansa. Tywin had only known this feeling for one other person in his lifetime, and it had taken him thirty-five years to find it again. He knew that he would never give her up now, never be parted from her unless necessary, which meant that they had a choice to make. He needed to know if she was prepared to be by his side in Kings Landing, plotting and planning and securing their future. Or if now that they were wed, she still wanted to retire to Casterly Rock and the safety it provided. He knew his feelings for her would only continue to grow, and wherever Sansa saw their future, he would be by her side even if it meant giving up his position as Hand of the King here in Kings Landing.

Being the Hand of the King as well as Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock was a daunting amount of work for him. He watched his wife and wondered how much she would be willing to be part of that work. She had proven herself skilled in matching his intelligence, and though she was only twenty-one, she was remarkably composed. She had shown a talent for intrigue and cunning. There was no doubt in Tywin's mind that the two of them could be a force in Kings Landing; the real power behind whoever was on the throne. He had even begun to think that they could rule the seven kingdoms together. But was Sansa interested in being part of the game of thrones? He needed a true partner if they were to be successful in ruling Westeros together.

He thought back to the first day when she had said she wanted to wed him and to raise their children at Casterly Rock because she would be safe there. At the time, all he could see was the rage at being manipulated by her and a smidgen of respect. It had seemed reasonable that he would marry her, get his heir on her and then send her to the Rock.

But it had all changed. When Tywin couldn't quite pinpoint. It might have been watching Lord Willas try to court her and feeling wrath that the crippled man would even dare try to win her hand. It could have been when she accepted him in his map room despite his plans that would have seen the destruction of her family. It was in the map room when he felt she understood what he was capable of but was willing to accept him anyway. Was it when she comforted him when Jaime lost his hand and then ruthlessly plotted to wipe two houses from Westerosi history? He knew by the time he found her covered in blood and almost catatonic from the horror of the attack that he would never allow her to be parted from him as long as he lived.

He watched his pretty wife sleeping, and could see her round and large with their child. He could see her at his home, raising their children, his sons and daughters free from the cruelties of court life, safe and loved and secure in their place in the world as the Lions of Lannister. But even there, the threats from the capitol would always be hanging over their heads.

As he stroked her side, he felt her stir, and he knew that the next words out of his mouth would shape their entire future. Sansa came awake like a cat, languid and slow, stretching her body against his until finally, her blue eyes popped open and met his green ones. She immediately smiled, and to his delight, did not attempt to cover herself. She just looked at him as if he were her entire world, and he felt himself fall for her just a little bit more.

"Good morning, husband," she said softly as if trying out the word for the first time. He nodded at her.

"Wife."

She grinned. Then she laughed, and she reached out and grabbed his face, running her hands through his whiskers as she leaned up and kissed him. Tywin didn't smile, but his eyes softened on his wife. Gods she was like liquid sunshine in his life, which before her, seemed so grey and bleak now.

He hated to break her joy, but he needed to know. Was she willing to be his partner in the game of thrones, or did she want a quiet life in the Westerlands? He would let her choose.

He stroked her cheek, then looked directly at her, face serious.

"The first day you came to me Sansa, you said you would not stay in Kings Landing to raise our children. You sought me out for my protection and your safety." He paused, and she nodded. "Since that time, though, you have proven to have a particularly sharp and skillful mind for court plots and intrigue." He paused again, and she looked at him with her wide blue eyes. He tightened his grip on her, ever so slightly.

"Whatever you decide, know that it _will be with_ me by your side. I am a possessive and jealous man, Sansa, and when I _care for someone_, I do not wish to be parted from them any more than necessary." His eyes blazed green, and he looked intense and almost desperate. Sansa swallowed.

"What do you want our life to be Sansa? Do you want to stay here in Kings Landing, to build upon the empire we have started, to ensure that the Lions and the Wolves rule Westeros, to play the game of thrones together? Or do you want to retire to Casterly Rock and be safe, but subject to the whims and wishes of whatever king sits on the Iron Throne?"

Sansa looked at Tywin. She could not believe he was giving her a choice. A choice! It had been so long since Sansa had any power over her life. Even her decision to seek out marriage to Tywin had hardly been a choice; it had been a necessity for her survival. The fact that this man, the most powerful in all the seven kingdoms, was willing to let her choose their future just made Sansa love him even more.

She furrowed her brow. What did she want? Weeks ago, she would have taken any opportunity to leave Kings Landing, to feel safe, to be out of reach from Joffrey and the Queen. But that was before Tywin. Before she met him, got to know him, and fell in love with him. It was before she had been given any power of her own. Before she knew that he would respect her intelligence, ask her opinion, cherish her for her strength and cunning. Before she knew he would never touch her in anger and that he would do everything in his power to protect her. Before she knew Kevan and Genna and Tyrion and discovered a new family. Before she knew she could be powerful.

Sansa never wanted to feel weak again. She wanted to be both a wolf and a lion. Hiding at Casterly Rock would never be an option for her now, even if Kings Landing destroyed them both.

She reached back up and cupped his face in her hands and looked directly at him. "I want to see Casterly Rock." She saw him close his eyes, and he began to nod, as he realized what he would be giving up to return there, but willing to do so. For her. She gently stroked his cheek and continued, "Someday." His eyes opened and looked at her. "Someday you will take me there Tywin. And maybe that day will be sooner than we know. But right now, I want to be here with you. In Kings Landing, with you. Helping you. I wish to play the game of thrones Tywin."

He growled at her, looking into her eyes, and pinned her to the bed, laying on top of her, kissing her passionately and stirring the desire in her. She responded equally, comfortable in her nakedness and her need for him. She was a lion, and she would take what she wanted. They came together almost bruisingly hard, and Tywin littered marks over her skin. He needed to see the evidence of their passion on her skin after he was gone from their bed. Sansa responded, and he felt himself being tugged and nipped and bit at. It was savage and primal, and both of them crashed to their peak, dragging each other over, wrapped tightly in each other. Slowly they recovered, still pressed together, sweat cooling on their bodies. Tywin looked at her and brushed her hair back from her forehead.

"Gods, Sansa, what you do to me."

She just huffed out little breaths, trying to figure out what had just happened as he looked at her with eyes that held a wealth of emotion.

He continued to keep them there, pressed together, as she spoke. "Nowhere is truly safe, is it Tywin?" she asked him softly.

His hands brushed at her face. "No Sansa, it is not."

She nodded.

"Then it is better that we are together, taking as much power as we can, for as long as we can," her blue eyes glittered with determination. Tywin swallowed hard and looked at this incredible woman that was somehow his wife. It was as if the gods had crafted her, especially for him. Shaking himself, he gathered his thoughts and begun to speak again.

"This morning, I've called a family meeting. Including Cersei." Sansa forced herself not to tense. He leaned down and licked at her neck, and she settled again. "Remember Sansa; you are a lion." Sansa nodded. He was right. They couldn't stay in Kings Landing without dealing with Cersei. And Joffrey. And any other threats that would come their way. And there would always be threats. They needed to be strong, together, if they were to rule here.

She nodded again. "I will be fine, Tywin."

"Good," then he kissed her once more and rolled off of her. He left their bed, ready to start his day before the family arrived. Sansa reached down and picked up his robe and covered herself. As she walked towards him, she let it hang loose so that he received glimpses of her pale flesh and long legs. Her body was sore, she was covered in love bites and whisker burns, and she had never felt better. She helped him dress as was her custom, then told him she would make her way to the bathing rooms. She kept his robe on as she went to leave their bedroom after calling for her handmaidens.

"My Lady, are you not forgetting something?" He arched a brow at her attire. She turned back and gave him a puzzled look before he gestured to his robe.

She grinned then, wild and free, the most beautiful woman he had seen, her hair a cascade of fire around her exquisite face. "No dear husband, I like how you look at me when I wear it."

His eyes opened slightly wider, a questioning look on his face.

"And how is it that I look at you, wife?" he asked dryly.

"Like you're a lion, and you could just eat me up!"

His jaw dropped, and she laughed and left the room. Alone, he smirked after her and shook his head. He knew he had awoken something in his wife. She was only starting to get a taste of her power, and he couldn't wait to watch her discover her strength.

* * *

Jaime arrived at the Tower of the Hand before either of his siblings and walked into his father's solar to see his new mother and his father engaged in an animated conversation across from his father's large and imposing desk. It had seemed that a new chair, similar to his father's, had been placed across from his like this was a common occurrence between the two. It was a domestic scene, and it jolted Jaime to see once again his father wed after so many years spent alone.

Before he could announce his presence, knowing his father didn't realize he was there, he saw his father rise. He came around his desk and leaned down and kissed his new wife, passionately, until Jaime was sure he heard Lady Sansa moan, and his father growl, and there was perhaps someone nipping at the other one. Jaime's face warmed, and he turned his head before he saw more. Then he coughed slightly to let them know he was there.

Tywin pulled back from his wife, looked at Jaime and then offered his hand to Lady Sansa. She took it and rose, before she bowed to Jaime, and murmured "Ser Jaime," as if she hadn't just been caught in a passionate exchange with his father. It was all too much for Jaime Lannister, seeing his father embrace his new wife such as he had. Turning without a word, he strode into the dining hall, hoping to get this breakfast over with quickly. When he arrived in the hall, Cersei and Tyrion were already seated. Jaime thought at first Cersei must have the wrong seat, as she always sat beside their father and now she was at the opposite end of the table until he realized her usual place now belonged to Sansa. Jaime grimaced. It seemed there was no escape from the influence of Lady Sansa on the Old Lion.

The three late arrivals all sat, and Tyrion called out, "Good morning, Mother, you look ravished this morning. Oh, I meant, ravishing." Tyrion loved calling Sansa, mother in front of Cersei. He knew it drove her mad with fury, and Sansa knew he wasn't mocking her, but affirming her new place in their pride. Tyrion was positively delighted with his father's choice of bride.

Tywin shot his youngest a glare that would intimidate lesser men and Cersei looked like she had eaten something sour, but Tyrion grinned, and Sansa laughed. "Thank you, Tyrion. I do rather feel that way."

Tyrion barked out a howl, "Being a lion suits you, Lady Sansa. And there will be no doubting the consummation of your marriage by anyone that has the delight of seeing you today." He saw the lion toque necklace around her neck, along with the clear evidence of his father's desire, marking her pale skin. He hadn't seen the necklace there since the night of Shae's murder when violent hands had pinned her to the ground, and the necklace had left an awful bruise. It seemed like she would wear both the necklace and his father's marks proudly today.

Cersei looked like she would be ill. "Really, Tyrion, must we be so base so early in the morning. It is clear father got his money's worth on his wedding night." Tywin scowled at her. She huffed. "Perhaps if you would shut up, Father could tell us why he has summoned us here." She reached for wine even though the day had barely begun. Tywin frowned at her, as did Jaime.

_Since when did Cersei need wine to get through a family breakfast, _Jaime thought?

The servants then entered and placed a large covered plate before Cersei. She looked up at her father, confusion marring her face.

Tywin gestured to her, indicating she should proceed. She lifted the lid off and saw two stained white cloaks on the serving platter. She reeled back, and her eyes flashed to Tywin. "You dare?" she seethed.

"I dare daughter?" He scoffed at her. "That's amusing, coming from you."

"I can hardly be held responsible for the reprehensible actions of two rogue Kingsguard Father."

"Rogue? Meryn Trant, the man that your littlest brother skewered, didn't indicate their actions were rogue. No, interestingly enough he seemed to think that he was ordered to attack Lady Sansa and her handmaiden."

Cersei's face was a mask of rage. She stood up abruptly, and her chair fell over. "I do not have to sit here and listen to these lies. Lies you continue to weave about your blood relations. Since when do you care about what happens to a whore?"

"You embarrass yourself, daughter, when you continue to behave as if I am not aware of your every move. Sit. Down." Tywin's voiced raised, and Cersei fumed but sat back in her chair.

"It was not just an attack against a whore. It was an attack against Lady Sansa. Any future attacks against my wife will be met with extreme prejudice. Do you understand?" Cersei nodded abruptly. "The only reason you are still breathing is that you did not order the rape and murder of my wife. That is all." Cersei paled. Jaime watched the confrontation, horrified and transfixed.

"Tyrion has a report on the Crown's finances. You will sit, listen and report to Joffrey as he has decided that his attendance at council meetings is not required to rule the Kingdom."

Tyrion cleared his throat. His father had approached him before the wedding to discuss increasing the debt repayments to the Lannister coffers. Tyrion knew Cersei would take the news poorly.

"Yes, thank you, father. Well, it seems that House Lannister has requested an accelerated debt payment schedule, dear sister. As you know, the Crown currently owes the Lannister’s almost three million gold dragons."

"Three million gold dragons?" Jaime exclaimed. He turned and looked at Cersei. "How on earth is that possible?" Cersei shrugged. Silent Jaime waited her out. Finally, she cleared her throat.

"It seems the previous Master of Coin was not quite as good at his job as we were led to believe," she hissed angrily. She could hardly see how this was her fault. "I can hardly be held accountable for the ineptitude of Lord Baelish."

She shrugged. Cersei Lannister had been born into the wealthiest house in the seven kingdoms. She truly did not understand that her wealth had been entirely dependent on her father's own agenda aligning with hers. Now that they were on separate sides, Cersei couldn't seem to grasp the concept of how dire the Crown's financial issues really were.

"But Cersei," Jaime said still incredulous, "If father were to call his entire debt due, the Crown would be bankrupt. The commoners and lords alike would revolt. They would call for Joffrey's head!"

"Thank you, brother, for your keen analysis of the Crown's financial situation. As if I were not aware of the current state the Crown finds itself in," she spat at him. "While you and father were off playing at war, I was here. Making hard decisions and helping our son rule!"

Tywin snorted at her statement, and Sansa shot him a look. They had talked about some of the choices Cersei and Tyrion had made in his absence. The great lion was unimpressed with his offspring.

Tyrion eyed them nervously. "Well, be that as it may, the current situation is that House Lannister had demanded an immediate twenty percent increase on all loan repayments, which means that cutbacks to the Kings' lifestyle will have to be made immediately. Including the Royal Wedding. Even with the Tyrell's paying half, the truth is, the Crown can't afford the wedding as it is currently being planned."

Cersei fumed and sneered at Tywin.

"You would do this, to your own family, your own blood? Make us paupers, feed us to the wolves that are sniffing at the door? Give the Kingdom to your northern whore's family. This is the Royal Wedding. The wedding of your king! Do not forget, father, that it was your gold that paid to start this war. There is just as much blood on your hands as mine. You wanted a Lannister on the throne since the days of the Mad King. What does your pretty little wife think of the blood staining her new wealth?"

Cersei sneered at Sansa, who just raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the Queen Regent's outburst.

Tywin shrugged. "I do not deny that everything I have ever done had been for House Lannister. Including wedding you to Robert Baratheon and effectively putting you on the throne." He paused, "But it seems I've overestimated the capability of the current King and your ability and skill to handle both him and your husband before that."

Tywin paused and looked at his daughter. He knew she had been devastated when Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen had passed her over. How much more enraged would she be to know he'd done it not once but twice? And that the second time was for Sansa's aunt? Tywin knew the story of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark well. He'd kept it quiet for twenty years.

Shaking himself from unpleasant memories twenty years old, he addressed his daughter again. She had never recovered having to marry that brutish stag, he thought. Still, it didn't excuse her current behaviour or that of her incestuous son.

"Wars cost money, Cersei, gold you do not have. If the Crown continues to act against House Lannister, House Lannister will do whatever it must to protect itself. This includes protecting the new Lady Lannister." He pinned Cersei with his eyes and said in a cold and controlled voice. "You do not have the alliances or the gold to go to war with me, daughter. Your son sits on the Iron Throne only because I allow it. Do not move against House Lannister."

"My son is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne," she snarled.

"He is a bastard born of incest!" Tywin yelled back at her smashing his fist on the table. Cersei looked murderous. "He has no right to the throne. You saw to that." Tywin paused. "How difficult would it have been to give King Robert one legitimate heir? All you had to do was lie there and spread your legs, and you couldn't even do that right. Everything I have worked for is threatened because you and your brother had to fuck each other." Tywin fumed at her.

"The only reason I have not removed your ill-conceived son from the throne is the simple fact that the realm cannot abide more bloodshed right now. Winter is coming. We must prepare."

Cersei glared at her father, rage coursing through her veins. This time when she pushed her chair back and rose to leave, Tywin let her. They all flinched when they heard the door slam as she exited the room.

Jaime rose to follow, and Tywin barked out, "Sit down Jaime."

He sat. Jaime was torn. He knew his father was incensed at Cersei, and at him. And he was starting to see how deeply troubled things were in Kings Landing. But his place had always been with Cersei. Each day she seemed to be driven further and further from their family.

Tywin pinned Tyrion and Jaime with a look. "I have made no secret about my desire for greatness for our house. Everything I have done has been for House Lannister. One day, we will all be dead. And our children will be dead. And the only thing that will live on is the Lannister name. We can build all the alliances we want, but in the end, the only ones we can count on is each other." He paused and looked at his two sons.

"Both of you must decide, right now, whose side are you on?" Jaime and Tyrion nodded, and said, "Your side, Father."

Tywin looked at his sons. "Good. What I tell you now, I tell you in the strictest of confidence." Jaime arched an eyebrow at his father. Then he gestured to Sansa.

Tywin just sighed and looked at him, then reached over and grabbed his wife's hand, squeezing it firmly, then let his fingers trace over her palm. It pleased him when she didn't let him go, instead, gripping him tighter. He knew they were becoming vital to one another.

"You have been away from Kings Landing Jaime. Lady Sansa has proven herself more than worthy of sharing in my confidences and my council. She is my wife and my partner. And she is a Lannister. Not for a day, or a week. But for life." Sansa nodded, and Jaime swallowed.

"The plan we are about to share with you was conceived by her. It is a plan to deliver vengeance for House Stark and House Lannister." Tyrion and Jaime's eyes both opened wide at that statement. Sansa held their gazes, then looked at Tywin, who indicated his head slightly. Then Sansa spoke.

"My brother marches on House Frey at the Twins. He will beg passage and forgiveness from Walder Frey for breaking his oath to marry his daughter Roslin. The Freys have a plan to attack the Northern Army, with help from the Boltons. The Boltons will move on the Northern Army, leaving the safety of Haarenhal. The Boltons are unaware that House Lannister has turned on them. The Lannister Army and will finish them from behind, leaving the Twins and Harrnehal in the hands of our men."

Jaime looked at Sansa like she just spoke in a foreign tongue, while Tyrion had begun to laugh. Then he clapped. "Well done, Mother," he japed. He saw the cunning and simplicity in the plan, and the strategic advantage the victory would give their alliance. "And what of Roslin Frey?" Tyrion asked.

Tywin frowned. "What of her? I assume most Freys will perish in the sacking of the Twins."

"She is a high-born woman father, and from all reports very comely. Marrying her to someone in our alliance would secure the Twins for years and quell any Frey uprising." Tywin looked pensive. It was an excellent point.

"Robb Stark had planned to offer a marriage alliance between Edmure Tully and Roslin Frey in exchange for his broken engagement," Tywin told them. Tyrion and Sansa thought on that.

Sansa spoke. "Keeping the marriage would tighten our alliance with House Tully, giving them the best hostage from the battle. It is an appropriate price for betrayal. Plus, House Frey is a vassal house to House Tully. It would send a message to any other vassal houses in Westeros that think to rise above their station. And any remaining Freys could hardly argue about my Uncle marrying Roslin seeing as he is their Liege Lord. It is a good match for both."

Tywin looked at Sansa and Tyrion. They had grown closer, and he could tell that the two of them had a deep respect for each other.

"It would give us three of the seven kingdoms Father. Four if we count Dorne once Myrcella marries Trystane Martell in a few years from now," Tyrion said.

Tywin murmured, "Although there is work to be done there." Everyone in the room knew his role in Elia Martell's death.

"And don't forget Margaery and Joffrey's marriage, giving us the Reach. That's five, Father," Tyrion added. "Although it is debatable if the Tyrell's will let their fair rose marry the monster that Joffrey is becoming."

Tywin agreed. He too was concerned about the increased violent tendencies he displayed. He knew Olenna would never allow any harm to come to her granddaughter. Something needed to be done to secure a marriage alliance with the Reach. If Margaery wouldn't marry Joffrey, Tywin needed an alternative.

Jaime was lost. Who on earth were these people? This pretty highborn woman who talked about wiping houses from the map of Westeros and marriage alliances to secure the realm as if it were nothing more than planning a dinner party over morning tea. And his father and brother, quickly discussing the building of the Lannister empire as if this were commonplace between them. His father had never listened to anything Tyrion had to say before. It was perhaps Tywin's greatest weakness, his inability to utilize Tyrion's brilliant mind to his advantage. How much more dangerous had the Great Lion of Caterly Rock become now that he actually had Tyrion on his side?

Sansa squeezed Tywin's hand again, and he stroked his fingers over hers, almost purring. It was rare for Tywin to indulge in such physical displays outside their bedroom, even in front of his family. "That just leaves Storm's End and the Vale, my Lord," she murmured, happy that he was willing to show his affection for her in front of his sons.

"Perhaps Tommen for the Stormlands?" Tyrion proposed.

"Hmm, yes," Tywin said, deep in thought. "Although the boy is much too young to be sent there currently. Not unless there is someone willing to go with him." Tywin turned his eyes to Jaime, who was still trying to catch up with all the talk of politics and alliances. Tyrion had always been the intelligent one. Jaime was much better with a sword in his hand. Watching this exchange made Jaime acutely aware of all he was missing, and he had never felt more useless to his family.

Shaking his head, the Kingslayer couldn't conceive of leaving Kings Landing when he had just arrived back. Everything was too much in flux. And Cersei would never allow him to take Tommen away from her. There was also Stannis to deal with, and everyone knew his claim to the Stormlands was much more significant than Cersei's second born.

"Back to the traitors, father," Jaime said, attempting to follow through on the promise he had made the northern lord. "Roose Bolton had nothing to do with the removal of my hand. You cannot mean to punish an entire house for the transgressions of a few men?" He didn't disguise his revulsion at the thought.

Before Tywin could reply, Sansa looked at him coldly. "Roose Bolton is a traitor to House Stark, Ser Jaime. His men planned to betray my brother. And any Lord who cannot control his men, including Roose Bolton, must face the consequences regardless if they themselves were part of it. The removal of your sword hand was an attack on House Lannister. One we cannot let go unanswered." Jaime just stared at Sansa. She kept his gaze, letting him see what she was willing to do to protect her family. Before this meeting, he had no idea she was so ruthless, but he could see the truth in her eyes. House Bolton and House Frey would regret the day they attempted to betray the North. No wonder his father was half in love with her already.

Tywin then spoke, "House Frey and House Bolton had plans to betray House Stark Jaime. Since our alliance is with the Starks, we will do everything we can to eradicate the traitors. This plan is already in motion. You two will share this with no one. Not even Cersei. Kevan has already left the capitol with Lancel and taken Lannister forces." He pinned them both with a look.

Jaime was confused. If there were Lannister forces to be led, why wasn't he informed? He asked his father this and Tywin's eyes and mouth tightened.

"This plan was made before your return. And Kevan asked that Lancel be given an opportunity to redeem himself, after his questionable choice for a bedmate in Kings Landing became known."

Jaime's stomach dropped at the implication. No, it couldn't be. She wouldn't have replaced him with Lancel? Would she?

Tywin looked hard at Jaime again. "You will not disclose any of this to Cersei. Am I clear?"

Jaime just nodded. He pushed back from the table, feeling like he would be sick. "Father, Lady Sansa, Brother," he bowed his head and then took his leave.

Tyrion sighed and watched him go. "Was that really necessary father?" Tywin looked at Tyrion. "Telling him like that?"

"Yes," Tywin bit out sharply.

Tyrion sighed again, more profound this time. "Perhaps, but you have to admit, our golden lion has had a lot to take in since he's been back."

"Then see to it that you are there to help him, Tyrion." The dwarf nodded.

Sansa looked at them, so pleased at how far they had come. But she was genuinely concerned for Jaime. The man had been through so much. She still didn't know how to feel about him, knowing what he had done to her brother, but she could see how much he was struggling.

She spoke, "Perhaps you could spend time with him as well Tywin." He looked at her, slightly incredulous. He wasn't a nursemaid, and Jaime was not a child. Sansa just held his gaze, not intimidated by him at all. "Would it not be beneficial for him to begin to train again?"

"And what of my part in it, my Lady?" Tywin asked dryly.

She rolled her eyes at him, and Tyrion chortled. "Tywin, you are his father. I am sure he would respond to help from someone whom he used to look up to. If you were anything like my father, you had a hand in training your son. He didn't become the best swordsman in the kingdom by accident."

Tywin stared at her. Gods, she asked so much from him. He sighed. Although the thought of training with his son again held some appeal. He grunted, unwilling to commit.

"Besides," she added with a brilliant smile, "it will keep you in fighting shape for when your next son comes along." Tyrion laughed loudly at that, shooting a look at his father, whose gaze had heated.

"She's right, you know," Tyrion added. "Your presence would help our golden lion immensely father." Tywin just stared at both of them.

"Before I go, it is a brilliant plan. Well done, Lady Sansa, father. The Lions and the Wolves are off to a roaring start. Or is it howling? I'm just not sure these days." Then Tyrion smirked and jumped down, ready to find Jaime and help him if he could. Tywin rolled his eyes at Tyrion's constant japes.

As he left his father's apartments, Tyrion felt torn. He was getting along better than he ever had with his father, but he was worried about Jaime. He was nervous that his brother would be anchorless without Cersei and unable to stay out of her orbit. It could be disastrous for them if Jaime revealed their plans to her. As for Cersei, Tyrion could not forgive her actions against Shae. He already felt his sister was lost to him.

When all his children had departed, Sansa and Tywin sat alone at the table. Sansa reached down and refilled her tea, calmly looked at Tywin and shrugged her shoulders. "It could have been worse." He arched an eyebrow at her. "At least there was no blood spilled."

He laughed briefly, then grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. "I have a small council meeting in an hour, but until then, I believe I will take advantage of my new wife." Smiling Sansa followed her husband to their bedchambers.

* * *

Sansa had decided that she could not, as the new Lady Lannister and wife to the Hand of the King, spend the rest of her days hiding in their apartments. She would not let Cersei make her fear for her safety in Kings Landing. Not now. Tywin was correct. She had chosen, and she was a lion. Her husband required her to be an asset to him.

That is why each afternoon since her wedding Sansa and Genna could be found in one of Red Keeps many gardens, talking and stitching and gossiping and holding their own version of court. Over many afternoons, more and more ladies joined them, until it was a daily occurrence for Lady Margaery and Lady Olenna to meet them there. Cersei, mercifully, had not shown up.

Sansa and Margaery were amused at their two older companions, who constantly bickered, trading japes and jabs with each other. Personally, Sansa thought that Genna loved trading insults with the old matriarch as there was always a satisfied smile on her face when they left each afternoon. Lady Olenna seemed to take delight in teasing Sansa about the _stamina of the old lion _and when would they be sure that the _next heir to Casterly Rock was on its way? _

Sansa rarely answered her directly, but Olenna saw the heat and blush stain Sansa's cheeks, and she grinned at the new bride.

Time spent in the gardens gave Sansa a chance to get to know the Rose of Highgarden without the woman pressuring her to marry her brother. She found she liked Margaery quite a lot, unlike her earlier opinion that she had formed of the woman. She was funny, articulate and direct. When she asked Sansa about Tywin, it wasn't because she was after rumours or gossip, but because she genuinely seemed interested in her marriage. And Sansa was all too happy to gush over her newfound happiness with Tywin.

Margaery's reaction to Sansa's happiness made Sansa worry for her new friend. Sansa often caught a look of fear and uneasiness on Margaery's face whenever she mentioned Joffrey these days. Even though Tywin tried to shield her, Sansa knew enough that Joffrey was still abusing the whores that visited him nightly. What would he do to his pretty new wife? Margaery was just a woman after all, hardly any older than Sansa. She sensed that she might want more than only a political marriage, even though she kept saying her son would be King one day. Sansa didn't know if that was enough for her anymore.

Sansa had also noticed that Tyrion started to make a point of coming by most afternoons after the small council meetings had ended. Margaery seemed to smile a bit brighter when the dwarf arrived, and Tyrion seemed much happier after spending time with the rose of Highgarden. The two of them often could be seen engaged in animated conversation. It made Sansa smile to see some joy back in Tyrion's life, and she wondered at the connection forming between her two closest friends in Kings Landing. Would it be possible to join their houses in a different manner?

Tywin rarely stopped by the gardens where Sansa and Genna spent most of their time. He, of course, knew exactly where she spent her afternoons; they had discussed it at dinner one evening, and he thought it was a good idea that Sansa was seen more frequently outside the Hands' apartments. Many ladies of the court sought her favour, and she had won almost everyone over with her delightful demeanour and gracious ways.

Tywin was exceedingly busy at small council meetings and filling in for Joffrey when he was too busy to hold court, which seemed to be more and more. Sansa rarely wanted to be in the Throne Room, which is why their public interactions were still mostly limited. Very few people had seen them together outside of their apartments even weeks after their wedding. The lords and ladies of Kings Landing gossiped for days whenever they caught a glimpse of them together.

Some might have thought it purposeful, the way that Sansa and Tywin were often seen in separate areas of the Red Keep when everyone longed for glimpses of them together. It was mostly due to Sansa avoiding anywhere Joffrey might be. Still, it added to their allure, the Lion of Lannister and the Princess of the North, and anyone who did spy them together gushed over how much they were in love. Tywin ruthlessly cultivated this image. The more beloved he and Sansa were, the more power they had.

It had become apparent since their marriage, that Sansa could never spend enough time with her husband. They were together each evening, spent long hours in their bed learning each other's bodies, and woke wrapped around each other every morning. Their breakfast group had continued as before the wedding, although Jaime joined on occasion now.

Whenever Tywin did stop by the gardens, Sansa was particularly happy to see him. Whereas Tyrion seemed to fit in with the ladies in the garden, gossiping and japing with them, Tywin looked like a predator amongst the flowers.

On one such visit, Tywin had worn a new black leather coat which was stitched with golden lions, and Sansa loved how he looked in it; powerful and strong. He had taken a seat beside her and brushed his lips over hers, and lingered slightly to inhale her scent. She leaned into him, her face radiant at his presence. He was tall and warm and handsome and hers. Sansa loved it when she was able to admire her husband openly, and she got lost in memories of each night in their bedchambers, which had been a revelation for her and a delight to them both.

Lady Olenna, it seemed couldn't pass up the opportunity to rile the old lion, which was why she had caught Sansa off guard when she asked Tywin if he was sure he was still capable of performing his husbandly duties.

Lost in pleasurable memories, Sansa just murmured "Oh yes, My Lady, several times per night," and then she blushed furiously as she realized what she had said.

Genna laughed uproariously, and Lady Olenna's mouth dropped open before a smirk settled on her face. Of course, Tyrion and Margaery couldn't help but howl. Margaery also looked at her with a weird sort of envy and longing on her face. Tyrion had been wondering how Sansa was handling the voracious sexual appetite of his father. He had asked Jerrod quietly one afternoon. Even though Sansa seemed happy and satisfied, Tyrion wanted to make sure his new friend was content. Both men had a particular fondness for the new Lady Lannister. And apparently, the lady had no complaints about her bedroom activities.

Tywin pinned Sansa with his cat green eyes, and she was worried she would see anger there for her unintentional disclosure about their private life. Instead, she saw heat flare as they both seemed to be lost in the memory of what had taken place just that morning, and a promise of more that evening. Lady Olenna just smirked and said, "Old men and new love," but her words contained no venom. Everyone in Kings Landing knew that the marriage of the Hand to the Princess of the North was more than just a political alliance. And almost everyone was happy for them. Their marriage had brought peace and stability to the realm, and it was a welcome sight in Kings Landing.

The gardens were also where Lady Brienne found Sansa two weeks after her wedding to Tywin Lannister. That afternoon it was only Genna, Sansa and Tyrion, as the Tyrell's were busy taking care of wedding details. Approaching the group, Sansa noted that the woman was still as tall as she had been on her wedding day, and no less imposing. Lady Brienne stood before Sansa, and once again told her that she made a vow to Lady Catelyn to return Sansa to her mother.

She frowned, then added, "But I can see now that is not a possibility."

"No, Lady Brienne, I would never consent to leave my husband's side," Sansa confirmed.

Brienne nodded stiffly. She couldn't understand how Lady Sansa could be happy wed to Tywin Lannister. He seemed too stern and intimidating for such a lovely and happy woman.

Regardless, Brienne took her vow seriously. She kneeled before Sansa. "Then My Lady, if you do not wish to return to your mother, I pledge myself to your safety. I will shield your back, and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

Sansa looked at this woman, a knight no less, tall and imposing. Jaime had spoken briefly of her one morning at breakfast, stating she was the single most frustrating, determined and honour bound person he had ever met. Sansa had detected more than a hint of respect in the Kingslayer's voice when he spoke of her.

More importantly, Sansa knew this would not be a woman that could ever be swayed to Cersei or Joffrey's side. She decided quickly, and hoping she didn't regret it, Sansa drug up the words she had heard her father say years ago. Sansa stood and said to Brienne, "And I vow that you shall always have a place at my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. I pledge to ask no service of you that may bring you dishonour. I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise." "Thank you, My Lady," Brienne said, and stood to take her place behind Sansa.

Genna just raised an eyebrow and looked at Sansa.

"I can't wait to see Ty's reaction to this."

Sansa just shrugged, but she let a small smile escape.

_It was good for her husband to be surprised __sometimes_, she thought, _it kept him young._

* * *

Jaime Lannister wished he had never come back to Kings Landing. Nothing was the same, including him. He had lost more than just his hand. He had lost his way, his family, his place, and his love. Cersei barely tolerated him these days, not that he sought her company that frequently. And he was still trying to navigate through all the plots and lies that had been happening when he was away.

It seemed that she had truly ordered the rape and murder of Lady Sansa's handmaiden and Tyrion's latest consort. When Jaime had confronted her on this one particularly awful truth, she shrugged indifferently and said, "She was a whore."

Jaime gaped at her. "Our brother was in love with her Cersei."

She shot him daggers. "Our brother is always in love with some whore. What is one more dead one, Jaime?"

"And what does that make you, dear sister? Are you sleeping with Lancel? That's pathetic, even for you," Jaime sneered at her. She turned red with embarrassment, then her eyes filled with loathing.

Jaime had turned and left the room then, unable to believe her to be so cruel and vicious. He had avoided her ever since. Taking his place as a Kingsguard, Jaime witnessed first-hand the incompetence and insolence of his son. Cersei had always limited his time with their children, and he was ashamed and embarrassed at the way that Joffrey acted. His son was a very poor king. 

Often, it was his father that sat on the Iron Throne, dealing with petitioners, hearing complaints and running the Kingdom. There was no doubt who the power behind the Throne was these days. On the occasion that Joffrey did make it to court, he was bored and impatient. It had been made very clear to Jaime that he would not be taken into the confidence of the King, often relegated to menial duties or told his presence wasn't even required by the king. It made Jaime suspicious at what his son was up to in those times when he preferred to have other guards surrounding him. 

Tyrion and Jaime had spent considerable amounts of time together, often drinking in the evening. Before he had left for war, Tyrion was always on the verge of drunkenness, and his sharp wit and even more barbed tongue never passed an opportunity to lash out. But now, Tyrion seemed calmer and more composed. He spent hours with Lady Sansa and seemed to have developed a deep friendship with their father's wife. He also, shockingly enough, broke his fast with their father and new mother each morning. Of everything, this might have confused Jaime the most. He had spent his entire life, protecting his little brother from their father's rage. But now, thanks to Lady Sansa, Tyrion was welcome at his father's table, and Jaime could see the happiness this brought his little brother.

Every time Jaime had an occasion to visit with his father, it seemed like Sansa was there. While Cersei raged that his father was repeating their grandfather's mistakes, being made a fool by a woman, Jaime just saw a man who was falling in love with his new wife. Jaime could vaguely recall the Tywin Lannister that existed before his mother died, and he was sure that he was witnessing it again. Kevan had shared stories with Jaime when he was younger at just how much Tywin changed after Joanna's death. Jaime never thought he would witness his father happy ever again, but it seemed the redhaired princess had done the impossible. Jaime didn't see the same threat Cersei did. In fact, no one at court dared speak against the two. Most were relieved, recognizing that peace and stability might be possible under their rule, for it seemed like Tywin Lannister ruled Westeros in all but name.

The one area that Jaime could control in his rapidly changed life was learning how to fight again. He dedicated hours to this task, feeling useless in all other areas of his life. Surprisingly, the one knight that was most willing to train with him was Lady Brienne, who had stayed on as a sworn shield to Lady Sansa. Having Brienne in the capitol made Jaime feel better. She was the only one who knew exactly what he had been through when they had been prisoners of Locke. He found himself comfortable with the ugly lady. She never judged or mocked him, just ran him through his pace, relentless. 

After a few weeks of training with his left hand, Jaime was surprised one morning when Tywin himself showed up in the yard to spar. Not willing to use live steel, Tywin picked up a training sword, and they began. It had been years since Jaime had spent any time with his father in this capacity, and while he hated the circumstances that had brought it about, for a moment he was a young boy again, and his father his hero, the great Lion of Lannister, willing to train his son to follow in his footsteps.

Of course, his father still had his sword hand and was a consummate swordsman, and Jaime was still weak and recovering. Jaime was sure that he was about to receive a verbal lashing from his father for his lack of skill, but all Tywin did was grunt at the end of the session and bark out a short, "Good. Again tomorrow."

And then he walked away, but not before Jaime saw a brief flare of pride in his eyes.

Jaime turned his head to Brienne as if to say _what was that?_

She shrugged, but when he kept his eyes pinned to her, she relented.

"I heard that Lady Sansa asked him who trained you the first time when you were a boy. Perhaps I heard that she strongly suggested that he take an active interest in your recovery."

Jaime's jaw dropped. And his father listened to her? It seemed his new mother really was the treasure Tyrion kept saying she was. He was no young boy, but Jaime felt something warm in his chest, thinking that his father was invested in his recovery.

From that moment on, Jaime joined his father and new mother, his brother and his aunt in breaking his fast before he and his father retired to the training yard to spend time sparing until Jaime began to feel his strength and his confidence return. It was the most amount of time Jaime had ever spent with his family when they were not at each other's throats.

The only blight on the entire situation was his falling out with Cersei and his growing disgust at his son.

* * *

The raven Tywin received weeks after his wedding necessitated him calling another family meeting, except this time Cersei was conspicuously absent. She had grown more unstable, and although she made no overt moves against Sansa, Tywin knew she was plotting. Which is why Tywin felt even better about the most unusual guard his wife had acquired for herself.

Returning one afternoon from her garden party, Sansa had with her the largest and the ugliest woman Tywin had ever seen. His wife then announced that Lady Brienne of Tarth had pledged herself to Sansa as her personal shield and that she had accepted. Tywin raised an eyebrow at Sansa, who dismissed Brienne before turning back to him. He met Sansa's gaze. She shrugged.

"Cersei can't get to her Tywin, and she seemed particularly determined to fulfill the vow she made to my mother. Clearly returning me to her is not an option, so this is a compromise. Besides, Jaime speaks highly of her honour and her dedication. I accepted, and now I have my own personal shield."

Tywin thought about that. Sansa seemed happy with the situation, and as Sansa said, Jaime had vouched for her character. Tywin was comfortable with the lady knight's proximity to his wife, knowing it was one more person Cersei would have to go through to get to her and allowed her to stay. 

Gathered in his solar for the meeting that evening were Sansa, Tyrion and Jaime. Tywin shared the information that Lady Lysa had fallen to her death and Petyr Baelish, having married her just days earlier, was now regrettably forced to bear the responsibility as the Lord Protector of the Vale. Sansa snorted.

"Convenient," she muttered.

Tywin nodded grimly, "Yes, I tend to agree. It seems Lord Baelish has achieved what he has always desired. Along with his wealth, he now commands one of the seven kingdoms as well as an impregnatable Castle, with a full complement of knights and a standing army."

"And access to the young Robin Arryn, heir to the Vale, father," Tyrion piped up.

Tywin's face took on an even more pained look. There was no way that Tywin could imagine gaining control of the Vale if Petyr Baelish remained there.

Tywin regretted sending the man to the Vale in the first place, thinking if he had sent him to Harrenhal, it would have been possible for an accident to have befallen Baelish when Kevan arrived with the Lannister army. Regardless, this was the situation they were left with.

Sansa turned her eyes to Tywin.

"Any news on my mother?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Why would your Lady Mother be in the Vale, Lady Sansa?" Tyrion asked. Sansa shrugged.

"We don't know where she is Tyrion. Only that she left my brother and his armies weeks ago, before our wedding, it seems that she disagreed with my brother's approval of my marriage vehemently. The Vale is the only logical place for her to go."

Tyrion thought on this. "It seems that Littlefinger has vastly improved his lot in life since leaving Kings Landing while leaving the Crown in crippling debt."

Sansa agreed.

"Make no mistake, Tyrion, I am happy he is gone from Kings Landing. His offers to help me escape were only because he was friends with my mother when they were children as he reminded me frequently. He made my skin crawl. And I was not unaware of how he made his money."

Tyrion's eyes tracked to Sansa.

"Friends with your mother?" he asked quietly.

Sansa nodded.

"Oh, yes. Since they were children, he was sent to Riverrun when he was a boy to foster there with my grandfather. As I heard it told from my Uncle, Lord Baelish has been in love with my mother since then. He even challenged Brandon Stark to a duel for her hand. He lost, obviously, but even here, in Kings Landing, he indicated he was always a loyal friend to Catelyn Stark." Sansa shuddered.

Tyrion's brilliant brain worked to fill in the missing pieces. He saw Tywin looking at him, and his father said, "What are you thinking, Tyrion?"

"When Lady Stark kidnapped me, all she said was a good friend in Kings Landing told her I was the one who threw her son from the tower at Winterfell. Something about a dagger and an assassin. To be honest, she wasn't quite right in mind. She was so focused on revenge."

Sansa's eyes widened at this. They all knew who the real culprit was Jaime, but that was beside the point. The lie Petyr had told was at issue. 

Jaime then spoke up, thinking about his interactions with the Starks.

"When I attacked your father, Littlefinger was there. I had assumed they were close friends." Jaime paused, looking uncomfortable. The list of the sins the Lannisters had committed against the northern house was long indeed.

"Lady Sansa, I swear I only went after Ned Stark because I learned your mother had kidnaped Tyrion. When I asked Lord Stark, he said that Tyrion was captured on his orders, but he hesitated when he spoke those words. All I wanted was my brother back. I had no idea it would end with your father's execution, My Lady."

"Baelish," Tywin hissed. Tywin hated the man from the Vale and knew with Baelish out of King's Landing the time was ripe to take advantage of his network of spies. Littlefinger had women who sold themselves; Varys had his orphans and Tywin trusted neither. 

All in the room knew what had happened afterward Tyrion had been kidnapped. King Robert died, Joffrey took the throne, Ned Stark was found guilty of treason, and the Lions and the Wolves went to war. Sansa knew there were other factors involved, others who were guilty of capitalizing on the chaos created by the rift between the two great houses, but the kidnapping of Tyrion by her mother was the stone that set all the devastation in motion. And it was all a lie that was told by one man.

Sansa paled, and Tywin moved to her immediately uncaring that there were those present to watch him comfort his wife. Let his sons look. He pulled her from her seat, and she looked into his eyes, her gaze fierce and demanding.

"I want him dead Tywin. He cannot be allowed to have the power that he does; after all, he has done to my family. If my mother had never kidnapped Tyrion, none of this would have happened. My father would be alive. Arya would be alive. Bran and Rickon would be alive. My mother wouldn't be lost to me. I want him dead."

Tywin stroked her cheek, pulling her closer to him. He murmured into her hair, as he met his sons' eyes over her head, keeping his wife tight to him.

"I promise you Sansa; Lord Baelish will pay for what he has done to your family."

Jaime and Tyrion both nodded to their father, hearts breaking for the woman and all she had lost.

* * *

Tywin was not the only one who had heard about Lady Lysa's untimely death. Cersei's network of spies had informed her just that morning of the raven from the Vale. Her father was unaware that one of Sansa's new handmaidens owed her loyalty to Cersei when she had prevented the woman from being raped by one of the Kingsguard. The fact that Cersei had arranged the attack in the first place, only to stop it once it began was lost on the woman.

Cersei had also learned about the growing closeness between her father and his new wife. The handmaiden reported that they never spent a night apart from each other, dining and fucking and talking all hours of the day and night. And it seemed she had continued to manipulate both Jaime and Tyrion to her side if the reports were accurate. Cersei expected to hear any day now that the whore was pregnant with her father's new heir, and she made plans to deal with that situation as soon as she got the word. There was no way that she would allow an heir to Casterly Rock to be born to that Northern bitch.

Cersei had no love or trust for Petyr Baelish. She had threatened to slit his throat once when they had arrived back in Kings Landing years ago when he had threatened to reveal Joffrey's true parentage. But things had changed, and now she was able to help him, and receive his help in return. He had wealth and position but lacked access. Cersei could give him access. To the Crown, to the King, to herself, if required, although she shuddered at that thought. She knew he longed to sit on the Iron Throne, and she could manipulate his need for her own ends. Littlefinger would be easy enough to deal with. She just had to dangle the bait and get him to the Capitol. Surely the Lord Protector of the Vale deserved an invitation to the Royal Wedding. Cersei sent a raven to him immediately.

Cersei also needed to figure out how to win Jaime back to her side. It had seemed she had miscalculated when she had attacked Sansa's handmaiden. Who knew the woman could manipulate the Lannister men so well. It was impossible to believe that her father had replaced their mother after all these years, and all for the chance to fuck that redheaded whore. They should never have gone North Cersei thought. Everything had begun to go wrong when they made the trip to Winterfell. And now, Cersei had to find a way to extricate Sansa Stark from her father's grasp, before all was lost to her. 

* * *

_ The Twins _

As planned, Robb had sent word to Walder Frey to ask for forgiveness for breaking his engagement to Roslin Frey, while at the same time agreeing to the marriage between Roslin and Edmure. Robb stated that the marriage would take place at Riverrun, as House Frey was a vassal house to Tully and the people of the Riverlands deserved to watch their Liege Lord wed.

Robb then asked for permission for his Northern Army to pass through the Twins. Lord Frey gave his approval to this and Robb moved his host North. As predicted, the Freys attacked Stark's army, counting on the fact that the Bolton army would pinch from the south, which they did with shockingly little surprise. When it looked sure that victory would be given to the two traitorous Houses, Kevan and Lancel arrived with the Lannister army.

At that point, it was a route for their alliance. Both Houses had left the safety of the castles they occupied, sure that Robb Stark was alone and friendless. Frey's and Bolton's alike died by the score on the field until the ground bled red. When the last of the men had either surrendered or died, Kevan and Robb met on the battlefield and clasped hands. The Northern army had secured their passage home, and the Lannister forces had come through.

Most of the Northern houses were still profoundly uneasy about their alliance, but they knew they would never have made it through the Twins without the help of the lions. And the treachery of the Bolton's was repaid tenfold that day, with Lord Roose falling in battle, along with most of the men of House Bolton.

Old Walder Frey had holed up in his castle, and it took some time for the Northmen to make their way through to him. They spared any women and children they found, herding them into the great hall. Robb gave the order that no one was to rape or maim any hostages they secured. When he finally came face to face with Walder Frey, the old man tried to sneer at him but looked bewildered and defeated. Securing the hostage, Robb vowed to put him and any remaining sons to death the next day. He looked at Lord Frey, the man unwilling to forgive his transgression, and said dispassionately, "The Lannisters send their regards."

Walder Frey looked astonished. House Frey would only continue through Roslin, and never again try to rise against House Tully or Stark.

Unbeknownst to Robb, Arya and the Hound had arrived at the peak of the battle. At first, Arya was beside herself with worry, thinking that her brother's forces had been outmaneuvered and were to be defeated. It was only when the red lion banners of House Lannister charged onto the field that she realized Robb had a new alliance and that Sansa's marriage had secured the forces needed for House Stark to be victorious. Arya wanted to jump from Sandor's horse Stranger, but he held her tight.

"Don't be stupid," he rasped at her. "You are so close now, don't get yourself dead." He left her on Stranger then, and cut down men that started to surround them as if they were nothing, his massive body quickly striking down Bolton's and Frey's alike.

It was a dangerous time for Sandor Clegane. He was viewed as a traitor to the King, and therefore a traitor to House Lannister. He had no doubts if he were caught, he would be killed immediately, or worse. He was so close to claiming his reward for returning the Stark woman, that once he had secured their area, he took her and Stranger and fell back. They would wait until Lannister forces retreated before approaching the Young Wolf. Arya took exception to his plan, so he knocked her out and secured her to the back of Stranger, fleeing across the river.

Days later when all the Lannister red had retreated from the Twins, Sandor decided it was safe to approach the castles. Arya was shooting death glares at him as they neared the keeps.

When Northern guards asked their names, Sandor called out, "Sandor Clegane and his travelling companion- Lady Arya of House Stark."

He heard the little wolf mutter, "I'm not a lady." The Hound saw the astonishment on the faces of the two guards when they looked at the two of them.

"Shut it," he snapped back at her. Within moments there was movement from the castle, and suddenly, without warning, Robb Stark was standing before them. Arya jumped from Stranger and ran to Robb, who picked her up and swung her around. Robb was entirely at a loss on how his little sister came to be safe and in his arms. He raised his head and met the eyes of Sandor Clegane and nodded at the huge warrior.

He called out, "Escort the hound to my solar. We have much to discuss."


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

_ The Twins _

Sandor Clegane was mildly surprised to find himself escorted into Robb Stark's new solar in the Frey's old keep unharmed. He had expected to endure a beating at the very least when he came to wolf's camp. That didn't mean that the Young Wolf wasn't eyeing him suspiciously, or that well-armed men didn't surround him at all times. Reaching the solar, Robb gestured to a chair, which Sandor took, keeping Arya close to him. Over the next couple of hours, the story of Arya Stark and Sandor Clegane was relayed. Robb looked at Sandor the entire time. Silence dominated the room after Arya had finished talking until finally, Robb spoke.

"Why did you do this for my sister?" he asked the large man directly.

Sandor looked at the wolf and cocked his head. The King in the North looked a lot like the little bird. Both had that same Tully red hair, although Sansa's was much brighter. He wondered about her then, and not for the first time. If she had left with him that night, would have made it back here? Could he have kept her safe as he promised that night that the Blackwater burned? Now she was married to the Old Lion, and Sandor knew that Tywin Lannister would never let her go. At least he had saved one Stark sister.

Sighing, Sandor decided upon the truth.

"Mostly because I knew I could get a good ransom for her." Robb nodded. Arya spoke quietly in Robb's ear, and Sandor didn't even try to hear. He'd known when he'd returned the littlest wolf that the Starks would decide his fate. Let the little wolf tell her brother whatever she wanted.

"Is it true?" Robb asked confusion, marring his handsome face. "Is it true what Arya says you did for Sansa in Kings Landing?"

Sandor shrugged. "Didn't do much. Could have done more. Probably would have died if I had tried. But still should have." He ended the sentence quietly, his thoughts a jumble. Robb pinned him with a look. Sandor let out a huge sigh. He was no ser, and he was no hero. He didn't need these wolves, making him something he wasn't. "I'm no hero, King of the North," Sandor sneered.

Robb sent him a skeptical look. He couldn't believe the man didn't realize the magnitude of what he had done, returning Arya unharmed back to her family. And if he'd done half of what he'd told Arya for Sansa, well, Robb knew he was deeply indebted to this scarred warrior.

"Did you cover her when the King beat and stripped her in full-court?" Robb asked, trying to hold back his anger that the King give those orders.

Sandor nodded, then looked at the King and decided. "He beat her worse whenever you had a victory." He didn't share this with Robb Stark to make him feel guilty, only so that he knew exactly what his sister had endured. Sandor still wasn't sure how he felt about the King of the North. What type of man left his sister with the lions? Sandor saw the King's jaw tighten when he revealed that bit of news.

"And you saved her from rape during the bread riots."

He nodded again.

"And you prevented her from killing the King, thus saving her life."

Sandor moved in his seat, uncomfortable. When he laid it out like that, it did seem like he had done a lot for the Stark women. "Aye, all true."

"I can verify this information, you know," Robb met the Hound's gaze and Sandor just looked right back at him.

"Send a raven and ask the little bird," and he shrugged. Sandor knew she wouldn't lie about their relationship in Kings Landing, even if he had scared her that night of the Blackwater.

Robb's eyebrows raised, and he kept a smile to himself. Out loud, he said, "Little bird?"

_Fucking hell_, Sandor thought. _Why did he have to let the nickname he'd given her slip out_. He let out another huge sigh and looked at the King of the North. He could tell the man was holding back a smirk.

"She was always chirping, saying things to make that stupid cunt happy," Sandor grumbled out an explanation.

"You know she is married, right?" Robb said. Sandor nodded.

"From all reports, she is happy with her husband." Sandor snorted. Robb shot him a look.

"Tywin Lannister returned our family's sword and kept our alliance on the battlefield," Robb said by way of explanation. They looked at each other. Robb cocked his head.

"You've spent your entire life in the service of the Lannister's. Tell me Hound, is my sister better or worse being married to Tywin instead of Joffrey?"

Biting back a groan, Sandor rubbed his hand over his rough face. _Fuck sakes why was he being asked these questions?_

"Joffrey is a useless and cruel cunt. He would have hurt her. Repeatedly." Sandor let that statement hang in the air. He shifted in his seat, still uncomfortable being asked his opinion.

"Tywin Lannister is a cold bastard, but..." Sandor trailed off, thinking about the old lion. "I don't believe he will hurt her. If he agreed to the marriage, he will treat her better than Joffrey ever would have." Robb nodded at this.

Sandor gave the King of the North a hard look then, and unable to keep his thoughts to himself, he blurted out, "What type of man leaves his sisters with people like that?"

Robb looked startled, then angry. He didn't have to defend himself to this traitor. Before he could say anything though, Robb felt Arya's hand on his arm. He looked to his sister and saw the question in her eyes as well. He sighed, knowing that he had failed them both.

"I don't owe either of you an answer," Robb said tightly, his shame evident on his face. "But," he met Arya's eyes, "I am sorry we didn't rescue you. Or Sansa." Arya cocked her head at him, not quite ready to forgive him while Sandor just grunted. _Fucking cunt, _he thought.

Robb turned back to the Hound, thinking about the man's answer if Sansa's current husband was better than the one she had been betrothed too. Satisfied with Sandor's response, Robb sat back and pondered the huge man in front of him. He was a fearsome warrior, strong and skilled. He would love to have a man like that by his side. There was no way that Robb could in good conscience send him back into the South. While he had an alliance with the Lannisters, he knew that Tywin would want Sandor's head. And the man had returned Robb's sister, seemingly back from the dead. He didn't deserve to die for that alone. If what he had done for Sansa was true, Robb was even more indebted to him.

"What do you want now Ser Clegane?" Robb asked, honestly interested in the man's answer.

"I'm no ser," Sandor growled. Robb raised an eyebrow. Sandor sighed, then muttered.

"Can't go south. There is no way the Lannisters would let my head stay attached to my body. And I've got no desire to cross the sea." He looked at Robb. Robb met his gaze. Sandor sighed.

"I know you think I'm a traitor or worse craven. It was just..." the big man paused, face haunted. "That night of the Blackwater. Everything was on fire. Had to go somewhere that wasn't burning." He was mumbling by the end.

Robb looked at him hard, noting the horrible scars on the man's face, remembering how in awe he and Jon had been when they had seen the Hound arrived at Winterfell all those years ago. It didn't bother Robb in the least that Sandor had abandoned Joffrey. Personally, the more Robb got to know about the man, the more surprised he was that he'd lasted that long in his company in the first place. Arya spoke grudgingly well of him, and he seemed to have a funny sort of honour. Robb knew if he could persuade Sandor to join with them, his army would become even stronger. Sandor Clegane was one of, if not the best fighter in Westeros these days.

"I will send a raven to Kings Landing right away to confirm your story with Sansa. Then, if you wish, I will either pay you your reward for returning my sister." Sandor nodded. "Or," Robb continued, taking a chance, "You could join us."

Sandor raised his one good eyebrow and looked at the King of the North. His eyes then flicked to Arya's. She nodded at him slightly, gave him a tiny quirk of her lip.

"North," she said. "To Winterfell." Sandor let the idea settle over him. He never thought he'd go North again, not after that last disastrous trip. But he felt the appeal. Gods knew he couldn't go south ever again, not as long as the Old Lion ruled Kings Landing. Even with Sansa's kind words, Tywin Lannister would never forgive him for his betrayal. There was nothing left for him South, except maybe to kill his brother if they stumbled into each other's path.

Sandor looked around and saw the faces of the Northmen staring back at him. At that moment, Sandor realized how much he already looked like one of them. _Fuck, he _thought — _bloody cold, North_. But there was nowhere else. Besides, he had a feeling the little wolf wouldn't be able to stay out of danger. He didn't know what she had done to him, but he still felt protective of her. He nodded at Robb.

"You won't be a prisoner here Clegane, but please, don't make me regret not chaining you up." Sandor nodded at the two Stark siblings. They all rose, and men came to escort Sandor to a clean room, with food and a bath.

One of the lords said, "Meeting tonight after dinner, and Lord Stark requested you there." The man paused, then added, "It was a good thing you did. Returning Arya Stark. The North remembers, ser." Sandor grunted and nodded at the man and then went into his room. Sinking into the bath, clean for the first time in weeks, he wondered what the Little Bird would say when she received the raven that both he and her sister were alive. He hoped she'd forgive him for his rage that night he tried to steal her, and that somehow by keeping Arya safe, she'd be pleased with him.

* * *

_Kings Landing _

Tywin Lannister was in a foul mood. Somehow, both Sandor Clegane and Arya Stark had escaped his detection and were now safely back within the Stark camp, lost to him. And, it seemed, that Tywin's wife was friends with the traitorous hound. Her brother had sent a raven asking for her to verify the man's story- a story that included several times the Hound had apparently saved his wife while in Kings Landing.

Even though Tywin knew his anger was illogical, it made him jealous that another man had saved Sansa when she was alone and at the mercy of the King. He seethed when he thought that she might hold a man like Sandor Clegane in high regard because of his bravery. A man that cared enough for Tywin's wife to rescue her sister and return her safely to their family. Sansa would be overjoyed. She had often spoken of how she thought her sister was dead, and the only thing more important than her own safety was that of her beloved family.

Tywin had never admitted to knowing her sister at Harrenhal. If he had found Arya Stark, he knew he would not have returned her to her brother, no matter how much begging and pleading Sansa would have done. It shamed him, but at the same time, he knew that he would never have given up such a powerful bargaining chip. They might be in an alliance now, but Tywin would always seek to maintain the upper hand with the North. Having both of Robb Starks' sisters would have been quite the coup. Tywin knew that Sansa would have hated him for his ruthlessness. It made him even angrier that a man such as the Hound apparently had more honour than him.

Which is why when he entered their apartments to give Sansa the raven, as her bother had demanded an answer from her only, his jealously flared even more when he saw who was in the solar with his wife. Seated in her usual spot, a book open and the fire roaring, Sansa was laughing brightly as Jaime wove a tale of mischief from his and Tyrion's past. It was a thoroughly domestic scene, and anyone coming upon it would have thought it was a handsome Lord spending time with his equally attractive young wife. They made a stunningly beautiful portrait- the handsome Kingslayer and the gorgeous Northern Princess.

Ever since Tywin had begun to spend each morning with Jaime in the training yard, his son had been coming around to the apartments more and more. He seemed to get along with Sansa genuinely, and at first, Tywin was grateful. Now he just saw a much younger man vying for his wife's attention and the perfect picture that they presented. It enraged him even as he knew it was nothing more than harmless flirting. It was just Jaime's way. First Sandor Clegane rescued her and her sister. Now his son was making his wife laugh and smile. Tywin seethed, unable to deal with his insecurities and jealousy.

Flicking his hard emerald green eyes to Jaime, he said, "Get out." Jaime raised his eyebrows, shot a look at Sansa, who shrugged and looked back at his father.

Rising gracefully, Jaime looked to his wife's shield and said, "Come Lady Brienne, it seems we are suddenly unwelcome here." Brienne looked at Sansa, and she nodded. Tywin was a tightly curled ball of barely controlled rage. Sansa knew he was upset, but she didn't know it was directed at her.

Tywin stormed over to his desk and crumpled the note in his hand, breathing hard. Sansa just watched him, not reacting to his angry presence. Finally, feeling he had gained some measure of control, he turned to her and handed her the note. He watched her face as she read the raven, seeing the joy and the happiness spread across her features. He was used to that being directed at him. He wanted to be the one to bring her joy and happiness and make her smile. Finished reading, she looked at him, tears of joy shimmering in her eyes.

"The Hound found her! And he returned her to my brother! She's alive! Arya's alive, Tywin. This is impossible." Sansa laughed brightly, and jumped up and threw herself into Tywin's arms, overjoyed at the news. He did not return her embrace. Realizing that he was upset, she pulled back and looked at his face, which was hard and closed off to her.

"What is wrong, Tywin?" she asked softly, confusion marring her features.

"Perhaps, my lady," he sneered, "you would care to explain your relationship with Sandor Clegane to me. I know you were a maiden when I bedded you, but it seems that the man has a rather unhealthy obsession with you."

Sansa looked at him in shock. Sandor Clegane obsessed with her? Sansa almost laughed. The Hound was not obsessed with her. No, Joffrey's loyal guard dog had thought her a stupid, vapid high-born woman during the entire time they were in Kings Landing together. Even when he had saved her, they never had what she would call a _relationship_.

"Relationship?" she asked bewildered.

Tywin nodded tightly, his face a hard mask she hadn't seen since that first day.

Sansa reeled. What on earth was he implying? What did Tywin think she had done to encourage the Hounds' good deeds? He knew how awful her time was in Kings Landing. He had to have known the only people who had ever stood up for her were Sandor Clegane and Tyrion. _Surely, he wasn't upset at her for that? Was he?_

Suddenly realizing he was, Sansa became angry. Who was he to judge how she survived here under his cruel grandson who had her beaten and stripped and mocked? Tywin hadn't been here to protect her. Only one man had been there for her during that time in Kings Landing. Sandor Clegane.

She stepped back from him and said coldly, "He protected me. He was my only friend here in Kings Landing. He was the only one who didn't beat me or threaten to rape me. He saved me. Again, and again Tywin, he saved me. When there was no one else. During the bread riots, when three men in flea bottom attempted to rape me, he was the only one who came for me. Ask Tyrion." Then she turned before he could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes from being treated so coldly by him.

He reached out and grabbed her, spinning her back to him. His eyes flashed, his face was angrier than she had ever seen. "Did he threaten to take you away from here? Away from _me_?"

Sansa looked at him, confused. "What?" He kept looking at her, allowing her no escape. "Well, yes he offered to take me North, but that was before you were back Tywin. It was the night of the Blackwater battle. The whole place was burning. He just needed to escape, and he knew how miserable I was here."

Tywin looked at her, could read the truth in her eyes, but still, jealousy ate at him. He couldn't stop himself. "Do you regret not going with your dog, My Lady? What did you offer for him to make such a promise to you? Loyal men like Sandor Clegane do not just abandon years of service to House Lannister just because of a pretty face."

Sansa reeled back in shock. What on earth was Tywin implying? Did he honestly think she had offered Sandor Clegane anything? How could he believe that of her? Sansa reacted, beyond angry and hurt at his accusations and slapped him hard across the face.

"How dare you accuse me of such things, My Lord," She snapped at him.

He looked at her and saw the devastation and hurt in her eyes. _Fuck,_ Tywin thought immediately,_ what had he done?_

She turned away from him and moved quickly to their bedroom, shoulders shaking. Tywin stood still. He couldn't believe how he had overreacted and the jealousy he felt every time any man got within speaking distance of her. _Gods, he was a fool_.

He had never told Sansa how much he cared for her, choosing instead to express himself through touch and physical intimacy. She had to know how he felt about her. Didn't she? He didn't have to spend each night with her wrapped in his arms if all he wanted was an heir from her. _How could she not know that he kept her by his side because he couldn't imagine her anywhere else?_

Tywin knew he had been in danger of falling in love with Sansa Stark since that first meeting. And ever since then he had been afraid that by feeling so much for her, his pretty young wife would make a fool out of him when she discovered the power she had over him. But seeing her reaction, he suddenly realized how much she cared for him and that Sansa would never do that to him. It was at that moment that he knew he was in genuine danger of destroying his marriage. His stomach dropped, and he felt physically ill. Deciding quickly, Tywin followed her into the bedroom. He had to make this right.

He found her curled up in the middle of their bed, his robe pulled haphazardly over herself, crying silently.

_Gods, he was a fool he _thought again. Resigned to whatever punishment she might dole out, he quickly divested himself of his doublet and boots and crawled into the bed with her, pulling the covers over them. Lying beside her, he reached for her, wondering if she would let him hold her or would she push him away? She resisted at first, holding herself stiff and unyielding, until she collapsed into his arms, sobbing and beating at his chest with her little fists. He pressed himself against her, cradling her to him, rubbing his hands along her back.

"I'm sorry, Sansa," he rasped. She sniffed, then raised her blue eyes to him.

"How could you say those things to me?" she cried.

He didn't say anything, just rubbed his hands over her constantly, angry at himself and frustrated at his insecurities. She looked up at him, her eyes bright and wet with tears, endless pools of blue hurt.

"How can you not know?" she asked him in a slightly bewildered and stunned voice.

He coughed, his voice rough and asked: "Know what, Sansa?"

"How I feel about you?" she responded incredulously. He swallowed hard, unable to say anything at that moment.

She reached up to cup his face, holding his gaze as she looked directly at him. "I love you, Tywin." He felt his heart clench, and his stomach tighten. Gods they had been married just over a month, and he was already so in love with her, this wild northern princess who was now his wife.

"I know you might never love me back. I know how much you loved Lady Joanna." She sniffed.

_Seven hells, he _thought,_ how could she not know that he felt the same way about her? Maybe even more._

Before he could correct her, Sansa continued, "But I do love you Tywin, so much. I chose to stay in Kings Landing that night. And then you came and saved the city. And I saw you ride into the Throne Room and right there I chose you. And I have no regrets. You are my family, Tywin." He felt his heart trip over her words. He had done nothing to deserve this second chance with her.

Coughing slightly, he met her gaze, "You are everything to me, Sansa." Her eyes looked confused at first; then they began to brighten. He tightened his grip on her. "Everything," he rasped, begging her to understand.

"Truly?" she asked a faint look of doubt still there.

He nodded. "I've only felt this way once before. And I lost everything back then." She just continued to look at him as if he were her entire world, her joy transforming her tear ravaged face into a thing of beauty again. "I promise," he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, and murmured, "I do love you, Sansa."

Her heart melted entirely at that moment. Tywin loved her! She had never thought it possible. "I am not a man that says those words easily, Sansa. And I am a jealous man. For that, I am sorry." He paused, then added, "But I am an old lion, and I cannot change."

She nodded, thinking back to their argument. Then she thought of what he looked like at different times and how his face would tighten when he saw her talking with Jaime, or that awful dinner with Lord Willas and even sometimes when she laughed with Tyrion. He was jealous! Of Sandor, and Jaime and Willas.

Now that she knew about his jealousy, entire conversations took on a different tone. Sansa felt the anger leave her immediately, replaced with heat and lust. It was a heady feeling that he had been jealous of other's attention towards her. For so long, she had been a woman to be mocked and ridiculed here in Kings Landing. She had been stripped and beaten, and no one, save Sandor and Tyrion had ever been willing to be her champion.

But now the most powerful man in the entire Kingdom was in love with her. And jealous whenever anyone paid attention to her. Power and need surged through Sansa. Suddenly there were far too many layers between them. She reached up to kiss him hard, and moved her body closer to his, pressing herself against him. He held her there, unsure what had changed, but grateful nonetheless.

"Too many layers," she muttered, and he grunted. It was the middle of the afternoon, their room was bright, and anyone could summon that at any moment. Tywin had appointments and tasks to see too, and Sansa had afternoon tea to attend. And neither of them cared about any of it. The only place they needed to be was here with each other.

Letting her lead, she soon had them stripped of their clothing, until she sat astride him, naked and comfortable as he lay on his back. She had a wicked gleam in her eye. He would let her have her way. Since they'd married, their bed play had been phenomenal. Sansa was a sensual woman and everything he had shown her she picked up on quickly. Now it seemed she was determined to torture him. He gazed at her as the afternoon light played off her body, turning pale skin to rose gold and satin. He ached to touch her, but he knew she needed to oversee their lovemaking, to feel powerful and in control after his earlier display.

"You were very mean to me today, husband," she said to him sternly, her lips pursed in a tiny pout. He felt himself harden. "That means you need to be punished." She was simply the most adorable creature he had ever seen.

"And what does my wife have in mind?" He cocked his eyebrow at her in a manner that was just so Tywin, and she felt her core clench and wetness flood her. _Gods, _she thought, _she loved him._

She grinned at him, as she began to run her hands over his body, tracing muscles and scars, dips and turns until she came to her prize. She shimmied down until she was sitting on the bed beside him.

She looked at his member as if it were the most delicious thing she had ever seen. He had rarely let her play with him, always wanting to give her pleasure and to be inside her. But today he knew he would lay back and endure whatever pleasure or pain she wanted to dole out. Her small hands gripped him, moving up and down on his hardened length. She moaned as she was touching him, and tried to move against him, seeking some friction. He flicked a hand out and found her core. She moaned again and arched against his hand as he dipped a finger into her. Shaking herself from her pleasure, she moved away from his hand and positioned herself, so she was kneeling before him. She didn't want anything to distract her from her task.

Holding his eyes, she lowered her mouth and took him in. She ran her tongue over him, sucking him, loving it when she got him to begin to buck his hips into her. She kept the pressure up and found he had wound his hands into her hair, gently keeping her mouth on him. He let out a series of low growls, and she felt the heat pool in her belly.

She loved how he tasted, and she kept going until she heard him groan out, "Sansa if you keep doing that I am going to spend in your mouth."

That thought made her excited, so she doubled her efforts. She brought her hands back to him, working the part of him that she couldn't fit into her mouth with her fingers and soon he was grunting and growling at her, until she felt him tense and then he let go, filling her. She swallowed him down, proud and happy she was able to make him reach his peak in such a way. He was breathing heavily on the bed, eyes open and staring at her with such hunger in his gaze. He looked like a true lion then, and she was his meal. Heat pooled again in her belly. He pulled her to him, rolling so he was on top before he leaned down and kissed her, probing inside her mouth with his tongue so he could taste himself on her.

"That was incredible," he murmured against her, keeping the pressure of his lips on her mouth and neck. "You are incredible, Sansa."

She blushed prettily, and Tywin moved his hands to her, stroking through her core.

"You're so ready for me wife," he murmured to her. He loved how responsive she was. "Did sucking me make you needy, Sansa?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"I can tell my lady." He moved lower, playing with her nipples, pulling and sucking at them until he heard her moan, "Harder Tywin."

He arched an eyebrow before he gently bit down on them and she squeaked and arched up into his mouth. He continued his assault on her nipples, biting them and then blowing cool air on the peaks until they were red and glistening. His fingers had curled into her, stroking her core. She was writhing on his hands and mouth until he left her breasts and moved south to her entrance. He inhaled her. He loved her smell, and her taste and he wasted no time, his tongue finding and gathering her, sucking on her and drinking her down. He could live on her. He felt himself begin to harden again and knew he would be able to take her the way he wanted to. But first, he wanted her to find her pleasure. Pushing two fingers into her, he ruthlessly pumped into her while his teeth latched onto her nub and bit gently down.

She arched and came in a flood and drenched his face and beard. He wasted no time, as he pulled himself up and thrust into her in one smooth motion. She arched, over-sensitized and feeling almost too full from his sudden entry. He gave her no chance to recover from her first peak as he leaned down to capture her lips. She moaned and licked at him. He set a punishing pace for both of them, and she just let out little moans and grunts as she held onto him, her nails digging into her shoulders, marking him and drawing a bit of blood.

"Harder Tywin," she demanded again, and he increased his efforts. He lifted her legs, and she circled them around his waist so that he could drive deeper into her. Soon he felt her flutter around him, clenching on him and dragging them both over their peak. He collapsed on her, having enough presence of mind to roll to the side. He kept her tucked against him and she reached out, stroking his chest, breathless, and caught his eye.

"I love you Tywin," she said once more, and he just looked into her eyes, knowing this woman was everything to him. He held her tighter, unable to voice those words again, hoping that she understood what she meant to him. Sansa snuggled into him. It was enough. He had said it to her once for now.

Forgetting the small council, the raven from the North, the King and indeed Westeros itself, the Lord and Lady Lannister curled around each other in the dimming afternoon light, happy and deeply in love, both amazed at the turn their lives had taken.

* * *

Sansa woke a few hours later, in the early evening when her stomach let her know she was hungry. Realizing that they had most likely missed dinner, she stretched and reached for her husband. Finding their bed empty, Sansa sat up and looked around the room. Disappointed, she didn't see Tywin anywhere. Grabbing his robe, her normal attire for when they were alone in their apartments, she made her way to the solar. They often spent the evenings reading or responding to correspondence there. As she had guessed, he was at his desk writing. He noticed her immediately as she walked over, and she held his gaze, loving how he looked at her when she wore almost nothing. Keeping silent, she made her way over to him, and he lifted her and sat her on his lap.

He nuzzled at her neck and whispered, "Good evening, wife."

Sansa smiled and giggled as he tickled her with his whiskers, "Good evening, husband." It seemed her lion was still in a playful mood. While Tywin had been more than attentive to her since their wedding, he was such a busy man, that they treasured any time they could spend together. Her long red hair was a loose tangle down her back, and her lips were puffy from where he had loved her before. Her breasts and neck and stomach were a testament to his lips and teeth and whiskers on her body. She was draped in his Lannister red robe, and he drank her in, unable to believe she was his.

Tywin lazily reached out and tweaked her nipple and watched as it hardened. Sansa bit her lip, letting a breathy moan escape. He drew his finger down her body, watching how her flesh would rise and shudder as he moved his hand further south. He traced a finger along her thigh, seeing that her entrance had begun to weep. He could smell her arousal. He flicked his eyes to hers, and they were wide and unfocused, her pale breasts heaving slightly as her breathing increased. Taking pity on her, he moved his fingers down to her and dipped one, then two into her.

"You are magnificent Sansa," he purred to his wife, looking at her. It hadn't taken long for him to realize his wife loved it when he spoke to her when they were making love. She moaned a bit louder. In this position, he could feel her desire, and she squirmed on his lap as he leaned in to kiss her lips. Tywin loved having her surround him, and the night was slow and gentle, so he brought her desires forward languidly. He was in no rush.

Lost in her pleasure, Sansa hadn't realized that Tywin lowered his breeches and positioned her on him. She made a quick peep before she felt him settle himself deep within her. She was face to face with her husband, and she took in the expression on his face. Even though Tywin had said he loved her, it wasn't until this moment that Sansa truly believed him. There was no mistaking the look of love that had settled over his face. It seemed here, in the exact place where their lives had first collided, there would be no hiding from their true feelings.

She sat on him, and he was surrounded by red. His robe and her hair and her bruised lips. She brought her hands up to trap his face to hers as she kissed him, at once sweet and demanding. He kneaded her arse, encouraging her to move up and down on him until she found her rhythm. Soon her head fell back, her hair a cascade of fire down her back as she moaned and continued to move on him. Realizing she was close again, he reached down to pinch her sensitive nub, growling, "Come for me Sansa," before she broke apart and he flooded her. She collapsed on him, sweaty and spent and exhausted.

He lifted her, light as she was, and carried her to their bathing rooms, where his steward had prepared the largest pool for them. He set Sansa down, and she leaned against him. He chuckled at her.

"Come now, wife, let's clean ourselves then I will feed you dinner." She nodded and dropped the robe before she sank into the warm water, moaning. He joined her quickly, seating himself behind her, happy to have her lean on him. He gently drew the cloth and soap over her body, careful to avoid her most sensitive areas. Sansa just lounged on her husband, warm and happy and more content than she had ever been in her life.

Tywin grabbed a pitcher and filled it with water, and gently tipped Sansa's head back as the water cascaded over it. Working soap into her hair, he kneaded her scalp, and she let out another moan before he rinsed her hair. He then uncorked the oil he knew she used and smelling like lavender and lemons applied it generously to her hair. She was floating on a cloud of bliss, and he could hear her mumbling. "I love you, Tywin."

He felt his heart tighten again at her words. She was so free with her love for him, so willing to be his partner in everything, giving and taking what she needed. He once again thanked the gods he didn't believe in for allowing her to come into his life. Taking one last moment, he breathed in the scent of her hair, then lifted her from the bath and wrapped her in his robe. He carried her back to their rooms where a small dinner had been left for them. Setting her on their bed, he fed her with his hands, determined to make up for all the hurt and anger he caused her earlier. She felt his love with every gesture, and before long, she was full and pushing away the food.

"Come to bed with me, husband," she said, and he gathered her in his arms, pulling her tight to him. Before she fell asleep, she heard a rumbled "love you," in her ear, and she smiled as she fell asleep.

* * *

Sansa woke plastered next to her husband. She had curled herself around him in the night, and his hand had come to rest on her lower back. For once, she had woken before him, and she took a moment to look at him unimpeded. Yesterday had been a revelation for her. His jealousy and temper had angered and hurt her, but out of that confrontation came their combined declarations of love. Sansa remembered all she had read about House Lannister those many months ago. She never envisioned herself feeling what she did for her husband, let alone having Tywin love her back.

She knew their life in Kings Landing was dangerous. That there were threats everywhere. But she also knew there was nowhere else she wanted to be. She still thought he was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, even when compared to his son Jaime. There was something about knowing how powerful and ruthless he was that turned Sansa on, made her feel safe, made her feel powerful. He was single-minded in his determination to own her mind, body and soul, and Sansa found herself happier than she had ever been. Too few marriages between highborn families resulted in love, and she knew she was lucky in hers. She didn't care what anyone said or thought. Behind the doors of their apartments, Sansa knew a different Tywin.

Knowing he would wake at any moment, Sansa took the opportunity to run her hands over him, tracing the scars she knew so well by now. She ran her hands down his chest, feeling his muscles and his strength and warmth. He rumbled out a low growl, as he felt her hands on him, and she knew he would wake in a happy mood. She had forgotten to tell him of her plans to visit an orphanage in Flea Bottom today with Margaery and Tyrion and wanted his approval. Lost in her thoughts, she had missed when his eyes opened to look at her. She always loved that moment when they connected again.

She felt his hands begin to run over her body, and she knew he had awoken. His voice was low and raspy as he growled out a good morning to her. She blushed and wondered if there would ever be a time when she wasn't attracted to him. Sansa often thought this was the best way to start her days, for there was rarely a morning that she and Tywin didn't make love. His appetite for her was insatiable.

Today he turned her, so her back was pressed against his chest, leaving his hands free to roam over her body as he kissed and sucked at her neck. Before long, he had her moaning and had slipped inside her. They moved together, already so familiar with each other and their needs. Sansa felt his hands still over her stomach, and she placed hers on top of his. She knew that they both hoped she would become pregnant soon, and not just because Tywin wanted another heir. Indeed, given how much better his relationship was with his sons now, Sansa knew that he wanted a child because it would be theirs together. A lion conceived out of love.

"Soon Sansa," he whispered against her ear, and she felt her eyes pool with unshed tears, imagining a child that looked like him. Sansa had wanted to be a mother her entire life, and she was anxious for that day to come. Finishing together, Sansa turned back to him and pressed her lips against his, as he held her tightly.

"What are your plans today, Sansa?" he asked her tracing a finger across her cheek.

"I am heading to an orphanage in Flea Bottom with Tyrion and Lady Margaery," she told him.

He inhaled sharply, unwilling to let her out of the safety of the Red Keep. Here he knew where he could protect her. Out there were unknown threats. Still, he knew that she couldn't say no to the next Queen. He met her eyes and let her see his worry and said, "You will take extra guards, Sansa." She nodded. She had already told Lady Brienne of her plans today. Wishing they could spend their day together, locked away from everyone, but knowing their family and duty awaited, Tywin reluctantly dragged them from their bed.

* * *

A short time later, Sansa and Tywin entered the dining hall for breakfast with Jaime and Tyrion. Sansa was still flushed from their lovemaking, and Tywin just smirked, knowing exactly what his wife was feeling. He couldn't stop touching her, and they had arrived with her hands tucked around his arm. Both Tyrion and Jaime knew how he felt about her, and he had no desire to hide his feelings about Sansa from his sons. She was his to touch whenever he wanted. All of Tywin's careful and exacting rules about decorum and behaviour had evaporated when it came to Sansa.

Jaime's eyebrows rose when he saw the glow emanating from Sansa and the arousal on his father's face still. After his abrupt dismissal yesterday, Jaime had been fearful about his father's vicious temper and how Sansa would handle him. There had been many times in the past thirty-nine years when Jaime was sacred of Tywin. But if the looks on their faces were any indication, things were all well with the Hand of the King and his pretty bride. Sansa positively glowed, and the looks that she kept sending Tywin were heated enough to make even Jaime blush.

Not Tyrion. Even though Jaime had warned Tyrion that Tywin was in a temper yesterday, it seemed the dwarf couldn't help but needled the old lion.

"Father," he drawled, "something significant must have come up yesterday for you to miss the meeting of the small council." Tyrion had raised an eyebrow.

Tywin grunted. Sansa flushed prettily.

"Must have been quite _demanding to _keep you in your apartments all afternoon and evening."

Tywin chose to ignore his youngest son, while Sansa just looked as if she had eaten a delicious lemon cake. Turning she looked at Tyrion and said, "Perhaps we should work on finding you a wife since you seem so preoccupied with our _demanding schedule_, son." She grinned at him, wickedly. Tyrion blanched, and Tywin barked out a laugh.

Jaime just smirked at his brother, before saying, "She has you there, little brother." Sansa turned her blue eyes on him.

"And you, Ser Jaime, surely you are almost ready to settle down, meet a nice lady, have some children." She arched an elegant eyebrow at him. His face lost its smile abruptly. Sansa sighed to herself. It was too soon to jape with the Kingslayer.

Tywin grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.

"Come now, wife, do not have too high of expectations for my sons. They are much too busy avoiding marriage to realize the benefits that come from such unions." Jaime and Tyrion just exchanged shocked glances. They had never heard Tywin joke about their unmarried status. Sansa smiled at Tywin as if he were the Warrior himself.

_Gods,_ Jaime thought, _how did his father get so lucky to have a woman like that so in love with him? Didn't she know the monster that he was? _It was baffling. It seemed like this princess was well and truly in love with the Great Lion, and judging by the looks his father sent her; it was more than mutual.

Getting down to business, all japing aside, Tywin looked at the three of them.

"I have received word from Kevan and Robb Stark. Today at the small council, I will share the news of our victory. Lady Sansa, you will attend." She frowned slightly and shot a look his way. He looked directly at her. "Your family is in an alliance with the Lannisters My Lady, and by extension, the Crown. You represent the North and are now required to attend small council meetings. I will not have it said that the North was unrepresented. Not if this alliance is to last." She nodded at him.

"You will attend as well Jaime," Tywin said. "No sparring this morning, we can fit it in later. Find the King. His presence is required. It is time the Crown was made aware of what the Lions have been up too." Jaime swallowed nervously. It was the first time he would see Cersei and Joffrey together for some days, and he was not looking forward to it. He had a bad feeling that things were about to get a whole lot more volatile in the capital. He knew that choosing to side with Tywin and Tyrion over Cersei would have long-ranging impacts on his life.

Suddenly feeling ill, Jaime pushed back from the dining hall table. Tyrion and Tywin were deep in discussion, so only Sansa noticed his pale and drawn face. Following him into the solar, he didn't realize she was there until she called out to him gently.

He spun and looked at her, a trapped look on his face. He had started to get to know his father's new wife, and she was every bit as good and delightful as Tyrion had claimed. But at this moment, he was overcome with grief and anger at all the changes that he had endured. Even though he knew she wasn't responsible for all the horrible things Cersei and Joffrey had done, she was still an outsider to him. And she was convenient.

"How do you do it, My Lady?" he asked a sneer in his voice.

"Do what?" she asked him gently, brow slightly furrowed.

"Look at my father the way you do. Surely you know what he is. What he is capable of. The horrible things he's done in his lifetime. How can you love a man like that?"

Sansa cocked her head and looked at the Kingslayer. _Gods this man was broken; mind, body and soul, _she thought. She wanted to hate him. He was, after all, responsible for Bran's fall. He could have killed her brother when he pushed him. And all to protect his dirty little secret. But since he'd arrived back at Kings Landing, Jaime Lannister was different. More pensive. Sorrier. More prone to sadness and melancholy and unsure of his place in this rearranged family.

"Do you want a real answer, Jaime, or would you like platitudes?" she asked him softly. He looked at her. Gods, even when he was mean to her, she responded with kindness. If only she knew what he had done to her family.

"I pushed your little brother out of the window at Winterfell. It was me," he blurted out. There. Now she would rage and hate him as he deserved. She would stop being kind to him and demand he leave, sending him away from his father and his brother.

And he would go, his shame was that great. And then he would be truly alone. He hunched his shoulders and waited for her rage and disgust. She walked towards him, and as she reached him, she placed her hands on his chest. She looked up at him, her blue eyes meeting his sea-foam green ones.

"I know, Jaime. I've known for a long time." He reeled back. How could she know? And why didn't she hate him?

"Would you like me to hate you for that act?" He just stared at her speechless. "I could you know. Bran was only a child, and you were an adult. You destroyed a child to keep your secret." She paused. "Maybe if you were still the man you used to be, I would hate you. But I have seen a different Jaime Lannister than the one I met at Winterfell."

She sighed and turned from him, lost in her memories. The solar was quiet. After a moment, she turned back.

"You asked me how I can love him when he has done horrible things. When he will most likely do horrible things in the future." Jaime looked at her, holding her gaze, intense and desperate to hear her answer. If someone like Sansa Stark could love a monster like his father, then maybe there was hope for him. She continued.

"The answer is simple and complex. Part of me hates that he is capable of such acts, and hates knowing he would order such acts to take place today if he deemed necessary. That he would do so without hesitation. No matter what it cost him. For my safety. Or yours. Or even Tyrion's I now believe. Part of me hates what he has done to protect the Lannister name and legacy."

She sighed and unconsciously rubbed a hand against her stomach. She met Jaime's eyes. "But another part of me, well, another part of me loves that he would do such things. For me. For our children. For you. For Tyrion. To keep us strong, to keep us whole, to keep us a family. I love his strength. And his ability to defend us. And I love that he will do horrible things, so we don't have to. He is the only person to see me as more than just a maidenhood and the key to securing the north. He's the only man who has ever valued my intelligence, or who has even asked for my opinion about more than sewing or taking care of a keep. And I love how I know him in a way no one else does. He feels so deeply Jaime, and I know whatever I feel for him; he feels it back for me. We can't help who we love."

She said this last part softly, almost talking to herself.

He nodded, knowing this to be true. He swallowed hard. Sansa Stark was a good woman. She didn't deserve any of his rage or anger.

"Uncle Kevan told me stories, from when he and my mother were first married. How different he was. I never thought I would see that man in this lifetime." Jaime cocked his head at her and flashed a brief smile. "I'm glad I am." She blushed prettily.

Sansa reached out and grasped his one hand. "We are all imperfect beings, Jaime. Maybe he doesn't deserve my love. But he has it. All of it. For as long as I'm alive. He's everything to me. And I hope," she paused, "I hope that you will come to see that, and to trust me."

Jaime closed his eyes and gathered himself.

"Tyrion keeps saying; you are too good for us, Lady Sansa." He laughed ruefully. Then he looked at her directly. "I am sorry for what I did to your brother. At the time, I was not. But now, after what I have been through, watching you and knowing you, knowing the pain I caused your family, I am deeply sorry Sansa."

Her eyes filled with tears. She knew him to be sincere, in a way that only Lannisters could be. She squeezed his hand and whispered, "Thank you." He coughed then, and let go of her hand.

"For what it is worth, I am happy for you. And for my father." She nodded at him, then he turned and walked out of the room, passing his father at the entrance. He stopped, and Tywin briefly clasped his son to him, holding him tightly for a moment before Jaime left to gather the King for the small council meeting.

Sansa stood still, waiting for Tywin to approach. She knew he had heard most of their conversation. He came and wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her close to him. His fingers found hers, and he intertwined them, enjoying this connection with his wife. He was proud of what she had done for his son.

"How much did you hear, husband?" she asked softly.

"Enough, wife," he responded. It seemed her capacity to forgive Lannister men was boundless. She turned to look at him then and saw deep green eyes that loved her. _I am so lucky, _she thought_, to have the love and respect of a man such as Tywin._

She rubbed her hands against his cheeks, needing to feel him as she kissed him softly.

"We are imperfect beings; indeed, my Lady," he murmured to her, "but you make us all want to be a little better."

She smiled softly at him. Then he moved her hand to his arm, indicating it was time to go. Together they made their way down to the small council chambers on the first floor of their apartments, ready to face the wrath of their family.


	11. Chapter 11

_ Small Council Meeting _

Sansa and Tywin Lannister entered the chambers of the small council to a full complement of people. The Master of Whispers Lord Varys was present, along with the Master of Coin, Lord Tyrion. Jaime and Cersei were there, as well as Grand Maester Pycell and the King. He sneered when Sansa and Tywin walked in together, touching each other and making no attempt to hide their status as the real power in the room.

"What is she doing here, Grandfather?" he complained bitterly. Joffrey was still angry she’d escaped his clutches.

Sansa barely spared the King a glance, instead, taking a seat beside Tywin who sat at the head of the small council table.

"She is here as a representative of the North, Your Grace," Tywin responded, his voice low, with a slight growl to it. He had no time for Joffrey’s games today.

"She is a traitor and should have no part in this council," Joffrey protested vehemently, jumping to his feet. Sansa had to resist rolling her eyes. He acted like a child, and not a man of twenty-one.

"Sit. Down." Tywin said forcefully to the King. "She is not a traitor you stupid fool. She is my wife and a Lannister." Tywin’s eyes had narrowed and practically spat fire at Joffrey. Even the dumbest fool in King’s Landing knew to not anger the Great Lion by attacking his wife. Cleary the King had not received the message.

Sansa and Tywin had been wed for over a month, but very little word had come from the Riverlands and the new alliance between the Starks and the Lannisters. This vagueness was deliberate by Tywin. The less Cersei and Joffrey knew about their plans; the fewer things could go wrong. Even though it had been announced that their marriage would bring peace to the realm, few had believed it could be attained so quickly. Now that Kevan and Robb had dealt with the traitors and secured the passage North, Tywin felt comfortable sharing his success with the Crown.

"As you are aware," he shot a scathing look to his grandson, "The marriage between Lady Sansa and I secured peace for the seven kingdoms by ending the war between Houses Stark and Lannister." Tywin looked at everyone in the room. No one dared contradict him, and silence reigned. The Old Lion was in complete control, just as he liked it. "Lord Stark moved his army North. We received word that two houses disloyal to House Stark and Tully attempted to betray them at the Twins."

Joffrey looked positively gleeful. "Did the Frey's catch some wolves, Grandfather? Is that why we are here? For you to tell us that the Starks are no longer alive." He chortled. He fairly danced in anticipation and sent Sansa a gleeful look. She held his gaze, no longer afraid of him. Tywin looked at him in disgust. Not only was he intent on causing his wife harm, but he was also stupid. Tywin hated stupidity.

"Enough," Tywin commanded the King. Tywin wanted to take his fist and smash it into Joffrey’s gleeful face.

Joffrey chaffed at Tywin's rebuke. He jumped to his feet and moved closer to Sansa. He had seen how she had always shrunk when he approached her. Joffrey was the type of man who got excited when he or his proxy could frighten and intimidate others. Jaime looked at his son, disgust lining his features.

This time, Sansa refused to cower in front of the King. She knew that Tywin would protect her and that at any time he could have Joffrey removed from the throne. She was done being a toy for Joffrey Baratheon. She saw a look of bewilderment across his face when he realized he didn't intimidate her any longer.

Then something darker crossed his eyes but was gone before she could be sure she'd seen it there- but Tywin had and a cold pit of fear settled in his stomach at such a look.

"Unfortunately, Your Grace," Sansa answered smoothly, "The news is not what you had hoped for. It seems that House Stark and House Lannister were able to route the Frey's and Bolton's. Our alliance now holds both the Twins and Harrenhal. I am sure this is most welcome news for you, Your Grace, and your Kingdom." She sent him a small triumphant smile. He turned purple with rage. “After all, peace was the goal, was it not?”

He turned to look at Tywin. "Is this true Grandfather?" His voice was a high-pitched whine.

Tywin nodded. Joffrey spun about the room, looking for an ally. He turned back to his Hand.

"And why was I not informed of these plans, Lord Hand?" his voice shaking in anger, frustrated he knew nothing about this military endeavour.

"The plans required immediate execution, your Grace. You were otherwise occupied. Besides, you knew the marriage between Sansa and me was made to secure peace for the realm. This was a natural result of such an alliance," Tywin said smoothly.

Joffrey quivered in rage. "I am to be informed of every plan." He looked at Twin when he said this. No one in the room could look away from the scene he was creating. "Is that understood, Hand?" he tried to sound commanding, but his voice squeaked at the end.

"If you want to be the King," Tywin drawled, "then I suggest you show up at the small council meetings. I _suggest_," Tywin said dryly to his grandson, "that you learn to govern instead of drink and hunt and whore."

_Gods, _Sansa thought, watching her husband. _Seeing __him in action was intoxicating._She knew he was the true power behind the throne, but to watch him deal with Joffrey with such precision was a thing of beauty. Sansa smiled to herself at that moment; she had come so far. Now she was a woman, grown and true and married to the real King, even if he wasn't one in name.

Joffrey couldn't let such an insult pass. He looked positively apocalyptic as his voice rose and he shouted back at Tywin, "Hands can be replaced, Grandfather. You'd be wise to remember that when you anger the King."

The room went eerily silent. Sansa couldn't believe the stupidity of him. Everyone knew that Tywin Lannister had was the real power behind the throne. Just like he had been when King Aery's ruled.

Joffrey fidgeted, unable to stand Tywin's gaze.

"I am the King." Joffrey pointed to his chest. He looked pathetic; young, slim and completely overwhelmed when compared to a man like Tywin Lannister.

Tywin held Joffrey's gaze, his cold green eyes, making the King quiver in fear. He was unimpressed and not the least bit intimated by his grandson. But it disturbed him that the King thought he could threaten him without consequence. Cersei sent an imploring look to her son, silently begging him to understand how he had gone too far. Everyone was looking between the King and the Great Lion.

"Any man who must say, I am the King, is no true King. When you have won as many wars as I have, then you can lecture me on governing the realm. Until then, this meeting is over. Escort the King from the room," Tywin growled out. Cersei rose and grabbed Joffrey's hand.

"Come along, sweet. You have so many more important things to focus on," She brushed her hands along his arm and tried to grab his hand, but he batted her away.

"I am not to be dismissed like some child," Joffrey whined, and stomped his foot, but turned and let his mother lead him from the room.

Lord Varys looked at Tywin and cocked his head. "Congratulations, Lord Hand," the eunuch said smoothly. "It seems your wedding truly has brought peace to the realm."

Tywin barked out a short laugh. "If you believe that, Master of Whispers, then I believe you spend your nights in a brothel fucking the whores instead of just bribing them to report to you and not Littlefinger."

Varys chuckled slightly acknowledging his error. Lord Tywin was not a man to be underestimated.

"Threats remain, Lord Varys. Threats I am sure you are very much aware of. Tell me, what news do you have of the Targaryen woman?" Tywin demanded.

Lord Varys looked at Tywin. "Last time I heard, she was making her way towards Yunkai, My Lord. She commands the entire Unsullied Army."

"And her dragons?" Tywin asked.

"Still alive and with her." He paused. "All three, My Lord."

Tywin grunted. "So, not only does she have three living dragons, but she now has an army."

Varys nodded his ascent to Tywin, who looked troubled with these facts.

"She seems to gather a following wherever she goes, this much is true," Varys agreed in that barely accented voice that held no real inflection. One couldn't tell if he admired the Dragon Queen, feared her or loathed her.

"Any word on Stannis?" Tywin grunted.

"Just that he is still on Dragonstone, My Lord." Tywin was silent a moment pondering these new facts.

"As you can see, Master of Whispers, we are not safe yet. Enemies remain."

Varys observed the Great Lion then, surrounded by his sons and his northern wife. Tywin Lannister had made himself a very powerful ruling block, with the Riverlands, the North and the fertile Reach all aligned with him. The Great Lion of Lannister had four of the seven kingdoms in his pocket. Lord Varys could see clearly who was in control of the Westeros. He would be almost impossible to dethrone, especially if he could somehow remove King Joffrey without any fallout landing on House Lannister.

Tywin Lannister did not trust the chubby eunuch at all. He knew that man had been loyal to House Targaryen and that Robert Baratheon had been too busy whoring and drinking to have the man removed. Because of King Robert's laziness, Lord Varys' network of spies had grown to legendary status.

Tywin internally cursed the ineptitude of his late son in law and daughter. They had years to secure the family legacy in Kings Landing, and instead, both had wasted the golden opportunity he had given them. Tywin needed a way to break Varys power but could see no path forward. Cersei had years to do so and had failed spectacularly. Tywin did not trust the chubby man at all; indeed if he were pressed, Tywin would bet a fair bit of gold that Varys would prefer a dragon on the throne to a lion. 

Varys rose and bowed slightly to the remaining Lannisters, realizing he had been dismissed. After the eunuch departed, Tywin sat at the head of the table, clenching and unclenching a fist. Jaime and Tyrion just looked at their father, knowing his mind was working on the problems they faced.

He spoke, soft and low to the three people he now trusted more than any others. His family- a family that was everything to him. Now more than ever, Tywin saw the potential of House Lannister. And all of it due to his wife, who had somehow knit back together with his strained relationship with his sons. Tywin had dismissed Cersei from the group of family he trusted. Her hatred towards Sansa, coupled with her loyalty to Joffrey made her too untrustworthy. Tywin would allow nothing and no one to jeopardize his place in Kings Landing or his wife's safety.

"We cannot allow either Daenerys Targaryen one foothold back into Westeros or Kings Landing. We must know what both are doing. Plans must be enacted sooner rather than later to end them and the threat that they present." Tywin looked at each of their faces, conveying the seriousness of the situation.

"Perhaps there is a solution in the form of the faceless men?" Tyrion suggested. Tywin glanced at the dwarf who shrugged. "It's not like we cannot afford to pay for their services. And the dragons are still young. What is one woman against assassins of their reputation?"

Jaime looked at Sansa then, wanting to see if she was willing to go along with a plan to murder a challenger to the throne. Her face betrayed none of the emotions she was feeling. Still unsure of her reaction to plotting outright murder, Jaime asked quietly, "Are you alright with such a solution, Lady Sansa?"

Sansa sighed. In truth, it made her stomach hurt to think about ordering the death of any person. And this person had a better claim to the throne than the current king. A King that she despised. The Sansa before King’s Landing would have been horrified at the woman she was now.

Sansa knew when she agreed to play the game of thrones with Tywin that impossible decisions such as this would have to be made. There could only be a Lannister or a Targaryen on the Throne. If this Daenerys Targaryen were to ever make her way to Kings Landing, Sansa knew that her, Tywin, Tyrion, Jaime and any of their children would be killed instantly.

She looked at Jaime. "I will not say that I take plotting the death of anyone, lightly, Ser Jaime," she said softly and continued. "But I am a Lannister. There is no way for a Lion and a Dragon to coexist in Westeros. Not after our shared history." Tywin reached and grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently, silently thanking her for her support. She alone knew what King Aerys had done to his previous wife. She knew the sins that had been committed against House Lannister and why Tywin had tried to destroy House Targaryen.

Jaime swallowed hard as the very real possibility of a Targaryen returning to Westeros was discussed. How was it possible that for seventeen years he had managed to keep secret King Aerys' true plans for the people of Kings Landing? He'd only recently unburdened his soul and to Brienne of Tarth of all people. What would his family say if he told them _why _he was a Kingslayer? Would they embrace him or condemn him? He could never have imagined sharing his tale with them before his return to Kings Landing, but things had changed so dramatically since he had come back. Realizing he'd lost the thread of the conversation, he heard Sansa speak.

"Moreover, I want what is best for the majority of the people in Westeros. The last time Targaryen's conquered the seven kingdoms, thousands upon thousands died. If the price to avoid such a fate is one life..." Sansa trailed off, struggling.

"Enough," Tywin said quietly, annoyed at Jaime's instance on questioning his wife. He kept his hand in hers. "If a decision has to be made, Jaime, it will be on me, not on my wife." He gave his son a hard look, but Jaime had a faraway look on his face. The room was silent for a moment as everyone waiting for Jaime to respond. As a ragged sound emerged from him, Tywin and Tyrion shared a worried glance.

"Ser Jaime?" Sansa asked softly.

"Wildfire," he whispered. Then he looked up and met Tywin's gaze. "You've all heard of it." Then he laughed bitterly. "Of course you have." He'd heard what his little brother had done the night Stannis Baratheon attacked Kings Landing. Jaime looked around the table and saw his family's concerned looks.

Before he could stop himself, he began to speak. He told them what he had only told one other person in his entire life. He spoke about Mad King Aerys and his plan for the city and the people living in Kings Landing. He told them how for years he'd watched as the King burned anyone who displeased him, including Lords and Hands to the King.

Jaime met Tywin's gaze, and he could see that his father believed him. His father nodded at him, knowing how volatile the last Targaryen King had been.

"You were lucky father, that he never burned you."

Jaime took a deep breath and continued, telling them how Aerys had placed wildfire throughout the city. That the entire capital could have burned, and the King with it at any moment. Tywin, Tyrion and Sansa all had horrified expressions at the thought of what might have happened, as they realized the lives that would have been lost had the wildfire ignited. Jaime looked away from their shocked faces. He had lived it. He lived it when the King had raged and wanted to burn the city and all the people. He had lived it when his father showed up at the city gates.

Jaime met Tywin's eyes. "You were never one to pick the losing side, Father," Jaime couldn't help his slightly mocking tone. He pinned Tywin with a look. "But that wasn't the true reason, was it?"

"No," Tywin said shortly.

"It wasn't just that the Targaryen's were losing, was it Father?" Jaime voiced a question he'd had for years.

"No, it wasn't," Tywin ground out. He had seen his opportunity for revenge, and he had taken it for what the King had done to Joanna.

"Did you know he ordered me to bring him your head?" Jaime met Tywin's eyes, voice strained. "That night. That night when you arrived at the gates. He told me to bring him your head."

Jaime swallowed hard, bright eyes never leaving Tywin's, lost in his horrific memories. "I couldn't do that. Just like I couldn't let him burn everyone_._" His eyes filled with pain and tears and a broken man sat before them.

"Tell me, father, brother," Jaime asked, "If a King commanded you to kill your own father and then stand by while thousands of men, women and children burned alive, would you have done it? Would you have kept your _oath_?" Jaime spat the word oath.

Horrified and sickened at the choice that had been presented to his son, Tywin was lost on how to reach him. Sansa had gripped his hand to near bruising, as silent tears tracked down her face. Tyrion looked devastated at the choices his brother had faced.

Jaime drew in a ragged breath and continued his story, having come too far not to finish it. "So I made a choice. I killed his pyromancer. Then I killed the king."

He looked at Sansa then, furious anger radiating off of him.

"That's where your father found me. That's when I became known as the Kingslayer." He said the word, and it was like a physical blow. The cruel name he'd come to be known for throughout the seven kingdoms.

"Tell me, Lady Sansa, how honourable would it have been to let thousands of innocents burn to death? Your father judged me guilty the first moment he set eyes on me." Jaime slammed his fist down on the table and Sansa jolted.

Tears tracked down her face, pale and drawn. She knew her father. He was an honourable man, but he was not perfect. If only he had stopped and asked Jaime Lannister why he had killed the king. Instead, he had judged him. So much pain would have been avoided if her father had just asked Jaime _why._

Jaime looked at Tywin, a broken man. "My whole life, I've been known as a man without honour, Father. Everywhere I go, they whisper, Kingslayer, Oathbreaker, Man without Honor." Jaime was lost in the memories, the years of abuse and hatred and vitriol that he had endured washing over him, mumbling those words over and over again.

_Gods, _Tywin thought, _King Aerys had stolen everything from his family_. Jaime had been so young when all of this had taken place. The list of the Mad King's sins against his family was even longer than Tywin had previously believed. Aerys had raped Joanna, killed his wife with the child he had planted in her, stolen his heir when he made him a Kingsguard and then ordered his son to commit patricide. Hatred for House Targaryen burned through Tywin.

Realizing Jaime hadn't stopped chanting, emotion clogged Tywin's throat, and he rasped, "Enough, son, enough." Jaime looked at him and then at Tyrion.

"Brother," the dwarf said, and then he was the first to move, coming to Jaime's side and embracing his brother. The saviour of Kings Landing. The hero of the people. For years Tyrion had only envied his older brother. The golden child. The chosen one. His jealousy had eaten at him even as he loved him. Sorrow and pity consumed him now, as well as shame that Jaime had carried this burden by himself.

Tyrion whispered, "I am sorry, Jaime." Jaime clung harder to his little brother.

Tywin then left his seat and moved to his sons. He pulled Jaime to him and held him as he shook. Tywin was never good at giving comfort, but Jaime's story had burned him to his core. His son had carried an impossible burden for almost two decades, and he needed his family.

Sansa was in shock. She was deeply ashamed at the role her father had played in the treatment of Jaime. _How could he even want to be around her? _She wondered. She was rooted in her seat, feeling for the first time like an interloper, an outsider and ashamed of her house. For so long all the wrongs that had happened in her life had been perpetrated by the Lannister's against the Starks. But clearly, her father played a huge part in the horror that Jaime had endured for years.

Tyrion and Tywin had pulled back from Jaime, and he met Sansa's gaze.

"I am so sorry, Jaime," she whispered brokenly, "For what my father did to you. You are a true hero." She stood abruptly. She had to leave. She was embarrassed at being here when her family had caused him so much pain. She looked at Tywin then, and whispered, "I'm sorry, My Lord, I have to go."

He moved then and caught her as she tried to flee. She struggled in his arms and refused to meet his eyes. "Let me go Tywin; I shouldn't be here." He held her tighter.

"Sansa, stop," he said firmly, brushing his hands down her face, willing her to look at him. "Sansa, look at me," he commanded. She slowly brought her eyes up to his. "Sansa our houses have a long and painful history. This is only one more layer._You _did not judge Jaime that day in the Throne Room, your father did. You are not responsible for his choices. You had a choice, and you forgave Jaime for what he did to your brother. That is the person you are." She clung to her husband, hoping he was correct about her, hoping that she was better than her father.

Tywin sighed. _So much hurt and horror and pain all because of one family. The Targaryen's really did destroy everything they touched_, he thought_._He kept a hold on Sansa, tucking her to him tightly and looked at his sons.

"This will need to be discussed further. Much further." Tywin sighed again. "But right now, it is all too fresh; it is all too much. We need time to process what you've told us, Jaime." No one argued, and Jaime nodded ever so slightly.

Jaime had gathered himself, feeling freer after he had unburdened himself to his family. The comfort he had received from them astounded them. They didn't doubt him or question him. They called him a hero. It didn't matter if no one else knew why he had done it, his father and brother did. That was all that mattered. And now his family knew that they would have to do everything they could to stop Daenerys Targaryen from coming back to Westeros. The Targaryen's could not be trusted.

He looked at his father holding Sansa and could see the devastation on her face. This elegant and charming woman who had done nothing but help and forgave him since he'd returned home a broken man was now shouldering her father's shame. He shook himself and walked up to her.

"Lady Sansa," he said softly, "You are not your father. His choice would not have been yours. Of that, I am sure. This is not your burden." She felt her eyes fill with tears then and reached out to grasp his one hand.

"I am so sorry, Jaime, for everything that was done to you because of my father's judgement. You are a hero," she said again.

His face cracked a slight smile, "I have plenty of sins on my soul, My Lady."

Tywin, still holding Sansa, looked around the small council room at his family. He was still unable to fully comprehend what his son had revealed to him this morning. He had never even thought to ask his son why he'd made the choices he had, instead of believing Ned Stark. _Foolish idiot, _Tywin railed at himself. The pain his son had suffered. Even the choices he made. The refusal to give up that white cloak.

_Gods, _Tywin thought, _the suffering his family had been put through because of the Targaryen's_. Never again, he vowed. Never again would a Dragon have power in the seven kingdoms.

"Tywin," Sansa said softly bringing his attention back to her. "We have to go now. Margaery will be waiting, and it is too late to cancel."

Tywin looked at her and then at Tyrion. "Ensure she is safe today," and Tyrion nodded.

"I have the best guards, Lord Husband," she stroked her hands up and down the whiskers on his face, needing to feel him. "Do not worry about me."

"I always worry about you, wife, especially when you venture so far from safety." He loved it when she touched him like she was, and he needed her more than ever. Pain for his son was coursing through his body.

"I will be back before you know it Tywin," she whispered against his mouth, before stealing a quick kiss and turning to gather Tyrion. On her way, she quickly moved to Jaime, and seeing no rejection on his face, embraced him firmly. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, drawing in her scent and her warmth and her acceptance. She drew back and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. "I am truly sorry, Jaime. For everything you have been through."

Tyrion approached his brother, knowing they would have plenty to discuss when he returned. He

held out his hand and clasped his with Jaime and just said, "Brother." Jaime nodded, appreciating how his family had reacted to his secret.

Jaime watched as his father's eyes tracked Lady Sansa as she left the room. "You're a lucky man, to have the love of such a woman." Jaime was envious of their relationship but somehow happier than ever that they had Lady Sansa in their lives. Without her, none of this would have been possible. Tywin grunted his agreement, then looked at him. He had never been prouder of his son and his heir, now knowing the choices that Jaime had faced — knowing that his son had chosen to save him instead of the King.

"Thank you," Tywin said quietly. Jaime quirked a brow. Tywin cleared his throat awkwardly. "For acting like the man, I always knew you could be. For being a _Lannister_."

Jaime gave a small smile. "Always, Father," then he clapped his hand on his father's back. "Shall we train? They are sure to be hours yet."

Tywin knew there was days' worth of discussion over what Jaime had revealed to them this morning, but he also knew his son needed him in other ways right now. He nodded, and they left the small council rooms.

_ Flea Bottom _

When Sansa and Tyrion left the small council room to meet with Lady Margaery, they were both still reeling from what they had just learned. Sansa suspected that Tywin and Jaime would spend considerable time together that evening. And the fallout from Jaime's revelations would take weeks to work through. Sansa couldn't help but worry about how it would impact her husband.

Tywin had changed since she had first met him. He was powerful and intimidating then, but he had also seemed very lonely. Now it felt like their family was overflowing. She couldn't imagine what it had cost Jaime to finally unburden himself to his family after years of carrying such a weight by himself. She was proud that the Lannister men had learned to trust each other. It only made their House stronger she believed.

Days earlier, when Sansa had casually mentioned that she and Lady Margaery had scheduled a visit to an orphanage in Flea Bottom, Tyrion had immediately said that he would come along because he had _spent many delightful evenings getting drunk with the commoners _and therefore had an unprecedented _knowledge of the area_.

Sansa suspected something different. She hung back to observe how Margaery's face lit with happiness as the dwarf approached the carriage. The Rose of Highgarden bent down and kissed him gently on both cheeks, not flinching in the least when her lips brushed his scarred side. Sansa felt her lips curve into a small smile.

"It's nice, eh," a gruff voice said beside her. Startled, she turned to look where it came from. Standing beside her was a rough-looking man. Sansa recalled him as one of her saviours from the evening when she had been assaulted. She quirked an eyebrow at him. She saw Lady Brienne move to intercept, but Sansa gave a small shake of her head.

"Lord Bronn of the Blackwater, My Lady," and he executed a mocking half-bow. She snorted. She knew that Tyrion paid the man to be his sword and his shield and to protect him. But she wondered if there was more than just money between them. She got the impression that this sellsword actually like Tyrion.

"What's nice, My Lord?" Sansa asked him, intrigued to know what the sellsword thought he saw.

He gestured to her two friends who had separated and were climbing into a carriage to be transported to the orphanage.

"Them, My Lady." Bronn cocked his head. "Shame she's set to marry that golden-haired dick. Don't rightly envy any lady that has to put up with him." Sansa felt a chill skirt across her spine. The reports of Joffrey and his whores and what he did to them were more and more disturbing by the day. Sansa was loath to think about what would happen to her pretty friend when she was wed to the King.

"He doesn't believe it, but he'd make a fine husband," Bronn continued. She nodded her agreement. It was one of her deepest wishes for Tyrion. That he would find a lady that would love him for the man he was.

Sansa took a moment to look at the rough man beside her. She had grown up with rough men. The North was fairly littered with them. It might have been why she had been so taken with Joffrey when he had ridden into Winterfell. He was so different from the dark and broody men of her House. He had seemed like something straight from the songs and tales, and her young heart hadn't stood a chance. She was so thankful he had broken their engagement. Every day she was grateful she had taken a chance and approached Tywin.

Sansa had no interest or desire to interfere with Tyrion's life, but she didn't want this Bronn of the Blackwater to think that Tyrion was friendless or powerless. All Sansa cared about was that Bronn would only ever be loyal to him, and House Lannister.

Sansa pinned him with a look. The sellsword swallowed hard at the look in her eyes.

"You seem like a decent man, My Lord. I never had a chance to thank you for what you did that night." Sansa continued to look at him, and he squirmed under her penetrating gaze. She had learned much from observing Tywin these past few months. "Tyrion is very dear to me, My Lord. And to his brother. As well as my Lord Husband." She gave him a hard look. Bronn swallowed audibly. "The Lannisters are generous to those who are loyal to us." He nodded. "I hope that if you were to receive a more plentiful offer, you would feel compelled to remind yourself of our generosity."

Bronn laughed. _Gods, she was a handful, wasn't she? All red hair, indignation and fierce loyalty. It hadn't taken the new lioness long to find her claws. Bet she was a firecracker in bed. Lucky bastard, the Old Lion, _Bronn thought_._ Tyrion had talked endlessly about his father's new wife and all the changes she had brought to their House. Bronn knew that it was Lady Sansa that had begun to mend the relationship between father and son. He also knew that Sansa and Tyrion were close, just like he knew that the Queen Regent hated her fiercely. People talked around a man like Bronn, especially when he faded into the background. He hoped for everyone's sake that they took the safety of Lady Lannister seriously.

"What's so funny, My Lord?" she asked a pinched and perturbed look on her face.

"Oh, just that the half-man there already reminded me of the Lannister _generosity_," he explained to her. "No worries, My Lady. I figure if I save his ass enough times, I might even end up with a castle." He sent her a wink and Sansa could see the charm of the man. She cracked a smile and shook her head at him.

"You might want to add training with Jaime Lannister to your list of deeds then, My Lord, if you are to be in the service to our House." She quirked her lips at him. "There is more than one Lannister man that could use your help." He nodded at her, then escorted her to the carriage.

"Plenty of time to help all the Lions, My Lady," he said, and they set off for Flea Bottom. For better or worse, sell sword and loyal to only coin his entire life, Bronn of the Blackwater had finally found a House to pledge his allegiance too. Just because they happened to be the wealthiest, well, that hadn't escaped his notice.

Sansa's only exposure to Flea Bottom had been the awful day they had sent Myrcella away to Dorne, and she had been caught in the Bread Riots. If it hadn't been for Sandor Clegane, Sansa would be dead. Brutalized and raped until they had killed her. She owed her very life to the man, and she thought about him as they made their way to the poor house.

She had drafted a letter to send back to her brother, praising the man and his deeds. It was the very least she could do for him. Tywin's lips had pinched as he read it, but she didn't care. And after his behaviour, the previous day he hadn't dared argue with her. There were no untruths contained within her raven. Sandor Clegane had saved her. Repeatedly.

She wondered briefly what Sandor would do now. Unspoken they both knew Tywin would take his head if he ever came south again. And she would never try to stop her husband. Whether she agreed or not, the man had abandoned his post. Just because she knew why he had, didn't mean it was a slight Tywin could or would let go unpunished. She hoped Sandor might find a place beside her brother. She knew him to be a loyal and fierce man, and Robb could use someone of his calibre to stand beside him. Besides, he had already saved both of the Young Wolf's sisters. Surely Robb could find a place for him in the vast lands that were the North.

As if Tyrion knew the turn her thoughts had taken, he had moved beside her.

"It was an awful day, Sansa," he said quietly, observing her. He had reached for her hand, and she welcomed the contact. "While Clegane proved his craven nature during the battle of the Blackwater, he did save you that day. For that, I will always be grateful."

Sansa looked at Tyrion puzzled before she realized he didn't know. About any of it. About all the other times Sandor had saved her, why he left that night when Stannis attacked, or that even now he had now returned Arya to Robb. She briefly wondered how angry Tywin would be if she disclosed all the Hound's good deeds to Tyrion but decided swiftly this wasn't the place or time. One day she and Tyrion would speak of it, but not here and not now.

"Me too," she murmured, "me too." Both lost in thoughts of the past, Sansa barely realized that they had arrived at the orphanage.

It was a visit that broke Sansa's heart. Children of all ages and houses had found their way to the decrepit old building. It was hot and overcrowded and stank with the despair and hopelessness of those who had nothing to eat and even less to live for. The septas that ran the facility were thrilled to receive the party. Margaery and Sansa had made sure to bring ample provisions for this and many of the other orphanages located in the vicinity.

Forgoing any sense of propriety, Sansa made her way amongst the children. They swarmed her, and even though one stern-looking old septa tried to swat them away with her old broom, Sansa sunk to her knees and was soon surrounded by little faces. They were fascinated with her red hair, her velvet gown and her brilliant golden lion necklace. Sansa let them touch her, unconcerned about their dirty hands and curious eyes.

One little boy with blue eyes and sandy hair tugged at her heart the most. He held himself back from the group, wary and sad and much too skinny. She gestured for him to approach her, but he stood back, seemingly overcome with the number of children that surrounded her. Finally, Margaery and Tyrion announced sweets and food, and everyone scrambled to be the first to receive the bounty. But not the little boy. Now that Sansa was free from the other children, he approached her cautiously. He was skinny and dirty, but underneath Sansa could see what beautiful a child he was. She felt her eyes fill with tears for him.

"Are you alone?" she asked him softly.

He nodded his head, inching closer to her.

"Do you have a name?"

He nodded again but did not disclose it.

"I am Lady Sansa," she said quietly. He looked at her lion necklace. "I am a Lion of Lannister," she explained softly, then made a gentle roaring noise. He smiled slightly.

"Addam," he whispered, so quietly she could barely hear him.

"Hello, Addam." He moved closer still until she could reach out and touch his sandy hair. This seemed to be the last barrier, and he threw himself on her, curling up in her lap. Her heart broke. She stroked his dirty hair, uncaring about the vermin that might be attached to the boy. _How could anyone abandon such a child, _she wondered? She rocked him as he cuddled into her.

Tyrion looked at her from across the room and felt a dull thump in his heart. He watched his new mother cradle the dirty child. _Fuck, _he thought, _how on earth would he explain to this to his father? It appeared they would be taking in a stray to their house._He could already see the outrage on the Old Lion's face when Sansa appeared back at their apartments with the small boy. Deciding to see if his instincts were correct, Tyrion made his way over to them.

"Mother," he said quietly as not to startle the child. "What do we have here?" Her Tully blue eyes met his, and they were filled with pain and tears.

"He's all alone now, Tyrion. He said the bad men came for his mother just days ago." She shuddered. "Who would separate a child Tyrion?"

His already bad feeling got worse. Tyrion knew the reality of orphanages. They were overcrowded and many women had no choice but to abandoned their children if their husbands died in the war. Tyrion gulped hard.

"My Lady," he begun before Sansa interrupted him.

"I know what happens Tyrion. I am not stupid. Shae told me exactly how men like Petyr Baelish make their money." Her eyes glittered with rage. "It is wrong. These women should have a place to go until they can acquire the skills necessary to gain meaningful employment."

"No, Lady Sansa, it is not," he agreed with her sadly.

"He will come back with us to the Red Keep. I will find him work in the kitchens or the stables. Somewhere, Tyrion." Her tone brooked no room for argument. He nodded, knowing he would never win this battle. Let his father deal with his idealistic young wife.

"And," she continued, eyes glittering with fury and determination, "I will see about building additional orphanages, as well as supporting widows from the war." Tyrion gaped at her. _Surely, she couldn't be serious! _But one look at her face, and he knew she was. Tyrion sighed again, suddenly envisioning how much work lay in his future. He had no doubts his father would be initially upset and then allow his new wife to pursue this path. And he had no doubts as to whom his father would assign to help her.

"I am not without resources, Tyrion, and House Lannister will be known as a House that saves those who cannot save themselves. It is absurd to think that we cannot do more."

_Gods, _Tyrion thought, _when word got out about Lady Lannister's new project, the common people would love her even more than they already did. Cersei would rage, and Joffrey would be incensed. And his father would gain even more political power all due to the gracious and loving nature of this remarkable woman. Even Tywin couldn't manufacture this type of goodwill and love for his family by the commoners if he tried. Lady Sansa was truly proving to be worthy of the title of the Lady Lannister._

* * *

When Tyrion, Sansa and Adam made their way into the Hand's apartments, Jaime, Tywin and Genna were already there. All three took one look at the ragged young child that clung to Sansa and reacted immediately.

Genna howled, laughing at the confrontation that was about to take place. She saw the look on Sansa's face, and she had no doubts that Tywin would eventually give in to his wife's requests. It was for exactly this reason why Sansa was so good for Ty and why Genna treasured her. She pushed the old lion out of his very comfortable rut.

Jaime just googled at her, much the way that Tyrion had at the orphanage. He couldn't believe she would be so bold as to bring a street urchin into the Lannister fold. He recalled a time when as a child he had tried to smuggle some barn kittens into Casterly Rock. His father had been incensed at him and had drowned them in front of Tyrion and Jaime to teach them a lesson. What on earth would he do to Lady Sansa and the dirty child she'd brought into his apartments? Then he looked at the determined set of her eyes and the jut of her jaw and knew his father was in for a battle. One he wasn't sure the Great Lion would win.

Tywin just looked astonished. He was a man that was rarely surprised, but somehow his wife had managed it. He shot a scathing look at his second son. "I thought I told you to look after my wife?" he accused Tyrion, his voice low with disbelief. The dwarf just shrugged as if to say; this _is your problem now, father_.

Tywin's face tightened, and he looked back at Sansa. "A word, My Lady," he said with barely controlled fury.

Sansa just huffed at him, then bent down face to face with the grubby child who was stubbornly clinging to her. She brushed her elegant hands along his dirty face and said softly, "Addam, dear, some nice ladies are going to come and clean you up. Then they will make sure you have a full tummy tonight. Tomorrow we will make some exciting new plans." His eyes filled with tears, and he clung to her harder. Tywin growled that the child would dare touch his wife with his dirty hands. Sansa shot him a look, her eyes flashing and hissed, "Stop Tywin, you're are scaring him_."_

She turned back to Addam, "Hush," she said soothingly. "We talked about this. We are lions, remember. This is the Great Lion I was telling you about. He is my husband. He keeps us all safe," and she smiled at him as she pointed to Tywin. Addam gradually let go of her gown, and two of Sansa's handmaidens moved to gather him up, whisking him away to be bathed and fed and cared for.

Rising like the queen she ought to be, Sansa sailed past Tywin into the solar, not even sparing him or the others a glance as she passed him by. He turned abruptly to follow her. As he did, he heard the laughter of his family behind him.

Shutting the door soundly, he turned to his wife. _What in Gods name was she thinking, bringing that child into their home? _He looked at her, face tight and eyes glittering. She met his stare, equally determined to win this battle.

"Do not start with me, Tywin," she said tightly. "I know every argument you will have. He will not be staying with us. I will find someone to foster him, away from that hellish place. He will earn his way. I promise you this." She could see her words settled her husband. She held herself together, willing herself to make her case. She held up her hand as he moved to come closer to her. He stopped and pinned her with his eyes, betraying no emotion. Sansa had never denied him access to her before.

"I want to start a refuge for women who need time and resources to develop the skills required so they can find work." He arched an eyebrow. "Honest work Tywin. Useful work. Work like handmaidens and cooks and washers. Not whores. And I want to build more orphanages."

He was shocked. He knew that she had a tender heart and that any time spent in a place like Flea Bottom would wound her soul. But now he saw that she wanted more. She wanted to save people. As much as he loved her ruthlessness and cunning, he also knew this was why she would be an excellent mother to their children. And how she was able to love him. And his sons. Even after all his family had done to hers, Sansa cared deeply.

And it was why she should be the true Queen of Westeros. She had an endless ability to love and help people. It was something that was fundamentally missing in his daughter. And perhaps something that had been missing in many other rulers. Sansa genuinely _cared _for people.

"May I approach you now, wife?" he asked somewhat dryly, arching an eyebrow her way. She nodded, and he could see that she was barely holding herself together. He moved towards her swiftly and gathered her in his arms before she broke apart completely. Great heaving sobs wrenched her delicate frame.

"There were so many, just like him Tywin," she cried into his chest. "He is all alone. There are so many like him," she whispered brokenly. He tightened his grip on her, letting her rage and horror at the cruelty of the world pour out of her. Finally calming, she pulled back slightly.

"I am sorry if I overstepped, Tywin," she said softly, refusing to meet his eyes and playing with the buckles on his doublet.

"Sansa," he said firmly. She refused to look at him. He tilted her chin up, gently, but firmly, until she finally met his eyes. "Sansa, I know you have a soft heart. It will not hurt the Lannister name to be associated with such generosity. And the loyalty you will create with such an act will be worth the investment." She smiled at him then, her ever pragmatic and logistical husband. "Plus, it will give that lazy second son of mine something to do," he muttered. She scoffed at him, and he shrugged.

"Thank you, husband," and she rose to brush her lips against his.

"One condition," and his voice brooked no room for argument. "You cannot bring random children home, Sansa. I will not have it." She wanted to argue then took one look at his face, and her mouth snapped shut. He gentled his tone. "I know it is impossible for you to believe, my love, but even a young child can be a danger to you."

She huffed out a breath, frustrated that he saw threats everywhere. "It is non-negotiable Sansa." He looked directly into her eyes. She saw his determination and reminded herself that she loved his willingness to protect her even when she thought he was overreacting, and she nodded.

"Words, my Lady," he drawled.

She rolled her eyes. "I promise not to bring street urchins into our home. Husband." She almost stuck her tongue out at him then. He growled at her and pulled her close to him, kissing her soundly and smacking her on the arse.

"Tywin!" she shrieked, laughing at him. He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the dining hall where the rest of their family waited.

"Come, wife, let us show everyone how you have tamed the Great Lion. Although I am sure no one will be surprised," he said dryly, and she laughed as they exited the solar. 

Tywin knew it was more than just his goodwill and love for his wife that would support this latest endeavour. This is what he had been waiting for; a chance to have loyal spies amongst the common folk. Sansa had delivered it to him without even knowing what she was doing. The realm would see her act as charitable, while Tywin would cultivate to further his power in King's Landing. They would work to clean up Flea Bottom earning the loyalty and devotion of the common people; orphanages and schools would be built, in addition to homes for those women widowed. Where before, when Tywin had been hand to Aerys he sought to keep the nobles happy, now he saw the value in a vast network of spies amongst the very lowest born in King's Landing. And the best part was because this was his wife's initiative, no one would suspect him of having ulterior motives. 

He wondered if he might also be able to shut down the vast network of brothels and whorehouses that were rampant in King's Landing; it would further debase Littlefinger's power and earn him even more power. Plus, it might entice Lord Baelish from his perch in the Vale, should Tywin start to chip away at the man's power. The Great Lion hated how much influence Varys and Littlefinger had, and it was time both men realized who was in charge of King's Landing. 

* * *

Tywin was correct. No one seated at the dining table was surprised when a happy Sansa and a mildly irked Tywin came back to their seats. Indeed, not a single family member had bet against Sansa getting her way. One look at the Lady Lannister and they all knew that she had gotten her wish. She had the Great Lion wrapped around her finger, but as it had been so long since they’d seen Tywin in love, nobody in the Lannister clan minded.

Tyrion groaned. _Best to get this over with then_, he thought sourly.

"So, mother, who is to help you build your refuge for women and children here in King’s Landing?" he asked innocently as she settled into her seat.

She sent him a brilliant smile that transformed her entire face and looked at him. He groaned, and Jaime laughed, but not before Sansa shot him a look.

"You'll be happy to know Ser Jaime that I have secured another swordsman to help in your recovery," Sansa told him. He quirked an eyebrow at her, looking very much like his father at that moment. She was happy to see a bit of the old cocky Jaime back.

"Tyrion's sellsword has graciously agreed to be part of your training." Jaime looked to Tyrion who shrugged.

"His name is Bronn, and he's taken to calling himself Ser Bronn of the Blackwater after playing a most heroic role the night Stannis attacked." Tyrion shrugged again. "He's a decent sort of fellow, and an excellent swordsman. You could do worse brother."

Jaime contemplated this. Between his father and Lady Brienne, he felt he was becoming competent with his left hand. It would be interesting to train against someone who held no pity for him. And he might be ready for that next step. _Did Lady Sansa ever stop thinking about her family, _he wondered?

Turning back to Tyrion, Sansa said, "Not to worry I will enlist some of your favourite people to help with my new project as to bribe you into helping me. And I will make sure there is plenty of wine." Tyrion couldn't help but let out a small smile. Sansa was a charming woman, and Tyrion had to admit that spending more time with her and the ladies that surrounded her was appealing.

"And who might that be?" Tywin asked, curious.

"Lady Genna and Lady Margaery, of course," Sansa said brightly. Tywin raised an elegant eyebrow at the latter's name. He had no idea that his second son and his grandson's betrothed had become so close. He looked at the dwarf and saw a slight blush rise in his face and thought that particularly interesting. This was something Sansa, and he would have to talk about later.

"It won't simply be one orphanage, My Lady," Tywin announced, much to the shock of the room. "The Crown has an obligation to provide gainful employment and opportunity for all those affected by the wars. This will be an ambitious project Sansa, but one I know you are capable of handling, and any assistance I might be able to lend you, I would willingly do so."

Tyrion's eyes widened at his father's statement. Many would see nothing more than a devoted husband attempting to gain favour with his new wife. Tyrion knew immediately his father was flexing his power and attempting to break the hold that Varys and Baelish had on the common people. And he couldn't approve more. It was a brilliant move and one that the King could hardly complain about. 

"Tywin, that's so generous," Sansa gushed happily and squeezed his hand. Sansa also saw what her lion was doing, but as she had no love for either Varys or Littlefinger, she would play the game as well. And she knew those in Flea Bottom would benefit; it was impossible not to, considering the current conditions they lived in. 

Dinner continued, pleasant enough, until Jaime abruptly pushed back from his place, as he realized the time.

"Excuse me," he said to the group, "I lost track of time."

"Pressing engagement, brother?" Tyrion asked. After his earlier revelations, Tyrion had assumed they would spend the night drinking and commiserating. He was disappointed to find that Jaime had other plans.

"I'm set to guard the King tonight," Jaime replied tightly, reluctant to be away from the only people he liked in Kings Landing these days, especially after the emotion of the day.

He had been assigned new duties as a Kingsguard, and it seemed Joffrey and Cersei had thought to punish him by making him guard the king during the night. He knew it to be a power play on their part. If he was guarding the King, he couldn't be with Tyrion or Tywin or Sansa or Genna.

He still had very little contact with his son, often being relegated to standing outside meetings or halls while business was conducted behind closed doors.

Sighing the former Kingslayer made his way through the Red Keep, wondering just how long he would be willing to guard a king that didn't want his service. And a King that he was coming to despise more and more reach day.

The more time he spent with his father and Sansa, the more he wondered if his father was right. _Was it time for him to find a wife? Surely, he wasn't too old to have a family? Raise his own children? He couldn't even imagine what it might be like, to openly be with a woman he cared for, to be unashamed, to raise their children together. He didn't even need or want the Rock. He would never take that from Sansa. _Shaking himself from his musings, Jaime made haste across the Red Keep. It wouldn't do to be late, not with how unstable his son was these days.

* * *

When Jaime arrived outside the King's rooms, he was informed that the King was occupied for the night and was not to be disturbed. Sighing, Jaime settled in for a night of boredom and bitter self- reflection. Lost in his thoughts, Jaime was unaware of what was happening inside the Kings' chambers. He briefly wondered when his son had acquired such a taste for flesh. At twenty, it seemed that Joffrey thought it his duty as the King to bed every whore in Kings Landing.

That type of indulgence had never appealed to Jaime. But then he had been in love with one woman his entire life. And what a disaster that had turned out to be. How had he let Cersei convince him that bringing their children into this world was the right thing to do? He knew the history of the mad King better than anyone. He had seen first-hand what happened when inept and crazy rulers sat on the Iron Throne. He couldn't believe he'd allowed the same thing to happen after the price he had paid his entire life to end the reign of one mad King. And now history was repeating itself with his own son.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed the scream. It was short, sharp and brief. Jaime knew that the Kings' bedchambers were deep in the apartments, which was thankfully a relief to anyone who didn't want to hear his son fucking all night long. But this wasn't a scream in pleasure. This was terror. Looking at his fellow Kingsguard, a young man from the Reach, they quickly moved to the doors of the apartments. Wrenching them open, Jaime ran to the bedroom and was greeted with a scene that turned his stomach.

The smell of blood and gore assaulted his senses. Standing in the middle of the room, naked except for a robe and holding a wicked-looking knife was the King. He smiled at Jaime then, cruel and gleeful, and casually pointed to the three dead women that were tied to his bed. Throwing the knife down, he sneered, "Deal with this. Uncle." Then he walked out of his bedroom to the bathing chambers.

It took all of Jaime's considerable training to hold himself together. He looked at the other Kingsgaurd and said urgently, "Go to the Tower of the Hand and get my father." The young guard looked like he was going to be sick. "Now!" Jaime barked at him. He scrambled backwards, happy to leave the horror behind. Jaime just stood in the middle of the room, unable to comprehend that his son, his flesh and blood, could inflict such brutal carnage on anyone, let alone on three helpless women.

* * *

Tywin was not a young man. This is why when he was woken in the middle of the night by Jerrod, he was in a particularly foul mood. He had spent hours worshiping his wife's body, his appetite for her insatiable even after all the time they spent together the previous afternoon and evening. He had needed an escape that only she could provide and, in her arms, he found the comfort he craved. He was still processing the shocking revelations by Jaime, and they had spent hours together after the family had departed. They had only barely fallen asleep when Jerrod had appeared in their bedroom, which was a highly unusual occurrence.

Tywin instantly snapped awake, as he realized something monumental must have happened for the captain of his Red Guard to wake him at such an hour. Unwilling to wake his wife, Tywin attempted to extricate himself from her but had no success. Sansa had been wrapped around him, and when he moved, she came awake. Unaware they weren't alone, she sat up, and Jerrod quickly turned from them and left the room.

Confusion marred her pretty blue eyes. "What's happened, Tywin?" she asked.

"I am not sure, Sansa. You will stay here," he commanded her, moving to dress quickly. Sansa just drew the bedcovers around herself, deeply worried.

Tyrion met Jerrod just outside his apartment. "What has happened, Jerrod?" he asked urgently.

"It's your son, Lord Tywin," Jerrod replied quietly as they began to walk through the Red Keep. Tywin felt his stomach drop. "Jaime requested your presence in the Kings Chamber's," Jerrod continued.

Tywin reached out and grabbed Jerrod's arm, stopping them momentarily.

"He's alive?" Tywin asked urgently. Jerrod's brow marred in confusion until he understood what was being asked of him. "Yes, My Lord. I'm sorry. It is not Ser Jaime. This situation is regarding the King." Jerrod's face tightened into a grim line. Not wanting to waste any more time talking, the two men arrived shortly at the Kings' room.

Jaime stood outside the door to the King's apartments, face pale and drawn. His eyes met Tywin's.

"I didn't know, Father," he almost pleaded with Tywin, a look of such devastation on his face that Tywin felt his blood chill.

"Enough," Tywin said quietly and moved towards his son. His eyes had a haunted look. _What the fuck had happened inside these rooms_? Tywin thought. He briefly patted Jaime on the cheek, then turned to open the door.

The bedroom looked like it had been painted red. Tywin didn't know where to look first. The scene was grisly. Tywin felt Jaime move beside him.

"I intervened as soon as I could, Father, as soon as I heard the screams," Jaime said quietly. "I know they are just whores... but still... to do this to anyone..."

Tywin heard the horror and disgust in his son's voice. He agreed. The sheer viciousness and depravity in the room stank of madness. What would happen when Joffrey got his hands on the Rose of Highgarden? What would Olenna Tyrell do to their family if such a horror were to be inflicted on her granddaughter? Then Tywin thought about his wife. This what Joffrey wanted to do to her. What he still wanted to do to her. It hadn't escaped his notice all the women had long red hair and were at least in their mid-twenties. The Great Lion felt physically sick at the thought of his grandson ever laying a hand on her.

"Speak of this to no one Jaime. Get them out of here, and the room scrubbed," Tywin looked at Jerrod to confirm his understanding.

Jaime opened his mouth to protest, then saw Tywin's haunted look. He looked back and could see exactly why his father was disturbed. Jaime knew at that moment that his son's days were numbered. There was simply no possible way that Tywin would allow him to live. Not after what had been done to these specific women, here in the King's chambers. Joffrey might as well have signed his death warrant with this latest debauchery.

Jaime thought about all Sansa had done for him and for Tyrion since marrying their father. He knew now he would do whatever required in order to protect her; even if that meant allowing Tywin to replace the King on the Iron Throne. Seafoam green eyes met emerald green ones. Tywin knew what he was asking for from Jaime, for he himself would do the same if Cersei became any more of a threat to Sansa. When Lannister eyes met Lannister eyes, father and son realized they were in perfect accordance moving forward. Tywin would allow no threat to his wife, and this included his own flesh and blood. The Great Lion left the horror of what had been done to cheap substitutes for his wife behind, plotting and planning the demise of his grandson.

Sansa had stayed awake, anxious for Tywin to return, worried about her family. When Tywin arrived back at their bedchamber, she could see a haunted look in his eyes that she had never seen before. Saying nothing, he undressed quickly and made his way beneath the covers. He drew her to him and wrapped his arms around her tightly. She clung to him, understanding that something fundamental had happened tonight but not knowing what it was. Sansa soon fell asleep, but Tywin stayed awake for a long time, willing himself to be cunning enough to take care of Joffrey before he could destroy Sansa.

Tywin thought of the power he might wrest from those enemies circling him; Varys, Littlefinger, Joffrey and even Cersei. He knew, now more than ever, he needed to be more cunning and more ruthless than his enemies in order to keep Sansa safe. Within days he would push his wife to begin to the revitalization of Flea Bottom and hope that he was strong enough to see his plans through to fruition.


	12. Chapter 12

_ The Vale _

Petyr Baelish had never been happier in his life. For the first time in his entire existence, he had almost everything he wanted. The woman he loved, the one he had dreamed about, lusted about and fought a duel over was finally in his arms and his bed. He had ruthlessly taken advantage of Catelyn Stark's vulnerable state by forcing his intimacies on her in the disguise of comfort. If she was less than enthusiastic in the bedroom, he told himself it was only because she had suffered so many losses and that in time she would grow to love him.

Shockingly he'd even managed to gain the support of the Lords of the Vale. Lord Royce had been suspicious of the death of Lysa Arryn, but when Catelyn had backed Petyr's story, he had relented to Petyr's place as Lord Commander of the Vale. Catelyn Stark was a name that still commanded a tremendous amount of respect in the seven kingdoms. Besides, everyone had known how unstable Jon Arryn's widow had become since his death.

Robin had been near inconsolable, and Petyr had devoted hours to the young lord to endear himself to the boy, knowing that whoever controlled Jon and Lysa Arryn's heir controlled the Vale. Petyr Baelish had no intention of giving up any of his power. There was little to tempt him to leave the security and safety he now experienced. He knew the Eyrie was impenetrable, and he often wondered if Tywin Lannister realized his mistake in sending him here.

If only he could have escaped with Sansa, then Petyr would never have a reason to leave. Now that he finally had Catelyn Stark in his bed, Petyr longed for her daughter. He had spent countless hours watching Sansa while they were at court, and she had become a beautiful woman. Of course, he knew the old lion himself now tainted her. He had received word of the marriage alliance between the two houses, as well as Robb Stark's victory at the Twins. Petyr knew the safest place for him and his lover was right where they were.

For Catelyn Stark, her world had been reduced to pleasuring a man in bed that she had no desire for and plotting revenge for all the ills that had befallen her family. She existed in a state of permanent rage. She wasn't crazy per se, but too much had happened to her since the Baratheon family had arrived at Winterfell for her to be considered entirely sane. She had no source of information other than Petyr Baelish, so she existed in a world where all her woes could be laid at Lannister feet. And Petyr relentlessly fed this delusion.

Her son Brandon had been crippled, by the Kingslayer.

Her husband murdered in Kings Landing by Robert and Cersei's horrendous son.

Arya was lost and presumed dead, because of Joffrey.

Robb had forsaken his vow and married that awful woman, angering the Frey's, because of Tywin and his manipulations by sending that Westerland's whore into her son's path.

Sansa had been forced to marry the worst one of all, the Great Lion, Tywin Lannister.

Theon Greyjoy murdered Bran and Rickon because Robb had been forced to abandon the safety of the North to avenge his father's death at the hands of the lions.

It had been too much when Robb had asked her to agree to Sansa's marriage. Her perfect, beautiful daughter forced to marry that lecherous older man. Catelyn Stark couldn't see the irony that had Sansa been returned to them. She would have used her daughter to secure an alliance with the Frey's.

Petyr had been honest with her, explaining how he had always been loyal to the Starks. First to Ned when they had gone to Kings Landing and then to Sansa when she had been left alone and defenceless in the capitol. He told her lie upon lie about Tywin Lannister's sexual appetites until she was physically sick one day. She never realized that Petyr was describing his own dark desires to her and not those of the Great Lion of Casterly Rock.

Catelyn Stark's entire world had been reduced to enacting revenge on the Lannister family. She plotted and schemed about ways she could hurt them as much as they had her. When the raven arrived from Cersei Lannister inviting Petyr Baelish to the Royal Wedding, Catelyn Stark saw her chance. All she had to do was convince her lover to seize the opportunity and take her back to Kings Landing. Petyr Baelish's lust for power was so great that he didn't even realize he was masterfully manipulated for once in his life.

At first, Petyr was highly resistant even to consider the possibility of attending the Royal Wedding. He saw no need to leave the safety of his castle in the clouds. He had worked his entire life to be in the position he was. But the whisper of more was relentless, and Catelyn Stark stroked his ego. She manipulated him until he saw what she did- an opportunity, a crack within the great Lannister pride and a chance for power.

Cersei still commanded great respect and power, and over many discussions, they debated different options to destroy House Lannister and seize power for themselves. Of course, Catelyn didn't genuinely care for the throne. All she wanted was a chance to pay back the Lions for what they had done to her children.

Tywin would not suspect them working with Cersei, their hatred for each other well established. Petyr shrugged this thought off. He knew that everyone was an enemy, and everyone was a friend. If he could position himself, with Sansa Stark by his side, he could claim the throne. The Lannister's had built their legacy on a false claim to the throne, and Petyr had waited years to use this information to his advantage. Eliminating both the King and the Great Lion would give him access to Tywin's lovely young widow. He knew that people loved Sansa Lannister, and with her mother's influence, they could be a powerful force.

House Lannister would be devastated by the loss of their patriarch and their false king, and none of Tywin's children were in a position to oppose him. House Tyrell would be reeling from the death of the King and left vulnerable, their rose having outlived two Kings. No woman could survive that type of scandal. If Petyr could convince Olenna to agree to a marriage alliance between Lady Margaery and Lord Robin, then it would further enhance his position. He would then be aligned with House Stark, House Tully, House Tyrell and the Vale, and he would command a powerful block that had no equal.

The more Petyr plotted, the more he like the opportunities he saw. His only doubts were around taking Cat with him, but for his plan to work, he required her. She had to convince Sansa to marry him once they had disposed of her husband. Without marriage to Sansa Stark, all Petyr's plans would all be for naught. Sansa was the key to everything, and to get Sansa, he needed Catelyn with him in the capital.

More worrying than even the possibility of opportunity, were the rumours that Littlefinger heard about the Great Lion's interest in Flea Bottom. Word had filtered that as a gift to his new wife, Tywin had pledged to clean up the area. Everyone knew that if people had hope, they were much less likely to do things out of desperation to eat or feed their children. Petyr had relied for years on using people's desperation to get what he wanted.

What Petyr Baelish hadn't realized was that Catelyn's manipulation of him was for her to gain access to Sansa and her husband. Even though she was too late to save her daughter from Tywin Lannister's devious sexual appetites, she could still dispose of her husband, thus freeing her to come North again. Catelyn's delusions were so pronounced that she failed to recognize that Robb hadn't even made it back to Winterfell yet. There was no North to go home too. Regardless, for once the plans of Catelyn Stark and Petyr Baelish aligned perfectly, which is why, two weeks after receiving the raven from Cersei, Petyr graciously accepted his invitation to the Royal Wedding. He knew he would make it an event that would be talked about for years.

_ The Twins _

Arya had spent considerable amounts of time, effort, blood, sweat and tears to get back to her family. And now that she was back, she realized how much they chaffed against her. Not intentionally, of course, but she had been alone and independent for so long that being subject to the rules and wishes of her brother, his new wife and the Lords of the North irked her. Daily. Not that Robb was anywhere near as bad as her mother would have been.

But they acted like she hadn't survived in the most dangerous place on earth; that she hadn't survived Joffrey. And Polliver. And Tywin. And the Band without Brothers. All by her cunning and her skills. And all by herself. Well, maybe the Hound helped her a little.

Joffrey's former loyal dog used to be a name on her kill list, but something had changed. Arya wasn't quite sure what, and she wasn't quite sure when. She just knew that of everyone at the Twins, Sandor Clegane knew her best; even better than Robb did. She trusted him, oddly enough, and she thought that of all the people there, he liked her best as well. She was glad he hadn't left yet and that he'd decided to wait for Sansa's response. She felt better with the scarred warrior around. He was her scary murder uncle that wouldn’t let anyone touch her, this much she knew.

It wasn't that any of Robb's men or her Uncle's men made her feel unsafe; it was just that when they talked about marriage and alliances, she would sometimes catch them looking her way. Arya wanted nothing to do with any of that. She'd leave again before she let Robb or her Uncle marry her off for political gain.

She had met Robb's wife Jeyne, whom she had found out was pregnant. It made Arya excited to be an aunt, to imagine another wolf on the way, but she had nothing in common with the woman from the Westerlands. Her uncle's betrothed, Roslin, was also lovely, Arya thought, if somewhat dull. Neither woman had an appetite for adventure or fighting. Instead, the two had bonded over their men, and dresses and planning for Roslin's wedding and Jeyne's baby. Arya could hardly stand to spend any time around them. Funnily enough, it did make her miss her sister, even though they had fought endlessly when they were forced to share a room in Winterfell. Arya spent long hours each day thinking about Sansa, wondering if she were truly happy.

The first week after the Hound delivered her back, she spent catching up on everything that had happened since she had left Winterfell. When Robb had finally told her about Theon's betrayal and the deaths of Bran and Rickon, she stormed out of the room, afraid she'd be sick or worse. The last thing she needed was someone to find her crying. She needed to be alone with her heartache and sorrow. That day she added Theon's name to her list. It was ok since she had taken Sandor's off. She was in a rage which is where The Hound found her, hacking away at some bales of hay in the training yard, Needle making short work of them.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" he asked her bluntly.

"Go away."

He looked at her and saw she was trying to hold back her tears. He sighed. So far, the King of the North had been true to his word. Sandor had been free to come and go as he pleased. He spent most of his day's training with the other men in the yard, but most were still wary of him and his fearsome reputation. That was fine with him. If they feared him it was less likely, he'd find himself stabbed in the back.

Oddly enough, he found himself missing his travelling companion. Arya Stark was a plain speaker, something he'd come to appreciate about the wolf especially being surrounded by so many fancy lords these days. The Northmen might be rougher than those he'd protected in Kings Landing, but they were still fucking lords.

He knew he should let her be, let her brother or her goodsister comfort her, but he didn't like seeing her so upset. Sandor looked at her again and saw the rage and sorrow on her face, and he made a quick decision. _Fuck sakes_, he thought, _when did I become so soft_?

"Want to learn how to use your _needle_?" he asked, making sure he sneered the last word, knowing it would get a rise out of her. That got her attention. Her face whipped around to his, anticipation lighting her eyes.

"Truly?" she asked him, almost breathless, the worry, anger and sorrow leaving her for now.

He nodded. "But it won't be any of that shit water dancing." He sent her a sneer, reminding her what he thought of her greatest swordsman who ever lived.

Arya looked at him, then said, "Ok" trying to hide her excitement from him.

He turned and walked to the training yard, as Arya nipped at his heels. She couldn't believe it! The Hound was going to train her!

When they got to the yard, there were only a few men there, and Sandor ignored them completely. He grabbed two training swords and threw one at her. Then he gave her a critical look.

"Won't go easy on you just because you're a girl," he barked out. She huffed. She hadn't asked for easy. She had just wanted to be trained.

"I didn't ask for easy," she snarked back. He grunted at her.

"Let's see if I know more than your Braavosi friend." Sandor was still irritated that she thought some greasy cunt from across the sea was the greatest swordsman who ever lived.

What followed stunned the few who were around to observe. One of the largest warriors in the seven kingdoms against the small, agile highborn woman. They came at each other again and again. Sandor was relentless with her, chucking out insults and tips with equal fever. Arya never faltered, meeting his every demand, although she could feel her muscles quivering. It was the best time of her life. Near the end, after a particularly brutal sequence, Arya lay pinned to the ground, his training sword at her neck. She had a huge grin plastered on her face, which was where her brother found her.

Dirty, sore and laughing as the Hound had her on her back in the mud. Unbeknownst to them, a large crowd had gathered to watch them train, and Robb had to push through several people when his steward had informed him what was happening.

He stood amazed as he watched Arya spring to her feet, calling out insults to Sandor Clegane. And the Hound just gave it right back to her as they clashed again and again. Robb began to open his mouth to put a stop to the spectacle when he felt his wife clutch his arm. He looked at the Hound and saw no fire in his eyes, only a kind of fierce pride and determination that was matched on Arya's face. Shaking his head, he wondered what their father would think of such a display. Then he shuddered as he thought of their mother. Catelyn Stark would be horrified to witness Arya behaving in such a manner.

Robb decided to let it play out. It wasn't but ten minutes later after Arya had managed to sneak a hit in on the huge man when Sandor Clegane called a stop their training.

He looked at the little wolf and said, "Again tomorrow. Don't be late or I'll beat on you until you throw up."

She grinned at him and then said without any heat, "You're still a shit, you know that right?" He barked out a laugh then, and just said, "Aye, I know little wolf."

"Gods, you stink," she added. He sniffed at himself, then threw her a look as if to say she stunk just a badly. She grinned again. No one would mistake her for a lady like Sansa, and no one would dare take any liberties with her while he was around.

Sandor finally looked around and realized that a huge crowd had gathered to watch him train Arya Stark.

_Fuck, _he thought, _it was too easy to forget she was a fucking princess of the North. _To Sandor, she was just the little wolf. A pain in his ass and perhaps something akin to a little sister. Sandor met the King of the North's eyes then, and he arched an eyebrow. Sandor grimaced. _Fuck sakes, _he thought, _he'd be in for it now_. But all Robb did was give him a short nod.

Arya seemed to understand that Robb had given his permission, and she let out a howl of joy. Maybe being back with her family wouldn't be too bad after all.

* * *

_ Sansa's Raven and Sandor's Response _

Days after Edumre Tully and Roslin Frey married, Robb received word back from his sister. Sansa's raven explicitly explained exactly what Sandor Clegane had done for her in Kings Landing. Robb read the raven twice, happy that his instincts about the man had been correct. And if the training he'd engaged in with Arya daily were any indication, Robb wouldn't be losing him anytime soon.

He called both of them to his solar. Entering, he could tell they had been at each other again. Arya was grinning even though she was covered in much and filth. Robb shuddered to think what would have happened if their mother had remained with him. Robb and the Northern Lords were planning on leaving within days, to march on Winterfell. All they had heard was that it was a burnt shell, and Robb was both anxious and nervous to see what remained of his family's home.

"Sister, Clegane," he nodded at them as they took their seats. He passed the raven to Sandor first, feeling he owed it to him to see what his sister had written. Sandor took the parchment and read the little bird's elegant handwriting. He almost snorted at how she made him seem like a knight from one of her beloved stories. Interactions between them were explained in the best possible light by Sansa Lannister. Finishing the note, he handed it to Arya.

He and Robb looked at each other.

"It seems you are not a liar, Sandor Clegane," the King of the North said. "Everything you told Arya is true. That, along with the fact that you brought her back to us safely, means you have a choice." Robb had steepled his hands, giving nothing away. Arya had cocked her head and looked at him.

Sandor sighed. He had never considered what would happen to him once he abandoned the King that fateful night. He had no plan, no vision, no goal. He just knew he'd had to leave Kings Landing. What he certainly hadn't planned on finding was a new house to pledge allegiance too. Cleganes had been in service of House Lannister for generations. He had vaguely entertained the notion of finding his brother and having one last glorious battle.

He certainly had never thought about the idea of having a family or a wife or children. His brother had destroyed their family, and Sandor knew he'd be a shit husband. He was a warrior, a sword, a fighter. A loyal dog that was good for guarding high born lads and ladies. That was all. But then he had been captured by the brotherhood, and he had met Arya Stark.

There was something about the little wolf. She reminded him of his little sister. A little sister he hadn't been able to save. It was her death that haunted him the most. Sandor knew that there were enough cunts in the world that liked to hurt those that were vulnerable. He'd grown up with one. He'd protected another one in Kings Landing. He didn't want that for the little wolf. He'd seen some of those fucking Lords looking at her like she was a juicy mutton chop during the meetings he attended at Robb Stark's request. It made him angry that cunts like that thought they could use her. He knew what men in power did to vulnerable highborn women. That was the last thing he wanted for her.

He snorted, thinking about them trying to marry her off. She'd cut whatever poor fucker's dick off before she let any lord within ten feet of her. And if she'd ask him, he'd do it for her. She was wild, and she didn't deserve the fate that befell so many highborn women; to marry and give him heirs. If he left, he knew that the time would come when Robb Stark would see her not for herself, but as a tool to gain himself more power.

Sandor knew at that moment, his loyalty had shifted, and it had shifted to her. Not to Sansa. Not to Robb. But to Arya. Maybe it was atonement for not being able to save his sister, perhaps it was just that he was a dog and needed a master, but he knew that he would stay with the Starks to protect her. He'd train her and guard her for as long as she required it. And as long as the King of the North's plan aligned with hers, he'd be loyal to Robb Stark. But the minute he tried to fuck with his sister, well, Sandor thought, he had killed tougher men then the King in the North.

He looked at them, the two Stark siblings who were desperate to return home and nodded his head slowly.

"I'll stay," he said shortly, not elaborating.

"Will you swear loyalty to House Stark?" Robb demanded.

Sandor shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. He was no knight, and he'd sworn no oaths his entire life. He wasn't about to start now. He looked at Robb Stark, this green boy who'd somehow escaped the Old Lion. Sandor suspected it was only because his sister was now married to him. He wondered if Robb realized how close he had come to death, for Sandor had no doubts that Tywin Lannister had a plan for Robb Stark. He looked at Arya and saw the excitement on her face when he said he'd come with them.

He pointed to Arya and said gruffly, "I'm loyal to her. That's my fucking oath."

She startled, unused to someone talking to her brother like that. Robb looked confused.

"She is of House Stark," Robb said confusion marring his voice, clearly hoping this meant he had The Hound's loyalty.

"Aye, she is," he agreed. Then he kicked his long legs out and crossed his ankles, his massive forearms resting across his chest. And then he pinned this King of the North with a fearsome look.

"I'll speak plainly. I've spent my whole life watching fancy lords use their mothers, their sisters and their cousins for their purposes." Robb started to protest, and Sandor sent him a look. "I'm a big man, but I'm quiet. Many of your lords forget I'm in the room. I've seen them looking at her. I've seen them thinking about what they could get for her. I've heard some of their son's and brother's talking about the princess of the North and who she will marry." Arya startled at this and shot an accusing glance to Robb. He shifted uncomfortably. While he hadn't even entertained the idea of marrying Arya off, he knew at some point a marriage alliance would have to be secured for her. It was expected of her. She was a Stark of Winterfell and a princess of the North whether she liked it or not.

"You might be a good man, Lord Stark. You might be a cunt. I don't rightly now that yet." Sandor shrugged as Robb goggled at the man, unable to believe what he'd just been called.

"I'll come North with your army. I'll fight by your side. But it's her I'm loyal to. You or any of those bastards do anything she doesn't like..." Sandor let the sentence trail off.

Arya stood there, gaping at The Hound. She knew that something had changed between them, but she'd never imagined this! He was giving his sword to Robb for her freedom. Freedom to be what she wanted, to train and to be a fighter. Free to not be coerced into marriage just because it was expected of her. Free to pursue her kill list when her skills matched her ambition. Short of Jon giving her Needle, Arya had never received anything more valuable in her entire life.

"I accept," she said quickly to Robb, sending him a pleading look.

He sat there, stunned. He looked between the two of them.

"Why?" he asked bewildered.

Sandor shrugged once more. He had no plans on disclosing anything more to Robb Stark. He didn't know him well enough yet. Maybe one day he'd tell him about his sister. But not today.

"Those are my terms, King of the North. Do we have a deal?" Sandor asked avoiding the question.

Robb thought about it. He knew that marrying Arya off would be an almost impossible task. And now that his wife was pregnant with the next heir to Winterfell, a marriage for Arya could be postponed. He hoped not indefinitely.

But maybe Arya would meet someone, someone that she and her scarred and giant protector would approve of. Robb looked at the two of them, knowing it would have to be a braver man than most to come near his little sister with Sandor Clegane as her sworn protector. She'd be the safest woman in all the seven kingdoms. He started to laugh. Gods, if only his father could see them now.

Shaking his head, a smile gracing his face, he looked at the Hound, and said, "You've got a deal, Hound." And then Robb began to laugh in earnest, and Arya did as well. Sandor just looked at them like they were mad. These wolves, these true-blooded northerners were headed home, and they'd added the meanest dog in all of Westeros to their pack. It was a place neither of them had thought they'd see again. And they were together. It wasn't everything or everyone, but it was enough for now.

_ Kings Landing _

Sansa gave her husband two days. Two whole days of being an overbearing, miserable, snappish, ridiculously overprotective lion. He wouldn't let her out of his sight, she had more guards than ever before, and she knew he was missing meetings of the small council to stay by her side. When she protested, he just snapped at her, about her safety being paramount to everything and not to challenge him on this. She gave him a skeptical look, but he huffed and wouldn't speak to her about it. It was all a bit ridiculous. He hadn't even let her discuss her ideas for Flea Bottom, muttering something about her never leaving his sight again. 

This was why on day three Sansa woke up before him and pinned him to the bed, refusing to let him get up. She was fed up with his antics, striding around Kings Landing like a lion with a wounded paw, snarking and snarling at everyone and everything.

The worst part for Sansa wasn't his worry, but the fact that he hadn't shared anything with her. She knew something had happened that night he had been summoned from their chambers and Sansa was fed up with it. It was time that he discussed it with her.

She sat astride him, utterly comfortable with her nudity and pinned him with a look.

"Enough, Tywin," she admonished him gently. "This cannot continue. You need to tell me what happened."

He glared at her. She didn't even flinch. She knew he was reacting because he felt out of control and that he was distraught.

"We agreed," she reminded him. "Partners."

He sighed heavily. He knew he had been miserable the past few days. He'd hardly slept, afraid that somehow, someway Joffrey would find a way to get to her. He had kept her in bed for hours each night, loving her and worshiping her body until she was exhausted. Then once he finally wore her out, he stayed awake to watch her sleep, unable to follow her into oblivion. Sleep eluded him these days. He needed a plan to deal with Joffrey, and he needed it yesterday.

He looked at her, sitting astride him, beautiful and young and vibrant. Alive and unharmed. His mind spiralled back to the scene in the King's bedchambers. He and Jaime had spoken briefly about what they had both witnessed, and both agreed that Joffrey had deliberately chosen those whores. It was a not so subtle message to Tywin after the tongue lashing he'd received in the small council chambers.

He sighed again before he looked into her eyes.

"I can handle it, Tywin," she said gently, stroking her hands through his whiskers. He moved them then, as he sat up and cradled her against his body. She snuggled into him, as she was wont to do. She loved being held by him. He stroked his fingers over her, feeling the small scars that littered her back, terrified about what Joffrey would do to her now if he ever caught her alone. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"You are everything to me, Sansa," he told her, his hold tightening briefly. He took a deep breath. He knew she was right. She had to know what the king had done. She would be more vigilant if she knew the magnitude of the situation. He kept his voice low, and monotone, trying to keep his fears for her from reflecting in his voice.

"You know that the King enjoys indulging in certain activities in his bedroom. The other night it went too far. Or maybe it was planned. We don't know. Either way, Jaime heard screams, and upon entering the King's bedchamber, he found three women, tortured, raped and mutilated." Sansa suppressed a shudder. She knew that Joffrey's violent tendencies had increased; she didn't know he'd graduated to murder. Tywin was loathe to share this next part with her.

"They all shared one common feature." He turned, so her eyes met his. "They all had long red hair, Sansa and were of a similar age to you." The moment he said the words Sansa felt ill. She pushed away from Tywin and barely made it to the chamber pot across the room before emptying her stomach. She heard her husband approach her, and he gently pulled back her hair back as sickness wracked her body. Shuddering weakly, she finally stopped heaving and slumped back against him. He handed her a goblet of water which she greedily drank down.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, turning to him. He scooped her up and brought her back to their bed, holding her to him. They sat like that for long minutes, both horrified at the dark turn the King's desires had taken.

Dropping his voice, so quiet that even Sansa could hardly hear, Tywin leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Rest assured, Sansa, plans are being made. This cannot be allowed to continue."

She nodded, numb and still queasy. She had known since the first time Joffrey had her beaten. She had known he would never let her live. She just had to trust that Tywin would deal with him before he got to her. Suddenly all of Tywin's overprotective behaviours made sense. They both knew that there was any number of ambitious people in the Red Keep who would willingly betray them to earn favour with the King. Or Cersei. Sansa briefly wondered if she knew what her son had done. And had she condoned it? After all, it had been Cersei that had ordered the rape and murder of Shae.

"How is Jaime?" she asked Tywin softly, worried about him. They had barely had time to deal with learning the real reason he was called Kingslayer before this latest incident with the Joffrey. Tywin brushed her hair back from her face, running his hands down her cheek.

"Horrified. Outraged. Shocked. Numb." Tywin shrugged. "Whatever choices he made, however wrong they were, Joffrey is still his son." Sansa worried her lower lip, and Tywin realized she had misinterpreted his words. "Not like that, Sansa. He's reeling because he knows what must happen. Make no mistake; after what he witnessed, he knows that Joffrey's days are numbered."

Sansa settled then until another wave of nausea hit her. She pushed herself away from Tywin and barely made it to the other side room when her stomach tried to empty itself again. When she had finally finished retching, she moaned and looked up, only to see Tywin standing there with a small smile on his face. Had she felt even a smidgen better, she would have lashed out at him, but she just felt weak and shaky. He kneeled beside her, pushing her hair back from her pale face again.

"When did you last have your moonblood Sansa?" he asked gently.

Confusion marred her face, and then she blushed. She couldn't believe that Tywin would ask her such a question. But she started counting backwards. She hadn't bled since before the wedding. It had to have been at least seven or eight weeks ago. How could she not have noticed? Then the impact of his words hit her and her face lit with a brilliant smile, despite how awful she felt.

"Do you think it's possible?" she asked him softly, too afraid to believe it.

He chuckled at her, loving how excited and eager she was to become a mother. His wife. His everything. And now pregnant with the next generation of lions. Scooping her up, he brought her back to the bed.

"Yes, Sansa, I believe it is most likely you are pregnant," and he smiled at her. She flung her arms around his neck and pressed herself close to him.

"I will send the Grand Maester to examine you. You will stay in our apartments today, Sansa," he ordered gently. He was worried about how violently ill she was feeling. She was so slim already that she could hardly afford to be sick. She kept herself snuggled to him, wanting to protest but feeling exhausted from her illness.

"You will tell no one, Sansa," he said lowly with a sense of urgency to his words. "Not even Tyrion or Jaime or Genna." Confusion marred her features. He loved how she had adopted his family as her own, and he knew they would all be happy for them. But others would not be. She was too vulnerable already, and if Cersei or Joffrey found out, he was loath to think about what they might do. And she could forget ever going into that hell hole called Flea Bottom again. 

"But Tywin," she protested weakly, "They are family. We cannot hide this from them! Besides, they see me multiple times a day. They will know."

He considered this. He knew that Tyrion was a particularly astute observer of human behaviour, and Genna and Sansa spent hours together each day. He sighed. Sansa was right. His family would most likely suspect something even after today when Sansa cancelled plans because she was _ill. _Sansa was never sick. And his sexual appetite was well known and well joked about in their family. They would guess in a minute that she was pregnant.

"Just them then," his tone gentle but firm. "Plans have to be made, and they are the only ones we can trust."

It was all he was willing to say, his mind still formulating options and consequences to removing Joffrey from the Throne. It wasn't a matter of if it would happen. Tywin had already decided that Joffrey could not be allowed to live. It was a matter of when. And how. And who they could blame it on. His death needed to further their position in Kings Landing.

Remembering that she was meeting with one of the Red Cloaks today to discuss the fostering of the orphan boy Addam, she told Tywin that she couldn't remain abed all day.

"I will have Genna take care of it. Along with your other project. Surely, they can survive a day without you," he said dryly. Sansa reluctantly agreed even though she was in no mood to argue. Now that her stomach had emptied itself, she was tired, and all she wanted was sleep. Realizing his wife was in danger of falling asleep in his arms, and knowing he'd be reluctant to disturb her once she did, Tywin disengaged himself from her arms and tucked her into bed. Leaving their bedchamber, he summoned the first handmaiden he saw.

"My wife is not feeling well. The Grand Maester will be here to attend her. No one is to disturb her." The woman swallowed audibly at Tywin's directions. She bobbed a curtsey and left to clean up the chamber pot. He called over his shoulder, "And be sure that there is tea and bread for Lady Lannister when she wakes. I am to be informed when the Grand Maester arrives." She bobbed again, and went about her tasks, thoroughly afraid of the Old Lion.

Unbeknownst to Tywin, this was the woman that his daughter had saved. He had no idea that her loyalties did not lie with his wife but instead with his daughter. Not giving it another thought, Tywin left for the first of his endless meetings, needing to see his sons and ensure that the King was at least partially under control after the violent display the other night, and to ensure that Genna took care of Sansa's duties for today.

Tywin had tasked Jaime with speaking with Cersei, knowing his son's loyalty was to him, and also hoping that Jaime could gain some insight into Joffrey's mental state from his daughter. Things were coming to a head, and Cersei needed to made aware of the seriousness and gravity of the situation she was facing. Tywin would be reluctant to find a permanent solution for his only daughter, but he would take no chances with his wife. If Cersei couldn't accept his marriage and Sansa's place in House Lannister, then Tywin would be forced to act. Unfortunately for Cersei, he was one of the few men in the seven kingdoms that had the stomach and the spine for it.

* * *

_ The Next Morning _

Tywin had awoken early and spent a good amount of time watching Sansa sleep. She had pushed herself away from him and was sprawled on her stomach. He grinned slightly when he realized it wouldn't be long before she would be unable to sleep in that manner. He had always known that the outcome of their marriage would be to produce the next generation of heirs to Casterly Rock but having the Grand Maester confirm her pregnancy yesterday filled Tywin with an excessive sense of pride, worry and fear. The last time a beloved wife of Tywin Lannister had been pregnant, he had lost everything. He knew that Sansa was young and healthy, and her mother had birthed five babes easily.

Still, Tywin worried. When it came down to it, she had become more important to him than another heir. Where once the thought of heirs with her and her bloodline had been tantalizing, the marked improvement of his relationship with Jaime as well as his deep feelings for Sansa had made him realize that he valued her more than a child. Not that he wasn't happy that she was pregnant. Just that if it came down to saving her or the babe, he would always choose her.

She was a wonder, and the thought of her ripe with his child had him hardening. He decided that today was the perfect morning to gift her with the last piece of jewelry he had commissioned for her those many weeks ago. He saw her stir and turn over and leaned down to run his hands along with her still flat stomach as she came awake, with none of the nausea from the previous day present.

"Good morning, wife," he purred at her, nipping at her neck as the box nestled between them. She arched into him, feeling that warm pool of lust grow in her loins. He propped himself up, leaving her laying on her back, and played with a strand of her long hair. She hadn't even noticed the box from the Royal Jeweller, instead only looking at him.

"It's true, isn’t it. We are pregnant?" she asked, holding her hands to her stomach, almost fearful that yesterday had been a dream.

"Yes, Sansa, it is true," he laughed softly. She squealed in delight and threw her arms around him and in the process, bumped against the box. She looked down, confusion marring her face. Tywin loved that she was greedy for him and not for his gold.

"Shortly after our second meeting, I visited the Royal Jewellers. As you know, I had the Lannister choker made for our wedding, and the braided lion torque necklace made for your name day. But what you didn't know is that I had another piece commissioned."

"Tywin, you know I don't need jewels," she admonished him. "You don't need to buy me things." She was blushing. _She was delightful_, he thought, knowing he would never stop bestowing gifts upon her no matter how much she protested.

"This piece, Sansa," his eyes darkened with need and lust just looking at her, loving that he could drape her in his gold as he had imagined all those months ago, "is just for you and me."

Her eyes widened at that point. Tywin gestured, and she opened the box. Inside were delicate chains of gold, longer than any necklace she had worn, with the largest ruby she had ever seen dropping down from a single gold chain. It was a stunning piece, and she gasped at the craftsmanship and the decadence of it.

He picked it up in his hands, and idly palmed it, watching her the entire time. "This was strictly from my imagination, Sansa," he growled, his need at seeing this piece on her making his voice deep and rough. "Allow me?"

She nodded. He pulled her to the side of the bed, and stood her in front of him, naked and glorious. She was still so slim, and he let his hand rest over her stomach where he knew that the life they had created lay. Sansa made no attempt to cover herself as her husband sat there and drank her in.

_Gods_, he thought, _she was stunning, and she was his._

Sitting in front of her, he took the piece of jewelry and fastened the golden chains around her stomach, until the ruby came to rest right on Sansa's sensitive body. She gasped slightly and looked down and seeing that it had disappeared into her curls.

"Walk around the room for me, Sansa," he directed her. She looked at him, a slight blush staining her cheeks, but was willing to indulge him. She turned away from him and walked to the edge of the room, making sure she swayed her hips at him. She thought she heard him purr.

As soon as Sansa began to walk, she realized what the jewel's intention was. It gently bumped against that bundle of nerves found at the top of her entrance. She felt heat flood her. _Oh gods_, she thought, _he can seriously mean to make me wear this outside these apartments? Can he? _Sansa trusted Tywin implicitly in the bedroom. Every single act that had happened between them in their chambers had been a revelation to this shy northern woman. So she would trust him in this. Turning to walk back to him, she saw that the lust she was feeling was mirrored in his own eyes.

"How does it make you feel, Sansa?" he asked her softly as she approached him again, to stand between his spread legs. He rested his hands across her stomach, playing with the delicate gold chains that now crossed her.

"Warm. Decadent." Sansa said quietly, but honestly. "Wild and naughty, husband."

He grunted at her, and she leaned down to take his face between her hands and kissed him hungrily. Pulling back, he looked at her and reached down to play with her curls and the ruby that had nestled into her.

"I want you to wear it today Sansa, knowing that you will think of me. I want it to remind you of me all day." He nuzzled at her stomach. "Will you do that for me wife?"

She nodded. "Yes, Tywin." She shuddered out a breath. _Gods, how was she supposed to get through this day wearing this piece? _She had meetings with Genna and Lady Margaery in the garden to discuss her plans to build her refuge, but she knew every time she moved she would think of Tywin and the things he did to her. She could feel heat pooling between her thighs.

"I like knowing that the next time I have you alone, you will be eager for me, Sansa," Tywin said a rough edge of desire to his voice. He reached down and pulled her onto his lap; his fingers still caressing her.

"I was planning on going to the gardens this afternoon, My Lord," she looked at him, trying to concentrate on her words. His fingers found their way inside her.

"Hmmm," was all Tywin answered, watching her eyes as he played with her. Taking a chance and knowing she was drowning in her pleasure, Tywin stroked her, making the ruby bump against her. She moaned and tried to move.

"You will take extra guards, Sansa," Tywin instructed. He would take no chances with her safety after what Joffrey had done. She just nodded, then bit her bottom lip.

"Tell me what you need, Sansa," Tywin murmured against her, running his lips against her neck, never giving her a break from what his fingers were doing to her.

"You, Tywin," she moaned. He picked up the pace and worked his thumb against her, pinning her to him, so she writhed on his body. Knowing she was past ready for him, Tywin moved her off his lap and onto the bed, placing her on her back as he prowled over her and settled into her, thrusting deep and slow. He kissed and licked at her, keeping their eyes locked, imploring her to feel the connection he did. Each time he thrust into her, the ruby bounced against her, sending jolts of pleasure up and down her spine. Sansa knew she was close, and he had barely even begun to make love to her. Moaning and clawing at him Sansa felt Tywin lean down and nibble her neck.

"Tywin," she demanded, overcome with sensation.

"That's it, Sansa," as he pressed his fingers against her and she shattered around him. He continued to move in her until at last, he felt himself tighten and empty. Sansa was utterly spent, and he rolled them to their sides, holding her close to him. Her hair was a mess, but Tywin just moved it off her neck and nuzzled at her.

"You are a wonder, wife," he said softly to her. She groaned in response.

"Will you wear the ruby today Sansa?" he asked again quietly, hoping it wasn't too much for her, now that he had sated her initial lust.

She turned in his arms, gathering his face to hers, running her hands through his whiskers. "Yes, Tywin." She shot him a naughty look. "Although don't be surprised if I require your presence the minute I return." He laughed at her. He saw her worry her lip and knew she had something on her mind.

"What is it Sansa?" he asked.

She blushed and then looked at him. "Is it still ok for the baby if we..." she trailed off and blushed again.

_Gods, she was exquisite. And very inexperienced._

He had been through all of this before, so once the Maester had confirmed her pregnancy, he had shooed the man from the room. He now realized that she needed someone to talk with about these things. He would speak with Genna this morning after breakfast. His sister had been overjoyed at the news when he had told her yesterday, and she had birthed four children of her own. She would be the ideal source of information on pregnancy to Sansa.

He brushed at her redden cheeks and kissed her gently. "Yes, Sansa, perfectly ok." She nodded then smiled.

"Good," she said, happy that their bedroom activities wouldn't have to stop.

They had some time before their family showed up for breakfast, and they had some catching up to do. He filled her in on Genna's reaction to her pregnancy, as well as the fact that he hadn't seen either Tyrion or Jaime yesterday, so they didn't know yet. Tywin had been preoccupied with correspondence and staying close to her. They could tell his sons this morning when they broke their fast.

She looked slightly worried. "Do you think they will be upset at me Tywin?" He looked puzzled.

"Why would they be Sansa?"

"Because this baby could mean that Jaime doesn't get his inheritance," she finished softly.

Tywin sighed. Here again, was evidence of just how much Sansa cared. Even though they had negotiated that any male child of theirs would inherit the Rock, he knew Sansa would feel horrible if Jaime did marry and have children. By rights, it should be his. So much had changed in such a short period.

"No Sansa, I don't think they will be upset." He paused. "And as for Jaime, well, first he needs to marry. Besides, I promised your brother that your son would inherit Casterly Rock. I am not about to anger the Young Wolf by going back on my promise before my first-born son even takes a wife." She opened her mouth to protest, and he stopped her with a kiss.

"Sansa," he said firmly. "Jaime knows the terms of our marriage. And he cares deeply for you. He will not be upset." She huffed a bit at that. She gave him a look.

"I will not have this baby cause problem, Tywin," she said firmly. She knew how much it meant to him that he had repaired his relationships with his sons.

"It won't, wife," he said in that tone that brooked no argument. For as much as Tywin had changed, he was still the most powerful man in the realm. He would determine what happened to the castles and keeps he controlled. Not his sons, not his daughter, not the king and not his wife. If that day came that Jaime did marry and have a child, well Tywin would find a place for his son and his wife.

* * *

Sansa walked into breakfast that morning, flushed and glowing. Genna was delighted when she saw her and jumped to embrace her dear goodsister. Tyrion and Jaime just shot each other a look. Something had happened. It had been days since the incident with Joffrey and Jaime knew that Tywin was plotting and planning, but so far, his father had been quiet on this matter.

Tyrion's ever-brilliant brain put two and two together first. He knew how his father had been relentless in bedding his pretty wife and came up with the fact that the next heir to Casterly Rock was on its way. Indeed, one look at the pride on his father's face and Tyrion knew he'd guessed correctly. Surprisingly, all Tyrion felt was joy. He knew that Sansa desperately wanted to be a mother, and after the display at the orphanage the other day, he couldn't imagine a better one than her. He arched an eyebrow at his brother, as if to say _you can't be that dense, _and saw the moment Jaime realized what he had already figured out.

Sansa had taken her regular seat beside Tywin, grateful she felt none of the illness she had yesterday. She smiled brightly at the handmaiden who had brought her tea who just murmured, "From the Maester, My Lady, to settle your stomach."

Tyrion had come over to offer his congratulations, and she leaned down to embrace him.

"Congratulations, Lady Sansa, you will make a most excellent mother," he said jovially, for indeed it was a happy occasion. She squeezed him once again, and laughed, joy radiating from her being. Tyrion wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone so excited to be pregnant as his father's wife. Turning to leave, Tyrion caught a scent that he couldn't quite place. He couldn't figure out what it was, but he knew he'd smelled it before.

Sansa had just added honey to sweeten her tea and lifted it to take a sip when Tyrion shouted at her. Confused, she put the cup down and looked at him. He knocked the cup aside.

Sansa was bewildered, and Tywin looked furious.

"What in God's name are you doing?" he barked at the dwarf.

Tyrion had paled and looked at Sansa, then at Tywin. "Moontea," he whispered.

Sansa blanched, and Tywin's face was furious.

"Where did you get your tea, Sansa?" Tywin demanded.

"My handmaiden, Tywin," she whispered, horrified that she had almost drunk it. They looked around the room to realize the woman had disappeared. Sansa began to shake, and Tywin moved to her. Jaime had summoned Jerrod into the room.

"Find her," Tywin said sharply to the captain of his guard. Jerrod nodded, having been told by Jaime what had happened.

Settling Sansa onto his lap, Tywin retook a seat. His mind was racing. He knew, even without evidence or confirmation who was behind this. He knew his daughter had somehow installed a spy into his household and that when the first opportunity to hurt Sansa again presented itself, Cersei had struck. He felt sick at how devastated Sansa would have been had Cersei's plan been successful. It was cruel to destroy a child that was so wanted by its parents. And make no mistake; Tywin and Sansa wanted this baby.

Tywin looked at Tyrion. He had saved them such heartache; he knew he could never fully repay his second son for what he did today. Tyrion looked shocked, but there was a dark fury there too. Tywin knew that Tyrion and Sansa were especially close and that Tyrion had not forgiven Cersei for what had happened to Shae and his youngest son would be livid that Cersei had attempted to hurt Sansa now as well.

"Thank you, Tyrion," Tywin said quietly to him. "Words are inadequate for the magnitude of your actions today."

Tyrion nodded at his father, and odd pride filling him. He had never been worthy in the Great Lion's eyes. Of anything. No matter how hard he tried. But this past month had been like a dream. Tyrion had never felt closer to his family, and he owed all of it to Sansa. He might be the smallest of the Lannister men, but he would do whatever he could to protect her.

Tywin sighed, knowing that any business they would conduct now would be useless. That was until Sansa roused herself and looked around the room. Her family. Her protectors. She had her answer on how Tywin's sons would react to her pregnancy.

Turning to Tywin, she stroked his cheek. "I am ok, husband. I know we have much to discuss. Our enemies do not rest. Neither can we." Everyone in the room knew she referred to Cersei. She brushed her lips against Tywin and then moved to her regular seat. Tywin was infinitely proud of her. Sansa had proven herself time and again to be a strong and resourceful woman, and one capable of handling great heartache.

"Jaime, what news do you have of your meeting with Cersei?" Tywin asked his firstborn. He knew that they had met yesterday and that Jaime had filled Tyrion in on what had happened in the King's chambers the other night.

Jaime sighed. _Gods_, he thought, _the woman he loved was a monster_. He was so weary. He'd spent his entire life in love with a woman with no conscience. This incident this morning this was just the latest in a long list of horrid things she was willing to do to hold onto her power and her place in the capital. Nothing was off limits in her mind, not if it would benefit her and Joffrey.

"She has commissioned a replacement hand for me. Gold. It is very detailed." He squirmed uncomfortably. Just because he knew the monster she was, didn't mean he still didn't love her.

"As far as her knowledge of Joffrey's bedroom activities, I couldn't get a straight answer. I suspect she knows and doesn't care. Or she doesn't see the problem. Or she knows that she cannot control him." He sighed, deeply disturbed. "Either way, she seemed indifferent at what happened."

He was saved from saying more as Jerrod had arrived back, dragging the handmaiden with him.

The look on Tywin's face was murderous. Sansa had never seen him this angry, and she had witnessed plenty of his moods. Uncaring that this would be gruesome, Tywin felt his legendary control slip. It was time that Cersei understood precisely what she was up against. No one dared leave the room.

Jerrod dragged the young woman over to the long dining table and sat her in an empty chair. Another guard produced rope, and yet another had come in with a set of deadly looking knives. Once the handmaiden was secured, Tywin assessed her. He saw both fear and defiance in her eyes.

"Who ordered you to give my wife the moontea?" he asked in a controlled voice. She spat at him. Wiping it from his face, Tywin calmly picked up a knife, and before anyone knew what was happening, neatly sliced her pinky finger from her right hand. She shrieked in pain and horror.

"You have nine more. As well as toes. After that, I will begin to remove other parts." The woman looked like she would be ill. Holding her tongue, Tywin approached her again. He leaned in close to her.

"I promise that you will not leave this room alive. It is just a matter of how much pain you'd like to be in when you die." She blanched even paler. He arched an eyebrow at her, an unspoken question. Still, she said nothing. By the time he had removed the third finger, she was sobbing and incoherent in pain. As he reached for a fourth finger, she finally broke.

"The Queen Regent," she gasped.

"How long have you been in her service?"

"Since I arrived, my Lord, right before your wedding. She saved me, My Lord." She shot a look to Sansa, and there was such hatred there, it confused Tywin.

"Saved you from what?" he ground out.

"Your wife," she spat.

Tywin looked utterly confused. He looked to Sansa whose look of confusion matched his. "And what exactly did my wife do to you?" he asked with deadly calm.

"Sent a man to rape me, My Lord."

Sansa reeled back in shock. She had never done any such thing; the mere thought was abhorrent to Sansa.

"And how do you know my wife did this?" Tywin growled at her.

"Because the Queen saved me, My Lord. She saved me and then she told me how Lady Sansa was a whore who had fucked the King. And some of the Kingsguards. That's why they are loyal to her. She gives them favours, and they do her bidding. The Queen saved me when Lady Sansa ordered a Kingsguard to rape me."

It was a bizarre and ridiculous tale. How on earth could this stupid woman have believed such apparent lies? Sansa looked like she was going to be physically ill.

"You are a stupid and particularly ill-informed woman," Tywin spat at her. "Did you tell anyone else about my wife's pregnancy?" She shook her head.

Tywin debated what to do. He had several options, none of which were that good. Sansa was barely pregnant. If it had been a living child, their case would have been stronger. But if they arrested Cersei now, Tywin wasn't sure what would happen if a trial was ordered. Especially with such an incredibly stupid and weak-willed accomplice.

If he moved against Cersei and not Joffrey, he'd face the wrath of the King and Tywin wasn't quite ready to remove Joffrey from the Throne. He needed the support of the Tyrell's. He had to secure a second marriage alliance with them. Or at the very least convince Olenna how dangerous it would be to allow Margaery to go through with the marriage while still pledging support to House Lannister. Tywin needed time that he didn’t have to make sure things were aligned perfectly.

Tywin had moved past his discomfort with plotting the deaths of his family members. He knew that death was coming for both Joffrey and Cersei. But it had to be done in a way that benefitted him and Sansa, and the realm.

He briefly debated sending Cersei North, knowing she would have no allies there, but Robb Stark still hadn't retaken Winterfell and wasn’t in a strong position. He sighed. It seemed his best option was to send a message to his daughter, but he wasn't sure it would be enough for Sansa. Cersei had come for her again. Tried to hurt his wife again. Only this time she'd also moved against him, attempting to kill his child.

Making a choice, knowing he'd have to explain his reasoning to Sansa later, Tywin picked up a long and sharp knife and moved to the handmaiden. Without preamble, he drew it across her neck. He met Sansa's eyes, hoping to see some understanding there, but her face was a mask to him. That hadn't happened since their first meeting. He felt it rock him to his core. He had come to rely on being able to read his wife whenever he wanted. Without another word, she turned and left the room with Genna close at her heels.

He gestured to the body and told Jerrod to make sure that it was delivered to Cersei's chambers.

Jaime and Tyrion were quiet, both knowing that Tywin's solution would not satisfy Sansa. Jaime, however much he had come to loathe Cersei was relieved. He couldn't imagine a world without her in it, no matter what wrongs she committed. For all practical purposes, he still loved her deeply. He wondered if his father had stayed his hand against his sister for him?

Tywin looked at both of them and said, "My solar, now." Once seated in their father's common room, Tywin spoke quietly.

"I meant to discuss this at breakfast with everyone, but circumstances changed." He looked directly at Tyrion, who still struggled not to waiver under his father's intense gaze.

"You are my son. What I ask of you now is not as a punishment. Indeed you have proven your loyalty and your worth tenfold over these past few months."

Tyrion looked confused.

"I need you to go to Braavos. For two reasons. First, as Master of Coin, you will negotiate on behalf of the Crown a repayment schedule while assuring the Iron Bank that the backing of the Lannisters is still in full effect. As long as the Iron Bank is content with us, they will not finance any other armies in Westeros." Tyrion nodded. It was a reasonable request and a crucial one to secure their power. If the Iron Bank supported Tywin Lannister, it was one more strike against Cersei and Joffrey. Cersei would be unable to raise any funds to come after him.

Tywin met the dwarf's eyes. "I also need you to go to the House of Black and White. To arrange for the assassination of Deanery's Targaryen."

Tyrion swallowed hard. Even though it had been his idea, he was surprised his father would give him such an important task. As if reading his mind, Tywin spoke again.

"You are the only one with a legitimate reason to travel to Braavos given your position with the Crown." He paused. "And you're one of the only people I trust with such a task." Tyrion felt the warmth course through his body. His entire life, all he had wanted was his father's trust and respect. It may have taken thirty-five years, but it seemed he finally had it.

"When do I leave father?" Tyrion asked.

"Immediately. You will take your sellsword with you, along with four of the Lannister Red Cloaks. You won't dally in Braavos. You will be needed back here once your tasks are complete."

Tyrion nodded. Then he hopped down from his seat, anxious to begin making his arrangements. Once Tyrion had left the rooms, Tywin looked at Jaime. He met Jaime's eyes and saw the anxiousness in them.

"She must be dealt with Jaime. Along with your ill-gotten son. They are out of control and now striking out against me. I cannot have that."

Jaime exhaled slowly and looked away from his father. He was lost in his memories from yesterday. He had tried to talk sense into Cersei when he had met with her yesterday. When he broached the subject about Joffrey's nocturnal activities, she had brushed it off as _youthful vigour._When he had told her about the three dead and mutilated whores, she shrugged and said they must have done something to anger the King. Nothing could remove the blinders from her eyes when it came to Joffrey.

"How long have you loved her?" Tywin asked quietly, uncomfortable with the subject. Jaime startled at the question. Stumbling, he didn't know how to answer his father. Before he could respond, Tywin spoke again.

Silence. "I have always loved her."

More silence. Then finally, "I know what it is like to be consumed by the love of one woman for your entire life." Tywin paused, the continued, "But I can tell you that it is possible to love more than one woman in a lifetime." He looked at Jaime then. He saw the anguish and the despair on his face. But Tywin would not bend on this. Cersei would be dealt with. And harshly. No matter how much it hurt him. Tywin would not and could not stay his hand in this.

Jaime knew that their father was making plans to have Joffrey replaced, but he had been hopeful that Cersei would come back to the family, that she could see the horror and abomination that was their son, and that she could come to accept Sansa and her place in their family. This latest stunt today proved she was unwilling to do so. Jaime sighed again, wondering when his sister had become so bloodthirsty and mad. He met his father's eyes and nodded, then left the solar, beyond heartbroken and lost, wondering at the mess his life had become, and the future that seemed to be crumbling like dust before his very eyes.

*************************************************************************************************************************************

After his sons had left, Tywin debated what to do. There was a small council meeting to attend, along with a session at court and numerous correspondence that required his immediate attention. And there was his wife. Who for the second time in as many days was angry with him. He knew that she thought his punishment for Cersei wasn't enough, but that wasn't the case.

Tywin had no compunction about killing Cersei, but he wouldn't do it in a fit of rage or emotion. No, when he arranged for Cersei to die, he would find a way to use it to their advantage. He needed Sansa to see that. He was frustrated that she didn't trust him to deal with Cersei. Knowing if he went to her now, they would fight, Tywin decided to leave her by herself, sure that when he returned for dinner, her mood would have passed.

On his way out of the apartments, he passed Genna who was instructing his steward on cleaning up the mess that had been made in the dining hall. His sister gave him a look.

"Lady Sansa is not that way Tywin." He grunted. A worried look came over her face, and she spoke again, "They keep coming for her brother. Your daughter and your grandson. Your blood. What is the poor lamb to think?"

He whirled back to Genna, angry that she dared question his loyalty to Sansa.

"Your concern and advice was neither asked for nor wanted, sister. Remember your place," Tywin snarled at her, furious that she made him feel even worse about his choices.

Genna didn't back down. "If you leave now you will do more damage to her than your earlier decision to not punish Cersei," Genna said softly. She saw a flicker of doubt cross his face and pressed on. "She's sitting in the garden, still as can be, all by herself Tywin."

He grunted and ran a hand wearily over his face. How was it possible that only hours ago they had been ecstatically happy over the life they had created? The thought of her being alone ate at him. She’d been alone for so long, and now, with their marriage, she had been happy with the family she had gained. She had been happy with him until Cersei had tried to ruin it again. Sighing heavily, he realized he would need to at least try to make amends with Sansa before he saw to his other numerous tasks.

"She is in the garden, you said?" he questioned his sister, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Yes." Tywin turned and left the hall, hoping that he could somehow make Sansa see reason. It was an uncomfortable feeling to be at odds with her.

Tywin made his way to the gardens of the hand and approached Sansa as she sat on the bench by the pond. Genna was correct; she had withdrawn into herself. If he hadn't known better, he almost would have said she was a statue. An unusual feeling of dread stole over Tywin, seeing her in such a state.

"My Lady," Tywin said lowly.

She knew he was there, but made no acknowledgement of his presence, which annoyed Tywin. There were too many things happening right now for him to placate her behaviour. He cleared his throat, but she still wouldn't meet his eyes. His ire at her rose.

"If you insist on acting immature, I will treat you that way, wife," he said forcefully, not keeping the irritation from his voice.

Sansa still said nothing. Tywin huffed. He waited a few minutes, and when Sansa offered nothing more, his frustrations got the best of him.

"Good enough, wife. I will leave you to your solitude. My time is important," he ground out, annoyed his attempts to talk with her had been so soundly rejected. Turning on his heel, he made to leave the gardens when she spoke.

"What does she have to do for you to choose me over her?" Sansa asked softly.

He gaped at her, astonishment lacing his features. It was almost impossible to reconcile her words in his brain. _Did she think that he was choosing Cersei over her?_

"Pardon me, My Lady," he said confusion marring his voice, "I do not understand what you mean."

She turned to look at him then, and her face was a perfect mask, and it made him feel ill. Where was the wife who loved him, who expressed herself openly with him, who joked and teased and laughed with him?

"She tried to murder our child, Tywin. Is that not heinous enough? What does she have to do before you act? Do I have to be dead before you take her seriously as a threat?" Her voice was cold and filled with hated. And he believed some of it was directed at him.

Tywin was in shock. _How could Sansa possibly think he wasn't taking the threats by Cersei seriously?_

"I am not your puppet, My Lady, to do your bidding when you declare it," he said to his wife, hating that she made him feel inadequate in his task at protecting her. "Need I remind you that I am the Hand of the King, the Lord of Casterly Rock and the Warden of the West. Not. You. I will act when the time is right. Today was not that day."

Sansa didn't even react to his words. She shrugged her shoulders. "You told me the next time she moved against me; you would deal with her. You did not. What am I to think, _husband_?" she spat out the last word, rage and venom coating her words, fear driving her to say things she never normally would.

Tywin knew that Sansa had been upset when he had killed the handmaiden, thus eliminating the one person who could pin the crime on Cersei. But he had hoped that she trusted him enough to know he was only doing so because he had to ensure that when he dealt with Joffrey and Cersei, it would put them in a stronger position, not weaken them. To eliminate the King before he had secured alliances with Dorne or the Reach was too risky, especially with Stannis and Petyr Baelish alive and plotting against the Crown.

"You should think, _wife_, that I have your utmost safety and our future in mind at all times," he said lowly rage and frustration coating his voice. He loved her; how could she not see that she was paramount in his life. He’d waited a lifetime for her.

He saw Sansa's shoulders crumple, and her mask fall away. Left in its place was his young wife who was scared, emotional and defeated. This is what Cersei did to Sansa. She took everything from her. It was the worst type of torture, knowing that anyone that got close to Sansa might be an enemy and that at every moment Cersei was plotting against her. Cersei always found a way to steal happiness from his wife. Tywin cursed his daughter.

He moved to the bench and scooped Sansa up in his arms as her slim body wracked with sobs.

"Hush," he tried to soothe her, worried the damage she would do with such an emotional outburst given the state she was in.

"She has tried to take everything from me, Tywin," she whispered raggedly. "I cannot live like this."

He was stroking her hair as she hiccupped and shook against him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and let out a tremendous sigh. Gods, he hated what Cersei was doing to their family. He'd just gotten Jaime back, and he knew that when he moved against his twin, there would be repercussions. He only hoped Jaime could forgive him when he eliminated Cersei. And he knew that it was unfair to his wife to have such mad and vindictive people trying to hurt her from their own family.

"Sansa, can I explain my reasoning to you?" he asked her softly, hoping she was in the right state of mind to listen to him. He felt her small shrug against his chest. She still hadn't met his eyes, and he knew her emotions were a riot, that the anger had been pushed back but not eradicated.

"You know that both Joffrey and Cersei need to be eliminated. But I need you to think. What happens when Joffrey is killed?" Not giving her time to respond, Tywin continued. "We run the risk of losing the Reach. I need to secure a second alliance with the Tyrell's before we remove Joffrey." Sansa's brow furrowed as she listened to Tywin's logic. She had begun to play with the buckles on his doublet.

"Joffrey needs to be eliminated in a way that cannot implicate either you or I. I have no doubts that the minute he is dead Cersei will call for your head. It would solve a multitude of her problems to pin his death on you. And she is Queen Regent. She still has allies and friends and occupies a powerful position, unfortunately. Until a new King is crowned, she would essentially be the acting monarch. She could make things extremely complicated. And by that same logic, if something were to happen to her, Joffrey could make things very difficult for us. As much as it pains me to say it, he is still the King." Tywin paused. "There are still many that are loyal only to the Crown, no matter how inept the ruler that sits on the Throne is."

"Before we move against either of them, we need to secure our alliances. Your brother needs to retake Winterfell. Many people are arriving in the coming months for the Royal Wedding. We will need a scapegoat for their murders, Sansa." Sansa finally looked up at him, meeting his eyes and seeing his frustration and anger at his family lingering. And the truth of his words. He honestly was thinking about their best interests. He stroked a hand down her cheek, then let his hand rest against her stomach.

"Do not ever doubt that you are the most important person in the entire seven kingdoms to me," his eyes glittered, a combination of love and frustration. "But you must trust me, Sansa. I will not hesitate to eliminate either Joffrey or Cersei in the heat of the moment if they give me no other option. But as long as I have a choice, their deaths must advance our position."

Sansa frowned. Logically she understood Tywin's position. But still, she worried.

"The longer they are allowed to live, Tywin, the more harm they can cause," she responded worry lacing her voice. He nodded. She wasn't incorrect. And it seemed most of their cruelties were aimed her way. He could see her thinking. After a moment she said, "So, I am to be bait," and she felt him sigh.

"Not bait Sansa. The time is not quite right to strike against them." He tilted her chin so that their eyes met again. "Can you trust me on this wife?" He couldn't believe the pleading he heard in his voice. Tywin Lannister never pleaded with anyone. For anything. Ever. But he was deeply invested in his marriage, and he knew if they were at odds the chances of either Joffrey or Cersei getting to her rose. Sansa huffed.

"Yes, I will trust you on this," she said, finally conceding to his demands.

Tywin leaned down and pressed his lips against her. Sansa felt herself respond. As horrible as what Cersei had tried to do today, it was worse feeling angry at her husband. It had made her stomach ache, and her heart hurt. He was everything to her, and she had been afraid that he was choosing his daughter over her and their unborn child. She had trusted him in everything else in their marriage, and she would trust him on this. There was only a small kernel of doubt where she wondered if he could genuinely kill his daughter. It was a gruesome and distressing thought, and Sansa hated the Queen Regent even more that she had forced Tywin into such a position.

Sansa reached her hands up and dug into the whiskers on her husband's face. "It is awful when we are fighting, Tywin," she murmured to him. He growled in agreement.

"How would you feel if Tommen came and stayed with us for a while, Sansa?" he asked her. Her brows drew together in confusion at first; then a small smile came across her face. She understood what Tywin was doing. Cersei had tried to take their child; now they would take hers. Tywin stroked Sansa's cheek.

"There are multiple reasons it makes sense. He deserves a chance to get to know Jaime. And if we are to replace Joffrey, many will consider him the next King. Having him close to us cannot hurt," Tywin said quietly. Sansa knew Tommen to be a sweet boy, and at the age of twelve, quite intimidated by Joffrey and his cruelties. Plus it might free him from some of Cersei's more overbearing tendencies.

"I think I would like that very much, husband," Sansa said, drawing his face down to hers. Fighting with him had rattled her, and she needed this connection to him to feel whole again. He ran his hands along her body, dipping down until he could faintly feel the chain along her stomach. He ran his fingers along it, happy his link with her had been reestablished.

Sighing, Tywin knew it would be hours before he would be able to worship his wife's body again, to chase away her doubts and fears and make her feel safe and loved still. Sansa knew he has tasks to see too and, in all fairness, so did she. Just because Cersei had tried to murder her baby, didn't mean that their days stopped.

Rising from his lap, she pulled him up, taking one last opportunity to kiss him. Tywin was still furious with Cersei, but walking up to their apartments, he knew that they had survived this latest assault on them, together.

_ Cersei's Apartments _

Cersei had been delighted when she received word that Petyr Baelish was willing to come to the Royal Wedding. Not because she wanted anything to do with the odious little whoremonger, but because she knew he was as eager for power and influence as she was. Which made him ripe for whatever plot she came up with.

She also knew that the owners of the brothels in Kings Landing were getting squeamish about sending the King the whores he demanded. Too many had been returned damaged, or dead. Only one brothel owner had outright refused. Cersei had his women rounded up and delivered to the Golden Cloaks and Kingsguard who partook in their flesh while the owner of the establishment watched his building burnt to the ground. It was amazing what a pack of animals men turned into when free whores were given to them. No one dared refused the King's requests since then. Still, it would help to have a man such as Baelish back. He more than anyone knew Joffrey's likes and dislikes.

Cersei was disappointed with her twin. Jaime had been avoiding her; this much she knew to be true. She had talked with Joffrey, and they both agreed that he wasn't the same man, and assigned him to the worst and lowest duties that a Kingsguard could perform. Still, she thought, he didn't balk, always showing up whenever and wherever he was assigned. He had not attempted to come back to her bed, and Cersei was livid that he somehow thought he was above their relationship now that he'd _changed_. Didn't he know that no one walked away from her? She spent hours working with the disgraced Maester Qyburn that Jaime had brought back with him, to get his golden hand perfect. He'd barely acknowledged her hard work and effort, instead of wanting to talk to her about Joffrey killing three whores. Honestly, she couldn't believe he let himself get so distressed about such things. Their son was the King. Jaime should learn that whatever the King wanted, the King got.

When the handmaiden that Cersei had planted in Sansa's service reported that the little whore was pregnant, Cersei raged. She knew that the moment a new son was born to her father that Jaime would be cast aside permanently from ever inheriting Casterly Rock. Just like she knew that he would do nothing to prevent such a tragedy from happening. They were Lannisters. Pure blooded Lannisters. And only a Lannister deserved to inherit such a keep, which is why it was easy enough to convince the maid to give Sansa moontea. It was a minimal effort on her behalf for potentially colossal gain.

Cersei had just returned from the Throne room when she realized she was not alone in her apartments. Sitting at her table was her father, a look of contempt and hatred on his face. She swallowed hard. As much as Cersei was confident that he would not do anything to her while her son was King, she knew at that moment that she had grossly miscalculated. For all that Cersei claimed she was the one who was most like Tywin; she had underestimated both his feelings for his new wife, whom he now viewed as family and his desire for more heirs. She also failed to recognize that Tywin Lannister in love was a man to be careful of. She had loved the stories of her parents' love match, but could not reconcile that her father had the same feelings for Sansa Stark- to her detriment.

"Father," she begun, dropping her voice to a fearful whisper, trying to make herself appear weaker and vulnerable. No matter what she had done, she was still his daughter, his flesh and blood. That counted for everything if you were a Lannister.

"Stop," he hissed at her, slamming a fist on the table. Cersei jerked back.

"For far too long you have run amok of this place. You have disgraced the Lannister name, first with cuckolding the king and then producing incestuous heirs. Now you attack our family!"

Cersei couldn't contain her rage at hearing her father refer to Sansa as family. "I am not the disgrace; you are! Tell me father, how is this any different from Grandfather. Sleeping with a woman that is our enemy. Marrying her. You are the one who disgraces the Lannister name."

Cat green eyes glittered at her, the Great Lion's rage barely contained. "She is a noble-born woman who has the blood of the first men running through her veins. She is descended from Kings, daughter. She is one of the purest high born women in all the land. Her blood will always be nobler than yours. And she is my wife!"

Cersei scoffed and laughed, bitter and slightly mad. "She had made a fool out of you and our House. And you dishonour mother by the charade that you are determined to carry on with. The people scoff at you, mock you behind your back."

Tywin laughed then, and it was a fearsome sound. Gods, she was a fool, wasn't she? Sansa was beloved by the commoners and nobles alike. Women, children, knights and lords all delighted in her company. He knew word had already spread of her visit to the orphanage and planned to build her refuge. At the rate she was determined to help, Flea Bottom might actually be respectable one day. And all because of his wife's loving and gracious nature. Sansa Lannister had single-handedly brought respect and honour back to House Lannister and to the Crown.

Tywin cocked his head and looked at Cersei. Time and wine hadn't been kind to his daughter. She had once been one of the most beautiful women in the realm. But bitterness and hatred had eked away her beauty. Now she looked her age. He knew that if she ever got one hand on the Throne that thousands in the seven kingdoms would suffer.

Tywin had used violence, fear and intimidation his entire life to wield power. But many argued that his time as Hand to King Aerys was when the realm was most prosperous and peaceful. Cersei had no aptitude or subtle skill for the game. For all her boasts, Cersei wielded power like a blunt instrument. She had no ability to play the game any other way. It was a shame really, but at that moment, Tywin let go of any lingering doubts as to her future. His daughter would have to either be removed completely from King’s Landing, or die.

"You are foolish daughter if you think you can outplay me in the Game of Thrones." Tywin paused to let his next words sink in. "Tommen has expressed an interest in reuniting with his uncle. He will be staying with Lady Sansa and me for the foreseeable future. Once the King is wed, plans for _your _future will be discussed." Tywin stood and walked towards the door.

Cersei had paled the moment the words left his mouth.

"You can't take him father; he is my child!" she shrieked at him.

"You attempted to take my child; now, I am taking yours. Besides, he is also Jaime's. I think the boy deserves a chance to get to know his father, don't you?" Tywin asked brow raised. She hurled a wine glass at his head and missed by a mile. Tywin closed the door to her wailing and smiled to himself. If Tommen were to be the next king, Tywin would ensure that the boy loved and trusted him and Sansa above all others.


	13. Chapter 13

_ Apartments of the Hand _

Tywin Lannister was not a man who let things idle. He had been deadly serious when he had told Cersei that Tommen was to stay with him and Sansa in their apartments, and by nightfall the next day the boy was there. Sansa had fussed over him, ensuring he was happy and settled, and Tywin had to smile at her natural mothering instincts. He had assumed she'd had plenty of experience in her life, helping her mother raise her three youngest siblings and that was proving to be correct. Tywin couldn't wait to see her raise their children. She would be their greatest defender.

When Jaime walked into the dining hall that evening, he looked a bit stunned to see his son seated there even though he had heard the boy was coming to stay. Cersei had tracked him down that morning when he was in his final fitting for his new golden hand and raged about their father kidnapping Tommen. Unfortunately for her Joffrey had been there as well, and he thought it hilarious that his grandfather had given Sansa such a responsibility.

The argument died there, as the King decreed that it would be suitable for his youngest brother to learn from the Hand of the King, stating "Mother, he will be expected to run Storm's End one day. He must learn how to govern." Which might have been the most ironic thing Joffrey had ever said in his life. For as lazy and inept as the King usually was, on this, he was correct. Tommen was expected to inherit the Stormlands, and he would have to know how to rule that part of the kingdom. Still, Jaime had his doubts that his father would be able to wrest Tommen from his sister's claws. Cersei, for all her faults, was a fierce lioness about her cubs and this latest move by Tywin was sure to incur her wrath.

"Uncle," Tommen's entire face lit up when he saw Jaime, and he jumped up and rushed to hug him. Jaime caught the boy and held him close, happy and excited to have this chance to get to know his son, free from Cersei's overbearing influence and the court's prying eyes. Jaime realized that this move was a retaliation against Cersei, but he also knew his father was allowing him to spend quality time with his son; a chance he had not had with Joffrey.

"Tommen," he said, smiling brightly at the boy as he stood back to appraise him. "You've grown so much, I hardly recognized you." Jaime took a seat beside him at the table, his heart aching only a little at being addressed as an uncle instead of as a father. Tommen blushed at his uncle's praise; then his face turned serious.

"Uncle Jaime, have you see Ser Pounce?" he asked, a worried expression on his face.

Jaime's brows drew together. "Ummm, no, I can't say that I have." He shot a look at Sansa as if to say, _who the fuck is Ser Pounce? _Sansa was trying not to giggle.

"Ser Pounce is Tommen's cat," Sansa said and laughed brightly. She sent a look Tywin's way whose entire face had soured at the mention of the feline. _Funny, _she thought, _you'd think the head of the Lions would feel a greater affinity for house cats_. "Tommen simply wouldn't go anywhere without him."

Jaime looked at his father and begun to laugh. _Served him right_, Jaime thought.

"I am sure he is just exploring. He is pleased to have a new home. As am, I. Joffrey said if he ever caught him, he'd skin him alive. He is much safer here with grandfather and grandmother," Tommen said matter of factly as if his brother skinning his cat alive was an everyday occurrence. A dark look passed over the adults' faces around the table.

Sansa looked at Tommen and Jaime, seated side by side. It was clear that Tommen favoured his father, both in looks and attitude. She wondered how willing Jaime would be to spend time with his son now that he had this opportunity.

"You sound like you enjoy knights and tales of adventure, Tommen," Sansa said to him, hoping to get to know him better.

"Oh yes, very much grandmother." Tommen smiled at her, then bit his bottom lip and blurted out, "I wish I could train with real knights, but mother says it is much too dangerous."

At this statement, Tywin scoffed from the head of the table. _What was Cersei thinking? _The boy was young, agile and able. He should be out training with the men every day. Especially if she had planned to have the boy would inherit the Baratheon seat in the Stormlands. He would be required to know how to defend himself, his wife, and his children one day. He wouldn't learn anything by hiding behind Cersei's skirts.

"You will begin to train with Jaime and me tomorrow, Tommen," Tywin declared.

"Truly Grandfather?" he looked awestruck. Tywin nodded but it was Jaime that spoke.

"Of course," Jaime said, clearing his throat of the emotion had that clogged it. He was being given his son to train. Just like his father had with him. It was beyond his wildest hope to have this time with his youngest child.

"Every boy needs to know how to defend himself." He grinned ruefully at Tommen and waived his golden hand in front of him. "Of course, I'm not as good as I used to be."

Tommen's eyes had widened. He'd heard tales about his Uncle, and truth be told, he was slightly in awe of him.

"That's OK Uncle Jaime," he said softly, "I still think you are the greatest swordsman who ever lived."

Jaime felt his eyes fill with tears, and it was all he could do not to embrace the boy again. Clearing his throat, he turned back to his meal, trying to distract himself from the overwhelming emotions he was feeling.

When dinner was over, and Genna and Sansa had taken Tommen to settle him for the night, Jaime sat across from his father in the solar, sharing a goblet of wine.

"So, Tyrion is off?" he asked quietly.

"He left at first light."

Jaime observed his father's face. There was an almost worried look on his face which Jaime was almost certain had never been there before in regards to Tyrion.

"He will be fine Father. Better than fine, most likely. He'll be back before you know it. Full of tall tales and japes that only Tyrion can come up with."

Tywin grunted. It was an odd feeling, worrying about his second son. Comfortable silence stretched between the two men until finally, Jaime broke it.

"I know why you took Tommen from Cersei, Father." He paused. "But I wanted to say thank you. For giving me a chance with him." Tywin met Jaime's eyes and nodded at his son.

"A man deserves a chance to get to know his son. Family is everything, Jaime. Remember that."

Finally, Sansa appeared at the doorway, stating that Ser Pounce had been located, Tommen had picked out his clothes for the morning, and that he was quite excited to train with his hero.

Jaime couldn't help but let the tears come. At least one of his sons thought him something worthwhile. Rising, he went to take his leave. Sansa reached for him as he neared her at the doorway. She was always so free with her affection, and Jaime welcomed it. He sorely missed a kind hand these days.

"Don't be a stranger, Jaime. With Tyrion away and Tommen here, you must know you are more than welcome here whenever you please." She smiled softly at him, her face full of warmth and acceptance.

_So, this was how normal families acted, _Jaime thought, _almost bewildered and lulled by how good it felt_. They shared and talked and helped each other. They made plans, and they included each other in their day to day lives. It was so bizarre to be experiencing it after almost forty years of misery.

Jaime leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sansa's cheek. "Thank you, My Lady; I will ensure I take you up on your most generous offer." He nodded goodnight to them both and took his leave.

Sansa made her way over to her husband, and he pulled her onto his lap. It was one of his favourite places to hold her.

"So how upset are you about the cat?" she teased him, kissing his neck and sucking on his earlobe. He grunted and had begun to pull at the stays on the back of her dress. Sansa leaned down to kiss him, and Tywin worked his hands beneath her dress so that the top gaped open. Sansa lifted her arms and pulled off her sleeves, so she sat on her husband's lap with her whole top half naked. She heard his breathing increase as he lazily reached out and caressed her breasts.

Sansa moaned, and Tywin, quick as he'd ever been, moved his hand up under her skirts. Where he discovered that his wife was wearing no underclothes; only the ruby he had commissioned for her, his eyes widened, and his eyebrows arched at her.

"Naughty wolf," he rumbled, instantly hard as could be.

Sansa blushed, and she explained, "Yesterday everything was ruined, so I thought that I could make up for it today."

Tywin grunted and moved his fingers through her, her curls damp. Gods, he didn't know if she'd ever been so ready for him. He trailed kisses up and down her neck, "How long have you been like this, wife?"

Sansa shuddered with pleasure as he worked his fingers into her.

"All day, husband," she moaned back to him. Tywin tried to slow down, but his need for her was overwhelming. Knowing that Sansa had deliberately wore the jewel he had commissioned for her, along with no small clothes and that had he known he could have taken her at any time today, made him almost feral in his need for her.

Standing her up, he said, "Take it all off."

Seeing the heat in his eyes, Sansa complied immediately divesting herself of her clothing until she stood naked before him wearing only gold and rubies. Tywin had stripped as quickly as his wife and idly stroked himself once or twice.

"Turn around and put your hands on my desk, Sansa," he commanded her. She didn't know how he meant to have her that way, but she listened none the less. "Spread your feet a bit wider, wife," he told her.

She did.

Then Tywin was behind her, moving her hair off her neck and kissing her along her spine.

She felt him run his hands through her curls to find her nub and she arched back against him, eager for more friction.

"Easy, love, I've got you," he crooned to her.

Then in one swift move, he entered her from behind. Sansa let out a groan. It was scandalous to be taken this way, but she loved it. Tywin felt like he was deeper in her than he'd ever been, and she met his every thrust, pushing and arching into him, loving how wild he was. He was no gentle lover tonight; no, tonight he was the lion that they all called him, as he had his wife against his desk where so much of the business of Westeros was conducted. And judging by her reaction, she loved every moment of it.

_Gods, he loved her so much. She was perfect for him. A proper lady to everyone else, and a siren in the bedroom for him alone._

Before long, he felt ready to spill. Moving his hands to her front, he pinched and rubbed at her, growling for her to finish. Feeling her peak, he thrust a few more times deeply into her, then emptied himself. It took all his considerable strength, coupled with Sansa clutching at the desk, to keep them from collapsing to the ground. He was trying to catch his breath when he heard her giggle.

Still slightly stunned at the way he had just taken her, he asked her, "What is so funny My Lady?"

Turning her head to catch his eye, she said, "I bet you will never look at your desk the same way again, My Lord," and a satisfied smile lit her face. He felt a small corresponding smirk on his.

"No, I can't say that I will," he agreed and kissed her soundly.

Standing them up, he finally pulled free from her. Naked, they gathered their clothes and made their way back to their bedroom.

In bed they lay entwined in each other, Sansa stroking his chest while Tywin ran his hands down her back.

"I know why you brought Tommen here, Tywin, but for what it's worth, I think it serves more than one purpose." He just grunted his agreement. He hadn't missed his son's look of hope and joy when he'd seen the boy today.

She reached up and kissed him. "You are so good to us, Tywin. I love you." He felt his chest tighten every time she declared her feelings for him as if he hadn't heard it dozens of times already. But still, to listen to her openly proclaim it to him time and again made him feel incredible.

"Go to sleep Sansa, you have a busy day tomorrow," was all that he responded. But just before she fell asleep, as was his custom, she heard a whispered, "I love you too."

_ The Garden _

"Well, do you know how long he is to be gone?" Margaery demanded of Sansa days later while they were having tea in the garden. She had a worried and disturbed look on her face. Sansa knew that Tywin had sent Tyrion to Braavos to meet with the Iron Bank and the Faceless Men; she didn't know if her husband wanted that to be common knowledge. Especially the second part. Tyrion had every legitimate reason to visit the Iron Bank as Master of Coin for the Crown.

So far, Genna and Margaery had been godsends, helping Sansa with her new project. To date, with Tywin's gold and name, they had purchased four new buildings; two for orphans and two for families. Surprisingly, the buildings used to hold brothels, but Sansa had been told they had recently gone out of business. There were already swarms of children who were eagerly awaiting the opening of a new safe place to lay their heads each night. Sansa had found out that two of the four buildings had belonged to Lord Baelish and she knew that her husband was flexing his power towards the Vale lord. 

Tywin had announced their plans at a small council meeting, and not a single person had been able to object. Joffrey had been absent, which meant when Tywin proposed cleaning up Flea Bottom and cracking down on illegal activity in the area. He'd had Ser Addam Marbrand, Commander of the City Watch in the room, and unlike men who had previously held the post, he was loyal and lawful and almost looked gleeful at the chance to bring order to such a place. 

The Tyrell's fully supported Tywin, and the Great Lion had watched as Varys' face had tightened when the plans had been revealed, because they both knew it would eat into his power base. Already the hum around the Red Keep about this new endeavour was gaining massive support from other nobles. Cersei had been able to do nothing other than seeth.

"I don't know Margaery, only that he is on important business for the Crown as Master of Coin."

Margaery huffed at that, unsatisfied with Sansa's answer.

"But surely your husband, the man who knows everything, knows when Lord Tyrion will be returning. He's his son after all."

Sansa looked at Margaery closely. Although she had long suspected her friend had feelings for Tyrion, she had never openly said or done anything where Sansa could probe deeper. But now was her chance. She knew that they needed an alliance with the Reach. Was it possible that Margaery wanted to marry Tyrion? Sansa knew that Harrenhal Castle had no true Lord or Lady. And, as much as Tywin grumbled about Tyrion never inheriting the Rock, it didn't seem like they were set to return there any time soon.

"You are very worried about him, aren't you?" Sansa asked softly, ensuring that no one else could hear her words. She reached out and grasped one of Margaery's hands in hers. They were sitting away from all the other ladies, taking some time to catch up and speak privately. Margaery blushed and gripped Sansa's hand hard.

"It is just that you said he was to help us with this project, and it is an awful lot of work without a mind such as his," Margaery said by way of explanation.

"Hmmm," Sansa hummed. "It is. But have no worries, I am sure he will be back in time for your wedding." In truth, Ser Marbrand had been a huge help with this project and both women knew that Tyrion wasn't needed as much as Margaery was making it seem. 

Sansa watched Margaery like a hawk when she said these words and saw her friend flinch when the words _your wedding _were spoken. Inside Sansa let out a little squeal of joy! She knew that Margaery had feelings for Tyrion, and she knew that her friend had no interest in marrying Joffrey. And who could blame her? She just had to figure out how to get Tyrion and Margaery together.

"It's just so far away. Braavos. And what if he did not bring enough guards. He is vulnerable, and he would be a very valuable hostage," Margaery continued her explanation, glossing over the reference to her wedding, a concerned expression worrying her pretty features.

"Yes, it is far away. But he has his sellsword, and you must remember that Tyrion has made it to the great wall and back. He's quite the adventurer and very brave really," Sansa said, making sure to sell his good points.

Margaery huffed again. "You don't have to tell me he's brave," she muttered.

"What's that, my dear?" Sansa asked, bemused at how much her friend seemed to care and miss Tyrion.

"Nothing," Margaery said as a large shadow fell upon them. Looking up, Sansa saw Lady Brienne had approached them. She had a worried look on her face, but come to think about it, she often did. Sansa hadn't spent much time getting to know Lady Brienne, but she was always at her side and so far, had proven herself to be up to the task of being Sansa's sworn shield.

"Lady Sansa, Lady Margaery," she nodded at both ladies. Turning to the Rose of Highgarden, she said, "I offer my sincerest apologies and condolences about my inability to save King Renly, My Lady." And bowed deeply to Margaery. To her credit, a slightly stunned look crossed Margaery's face before she recovered to murmur that no thanks were necessary and that she did not hold Lady Brienne responsible for his death. Brienne felt better having unburdened her conscience to Renly's widow.

"Join us, Lady Brienne," Sansa said, indicating an open seat. Lady Brienne looked around. "I cannot My Lady; I am here to protect you."

Sansa looked at her, then looked around the gardens. "I have no doubts that you would leap to my defence if needed. Besides, I require your expert opinion about my new project." Seeing no way around it, Brienne took the seat next to Sansa.

"Tell me, Lady Brienne, how does training go?" Sansa asked.

Brienne shifted in her seat. "Well, My Lady. Tommen is a keen and eager pupil, and Ser Jaime seems quite happy to spend time with the boy." Sansa smiled at this.

"And how is Jaime's training coming along?" she wondered.

"Adequate, My Lady. He will never be what he once was, but Lord Tywin indicated they might train with live steel soon." Lady Brienne paused, then added, "It's incredible he's been able to relearn as much as he has. It is a true testament to his character that he has persevered through such hardship."

Sansa and Margaery exchanged knowing looks, listening to Lady Brienne's high praise of Jaime Lannister.

"And he's not hard to look upon either," Margaery gushed, winking at both ladies.

Sansa laughed and agreed. As much as she loved and adored her husband, she would be hard-pressed to admit if there were a more handsome man in the Kingdom than Jaime Lannister. She glanced at Brienne and saw a blush staining the lady's cheeks.

"He speaks quite highly of you, Lady Brienne," Sansa said softly. The huge woman blushed deeper.

"I once thought him nothing more than an arrogant rich lord. But what we went through together..." Lost in her memories, Brienne paused and had trailed off. Then she looked at Sansa. "He came back for me; did you know that?" Sansa shook her head. "When Roose Bolton had released him from Harrenhal. They kept me but let him go. They put me in a fighting pit against a giant bear." Both ladies gasped at the horror she must have faced. "He came back, got me out of there. Then he demanded they either lock us both up, kill us, or let us both go."

Sansa knew the character of Jaime Lannister very well these days, and the story did not surprise her. She reached out and grasped Lady Brienne's hand.

"He is a good man, My Lady," Sansa said calmly. "I am glad you have been here for him. I know he feels the same way." Brienne blushed again and waved away Sansa's praise.

Margaery observed her two companions. She would never have guessed she would have become as close to Sansa as she had, and she liked Lady Brienne and trusted her.

"Tell us, Lady Sansa, what is it like to be loved by a Lannister man?" Margaery asked softly. Even though Brienne would never admit to her curiosity, her body betrayed her by leaning in to hear Sansa's words.

Sansa sighed, a dreamy look coming into her eyes. Then she looked at her two companions. All she wanted was for her family and her friends to be as happy as she was with Tywin.

"It is all-encompassing and all-consuming. Passionate and intense. When a Lannister man loves you, he loves only you. To be the focus of such single-minded attention is amazing," Sansa sighed, thinking of how much of her that Tywin owned. "I can honestly say that to have the love of a lion makes you one of the luckiest women in all the seven kingdoms." All three ladies sighed at that, each lost in their thoughts about the Lions of Casterly Rock.

Later, just as Sansa was to take her leave and go back to the apartments, she spied the Master of Whispers approaching her. Settling back down, she waited until Varys had made his way to her. Bowing his head slightly, he said, "Good afternoon, Lady Lannister." She nodded back at him.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Lord Varys?" she asked pleasantly. She didn't trust the eunuch, but her position and her breeding would never allow for her manners to be less than perfect. Tywin had expressed, privately to her, to wrest some of Varys legendary power back from him with wresting power away from him. 

"Is it true? What they say you are building?" Sansa nodded.

"May I ask you why?" he said quietly, an intense look on his face.

"No woman deserves to have to choose something awful to feed her children. And those who have no parents should at least have a safe place to rest their heads and food. The world is harsh and cruel enough." Sansa gave him a small shrug. "If I can help even one family, it will be worth it."

"Yes, but why?" he asked again. Sansa sent him a confused look. She had told him why.

"Because they don't deserve that fate. Because it is awful. Because I care." Sansa was exasperated with the man. He sent her a funny look.

"You really do, don't you," he murmured.

"Do what?" she asked, irritated with him.

"Care," Varys said.

"Of course, I care," Sansa said her tone almost angry. "Who wouldn't care if they knew what was happening to these people?"

Varys looked at her again, holding her gaze. "A great many people, My lady. A great many." 

Sansa felt her stomach clench. She knew his words were true. The truth was most people did understand what happened in Flea Bottom and chose to either ignore it or do nothing about it. Each day at her garden party Sansa was surrounded with chittering high born women, who gossiped and drank and japed about nothing more consequential than a new hairstyle or gown. It was depressing when she thought about it. Maybe it all went back to the Hound, telling her she was nothing more than a pretty chirping bird, doing whatever Joffrey bid.

Sansa had changed dramatically since that time, and she knew that with her newfound wealth and power, she had to be more than just some pretty lady on the arm of her lordly husband. Thank Gods that Tywin supported her in this; that he wanted more than some stupid chirping bird for a wife and that he valued her mind as much as her name. She knew that this would help many people and she knew that this would be good for House Lannister. But more, she knew that she'd feel better if she could help some of them. 

Before rising to leave, the Master of Whispers looked at her. "I want to make my position clear to you, My Lady. I only want the best for the realm. And the realm consists of a great many ordinary people. For too long, I have watched rulers who do not care for the people come and go. You appear to be different. Which is why I will tell you this. Lord Petyr Baelish was invited to the Royal Wedding by the Queen Regent. He has accepted that invitation and is on his way back to Kings Landing."

Sansa felt fear and hope grip her. She wasn't an idiot; she knew this would impact Varys and his network of spies, but if the eunuch truly cared for the common people the way he claimed, he would not stand in their way. 

"And my mother?" she asked the eunuch. Sadly, he shook his head. "No word on Lady Stark, I'm afraid." Varys rose then, and pressed a perfumed cheek to Sansa's, whispering in her ear, "As long as your intentions remain as they are, you will have my loyalty, My Lady," then took his leave. Sansa was a bit stunned at the encounter that had taken place. She knew in her heart her intentions were pure and hoped that Lord Varys would continue to see her as an ally instead of a threat.

_ Apartments of the Hand _

Having bonded earlier with Lady Brienne in the gardens, Sansa had decided to invite her sworn shield to dine with them that night. She thought that Tommen would be overjoyed to have her to talk to as he was always excited to tell them what he had learned in training that day. When Brienne arrived, Sansa watched Jaime's reaction. She could see the small glimmer of happiness alight his face when he spied her.

"Lady Brienne, to what do we owe this pleasure?" he asked, charming and flirty as was his natural way with all women. Sansa saw Brienne blush and quickly came to her defence.

"I invited her, Jaime. I did not have a chance to ask her all the questions I wanted earlier in the afternoon. And I thought it would give Tommen a chance to speak with her outside the training yard," Sansa said gracefully, moving to Brienne's side. She made sure to seat her shield across from Jaime and his son.

Taking her regular place beside Tywin, her husband leaned over and whispered in her ear, "What are you up to wife?" She sent him an innocent look, but she could tell he was not swayed.

She shrugged, then whispered back, "She's the only person Jaime has shown an interest in, outside of the family. And she's a good person Tywin." He gave her a look that said that couldn't be the whole story, but let it drop for now.

As Sansa had predicted, Tommen was very excited to have a chance to speak with Lady Brienne. His questions came tripping out of his mouth, one after another.

Jaime laughed and said, "Easy, boy, she's not going anywhere."

Tommen blushed furiously, but then pinned Brienne with a look. One she had seen on Jaime's face when he wanted someone to do something for him. She looked back and forth between Jaime and Tommen, recognition lighting her eyes, but she swallowed down her instincts to blurt out her assumptions about the boy. And his father.

"Do you promise you won't leave until you've answered all my questions, Lady Brienne?" Tommen demanded.

"I am your grandmother's sworn shield, My Lord, I will be here for quite a while," Brienne said, charmed by Tommen despite what she had just discovered. Satisfied with her answer, Tommen turned to Genna and Sansa to tell them about Ser Pounce. He had them laughing at one of his cat's tales when a chill went through the dining hall.

"Oh, it is so good to see my family enjoying supping together, without me," came Cersei's saccharine voice as she floated into the room.

"Mother!" Tommen cried and jumped up and raced to her. She cuddled him to her and placed a kiss on his forehead. Lady Brienne shot a look between Jaime and the Queen Regent. He looked pained to see his sister.

"My sweet boy," Cersei said, "tell me about your time with your grandfather." Tommen was so excited to see his mother that he had forgotten that Tywin had let him do all the things she had not. Before long, the stories of training and sword fighting and archery came tumbling out.

Cersei, having taken the seat opposite her father, shot her Tywin a distasteful look.

"Well, that is all quite exciting, my love. But surely you are ready to come back now sweet?"

Jaime's quiet voice rang out, low and hard, "Cersei stop. Do not do this, sister."

"Do what dear brother?" Cersei said, anger peppering her words into a short staccato rhythm. "Surely we can all agree a boy belongs with his mother?"

"Enough," Tywin said forcefully. "Tommen will stay here. His training has just begun, and we have enjoyed his company. Haven't we Lady Sansa." Tywin reached for his wife's hand and pulled it to his lips, kissing it in front of Cersei whose face turned red at her father's open display of affection for his pretty wife.

"He is a delightful boy, Your Grace, and hardly any trouble to have around. And as you can see, he gets along famously with my sworn shield, Lady Brienne," Sansa quipped. Genna let out a little chuckle and Cersei glared at her aunt.

Tommen then swallowed hard and spoke up, "I like it here, Mother. I am having fun and learning lots. Please don't make me come back yet." Cersei relented, clearly unwilling to upset her son any more than necessary. Knowing she would not get her son back tonight, she sought a new target.

Cersei turned her green eyes to the large woman, seated opposite her son and twin.

"Ahhh yes, I've heard of you. Lady Brienne. The woman that is so ugly that you pretend to do a man's job because no man wants to fuck you." Cersei had somehow managed to grab a goblet of wine and was drinking it down.

Brienne bristled. Her entire life she had been mocked for her appearance, but Lady Sansa had made no comments about it. Instead, both she and Lady Genna had been kind and generous to her, earning her loyalty and trust.

"Cersei stop," Jaime said, embarrassed and outraged on behalf of his friend, even though he'd mocked her relentlessly those first days after she had captured him. But that was different. They had come to an understanding, and Jaime would never make fun of her now. He understood that there was more to a person than just their appearance.

"I do not pretend, Your Grace. I made an oath, along with your brother, and I intend to see that oath honoured," Brienne said forcefully.

"Ahhh yes, your oath. What was it? That you would return our dear little dove, Lady Sansa, back to her mother. If only you'd arrived sooner before she got her claws into my father." Jaime looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, and Tywin was fuming. But it was Sansa's reaction that surprised them all.

She had started to laugh. Deep, full, belly-aching laughs. She laughed so hard that tears had started to come from her eyes.

Cersei shot daggers at her, hating to be mocked. Tywin and Jaime exchanged bewildered expressions. Tywin reached for her hand again, stroking his fingers along hers, and asked, "My Lady, are you ok?"

Sansa was gasping now, and clutching her side. "It's just..." she gasped again, "Oh gods, it hurts." She gulped in some air and then gave a little giggle, looking at Cersei still. "It's just you never say anything new." Sansa gathered her thoughts, having the entire table captivated by her spontaneous outburst, as she wiped tears away from her eyes.

"Let's see. First, you say I am a whore. Well, that is easily settled." Turning to Tywin, she asked him, "Husband, was I a maiden on our wedding night?"

Unsure what had come over his wife, but willing to trust her, Tywin kept his eyes pinned to Cersei as he answered her.

"Yes, My Lady."

Sansa sighed and tapped a finger to her lips as if she were giving the matter significant consideration. "So I'm not a whore. What else have you said? Ahh yes, that I am a traitor. Husband, have I ever once done anything to impede the Crown or Lannister forces in achieving their goals?"

"No My Lady," Tywin answered, smirking at her insolence towards Cersei.

Sansa looked pensive and spoke almost as if she were having a conversation with herself. Genna was laughing softly, and even Lady Brienne had a look of awe on her face. No one had dared stand up to the Queen Regent in such away.

"Hmmm, so I am not a whore. Nor am I a traitor. What else have I been called? Oh, I know." She turned to Tywin then, before shooting Cersei a look, "Husband tell me, am I too low born for you?"

Tywin smiled at her, loving her attitude in the face of his daughter's overwhelming hatred. "No, wife. Indeed you are descended from Kings, my love." Tywin let the endearment slip from his lips, knowing it would incense his daughter. He stroked Sansa's cheek, and said, "You have the blood of the first men of Westeros running through your veins, Sansa. And now so will our child."

Sansa smiled back at Tywin, letting Cersei see just how much she loved him.

"Have you ever doubted my love for you husband?" she asked softly, now lost in his eyes, Cersei momentarily forgotten.

"I have not, Lady Sansa," and he leaned over, pressed his lips softly to hers as she closed her eyes briefly.

When she opened them, a look of steely determination had settled over her. She saw that Cersei's face was contorted in rage and hatred.

"So if I am not a whore, not a traitor and not low born, _daughter_," Sansa sneered the word, "I can only conclude that you must be jealous. Or perhaps you are lonely and bored. It has been some years since you've had a husband to care for. I do find that my life became greatly enriched when I joined my husband's household."

Sansa paused as if she were considering something of great importance. "Perhaps that is the answer. We should find a suitable husband for you. I'd imagine you still have some childbearing years left in you. I know I've heard of women at your age still bearing children. I'm sure many northern houses are looking to repopulate after the wars. While it is true the North is cold; it is gorgeous. And I can assure you, Your Grace, the North remembers."

Cersei's face paled, and she shot a hate-filled look to Sansa.

"You wouldn't dare," Cersei seethed.

Sansa just shrugged and gave the Queen Regent a smile full of promise. "Try me, _daughter_."

Tywin just stared at his wife, proud of her beyond all measure. He had dreaded the fallout of a visit from Cersei, but it seemed his lioness had sharpened her claws and was out for blood. He turned to look at his daughter, who was shaking in rage. Sansa had won this round. He stood up to stand behind his wife's chair, laying his hands over her shoulders, clearly indicating that they were united on this front. If Sansa wanted to marry Cersei to some northern barbarian and send her where it snowed ten months of the year, Tywin would make every effort to have her every last wish carried out. It was the least he could do after Cersei's cruel treatment of his wife.

"I believe your time at our table is done, Cersei. If you'd see yourself out, we were having a rather pleasant evening."

Insulted, outraged and furious, Cersei slammed her goblet down and pushed her chair back. "This isn't over," she said to those left in the room.

As soon as she was gone, the rest looked at each other, unsure of what to say. Once again, it was Lady Sansa who rescued the conversation, quipping lightly, "I sure hope we can remember this little scene. Tyrion will be most disappointed he missed it." Tywin and Genna laughed, and Brienne let out a small sigh of relief.

Jaime was lost in his thoughts. _Why did she have to ruin everything, _he wondered? _Surely, she had to know that if she had just accepted Sansa's place by their father's side that she would be part of this too. And why was Brienne looking at him in a playful manner?_

Supper broke up soon after the display by Cersei and Jaime assured everyone he would see Tommen to his chambers. Sansa apologized to Lady Brienne for the dramatics of the night, but her protector just waved her off, her mind preoccupied.

Sansa, for her part, was exhausted and she still had to tell Tywin all about what she had learned today. He followed her into the bedroom, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I'm sorry husband, but I am too tired to read tonight. Come to bed and hold me. I have much to tell you, but your child makes me weary."

Stripping down, Sansa attired herself as she usually did, naked except for her husband's robe. He came to her, divested of his doublet and boots, just a tunic and loose breeches and settled them against the massive headboard. Snuggled into his arms, Sansa traced her fingers over his chest as she told him first of Lady Margaery's relentless inquiries about Tyrion, and then about the story, Lady Brienne had shared about Jaime and how he went back for her.

Tywin looked down at her, doubt in his eyes. "You mean to tell me that the Rose of Highgarden, one of the fairest maidens in the seven kingdoms is smitten with my ill-made second son?" Sansa gasped and swatted at him.

"Tywin!" she scolded, pushing away from him. "Tyrion is much more than just his stature and his looks. He is kind and charming and intelligent and brave and loyal." Tywin jaw dropped as she described his son. Then he began to chuckle.

"What?" Sansa demanded.

"Can you imagine the look on that old witch's face when I propose a marriage between her precious granddaughter and Tyrion?" Tywin practically howled. "She'll be sure to run me through."

Sansa huffed, thinking her husband was much too harsh about Tyrion. He was an excellent catch, and he would make a fine husband. And she had seen how her friends had looked at each other. She knew they had feelings for one another.

"Well I for one of supportive of a marriage between the two of them. I think they would make a lovely couple. And you do need to send someone to Haarenhal to rebuild. They would be perfect," her tone haughty.

Knowing he had upset her with his laughter, Tywin pulled her closer. "No need to be upset with me wife. You have to admit; it would be the talk of the Kingdom for years if you could pull that one off."

Sansa worried her bottom lip. If Tywin had reacted like that to the idea of Margaery and Tyrion, what on earth would he say about Jaime and Brienne?

"What else, wife?" She turned her eyes towards him and made them look innocent. "Hmmm?"

He tugged lightly on a lock of her hair. Why she thought she could ever fool him was beyond his understanding. He knew all his wife's tells. "Out with your next bit of news. You've got something else on your mind."

She huffed, sometimes frustrated he knew her so well.

"It is just that I have seen the way that Lady Brienne looks at Jaime and I..." She couldn't even finish her sentence before Tywin was chuckling again.

She smacked him on the chest. "Oh stop Tywin." He pulled her hands up to his mouth and pressed kisses to her palm.

"Jaime hasn't been willing to be married in years Sansa; I doubt he is considering it now. He has enough that he is dealing with Cersei and the children. Leave him be," he finished gently.

Sansa huffed against his chest. "I only mean well, husband. I am happy in my marriage. I want that for my friends and my family."

He kissed her then, deeply, knowing she spoke truthfully. "I know, love, I know. But best give it some time."

Sansa snuggled deeper into her husband's embrace. He was warm and smelled like sandalwood and soap, and she felt safe and protected when he held her like this. So much so that she almost forgot her most important news. Eyes flying open she jolted up. Tywin gave her an amused look.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Lord Varys approached me this afternoon." Tywin's brow furrowed, instantly worried. He wondered if the Master of Whispers would lash out at Tywin's plans for Flea Bottom. 

"He said to tell me that Cersei sent a raven to Lord Baelish, inviting him to the Royal Wedding. And that he accepted."

Tywin absorbed the news. He wasn't shocked that his daughter was still plotting against him and Sansa, but he was disappointed. As for Littlefinger, he knew that with two of his brothels being shut down, the man would be unable to stay away from King's Landing. It was as Tywin had predicted when he'd set this plan in motion. 

"And why did the Master of Whispers tell you this, Sansa?" Tywin asked quietly.

She shrugged. "I don't trust him, you know as much. But he said as long as my intentions remained as they were, he would be loyal to me." Confusion marred her face. Then she shrugged again and settled back down against Tywin.

"I would have been surprised if Baelish hadn't made his way back here for the wedding," Sansa said sleepily.

"Hush now, wife," Tywin said, stroking her hair. The babe took so much out of her this early on, and she pushed herself so hard. It made sense that the Master of Whispers would approach his wife. Tywin knew the man was devoted to the ordinary people. Still, he didn't trust him at all, and only time would tell if his advice worth anything at all.

Still smirking about the idea of proposing marriage between Margaery and Tyrion, Tywin thought he might bring Sansa to that meeting with him. If anyone could convince Olenna Tyrell to give up her quest for a crown, it would be his wife.

_ Jaime and Brienne _

Jaime had spent time with just Tommen after dinner had ended, talking about training and battles and war. The boy was fascinated with all aspects of being a knight, and for once, Jaime delighted in having someone to share his tales with.

Walking through his father's apartments, he didn't see Tywin or Sansa, and he knew they had retired for the evening. He could hardly believe what Sansa had said to Cersei earlier in the evening. It was a bold move, but Jaime thought it was most likely one that had to be made. Almost no one was willing to stand up to his sister, and Cersei had pushed Sansa too far. He sighed heavily, knowing his sister would be in a foul mood for days.

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he hardly realized that Lady Brienne had been waiting for him in the hallway outside the Hands' apartments. She grabbed him and pinned him to the stone hallway, a look of fury and righteous anger crossing her face. Bewildered, he had no idea what had caused her to look that way.

She held him with an arm across his neck and his one good hand pinned by hers so even if he wanted to reach for a weapon he could not.

"Is it true?" she asked him, a look of disgusted outrage lining her features.

"Is what true?" he asked, honestly confused.

"Is he your son?" she hissed at him.

Horror and shamed filled Jaime's face until an arrogant smirk replaced it. He would not feel ashamed that Tommen was his son.

"How did you know?" he asked, cocking his head, curious about what had given away the secret.

She released her grip on him, and Jaime straightened out. She sent him a wary look. "There is a look you get on your face. When you want someone to do something for you. Tommen gets the same one."

Jaime smiled slightly at that. Brienne shook her head, unable to fully comprehend what she had learned.

"It's not just him is it?" she asked quietly.

Jaime shook his head, then he opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Brienne held up her hand. "I won't disclose what I've learned to anyone."

Jaime shut his mouth and cocked his head again.

"Why not?" he asked softly. "Information like this, well, it's very valuable. The right people would pay you dearly for it."

A look of pure outrage crossed her face. "Is that what you think of me, Ser Jaime? That after all, we've been through, what we've survived, what we are to one another, that I would sell you out?" she spat at him angrily.

"And what are we to each other, My Lady?" he asked her softly, longing to reach out and brush his hand against her cheek. Instead, he kept it by his side, unsure of himself and her reaction.

She blushed and cast her eyes downward. Then she brought her bright blue eyes back to his. "I thought we were friends, Jaime," she said quietly.

"Aye My Lady, we are friends." He laughed then, a bit bitterly. "I don't have many friends. Mayhap only you and Lady Sansa. And Tyrion."

"You're a good man, Ser Jaime," Brienne said, briskly, then she raised an eyebrow at him. "Even though you've made some questionable choices."

He smiled, ruefully at that. If that wasn't the understatement of the year, Jaime didn't know what was. Silence descended in the corridor. Jaime could see there were still questions on her mind.

"Out with it My Lady," he said tiredly.

"Are you two still..." Brienne blushed and let her question die off.

He shook his head.

"Was that your decision or hers?" Brienne asked, unsure where her boldness had come from.

"Mine. Hers. Maybe both." Jaime paused. "I know what she is. I know how horrible she is. But I've loved her my entire life Brienne, and I cannot just stop when I wish."

Brienne nodded aware that it was the first time he had addressed her by just her name. She understood exactly what it felt like to love someone you shouldn't. And part of her could respect that Jaime couldn't just fall out of love with her. Too many people were too fickle with their emotions in her opinion.

"I take my oath to Lady Sansa seriously Jaime. I will not hesitate to protect her. Against anyone who is a threat to her." Brienne pinned him with her eyes, willing him to see the truth in them.

He sighed, ragged and worn. "I know. And I would never ask you, or Jerrod or my father to sacrifice her safety for that of Cersei's." He paused and looked at Brienne. "She wasn't always a monster."

Brienne just gave him a sad sort of look.

"Tommen is a good boy, Jaime. He is eager to learn and trains hard. And he worships you. Does he know about you?" Brienne asked. Jaime shook his head. Silence reigned again.

"Thank you for being honest with me, Jaime. I will not let this information affect our friendship. I hope you'll do the same," Brienne said in that brisk way of speaking she had.

Jaime realized he found it quite adorable. She would never be a maiden that would be accused of chirping niceties to Lords to hear herself speak. Not for the first time, Jaime was exceedingly glad Lady Brienne had stayed in Kings Landing.

"I will do my best to live up to your high expectations of me, My Lady," he quirked an eyebrow at her and sent her one of his devastating smiles. He was delighted when she blushed.

"That is unnecessary — just be cautious Jaime. I do not like the look in the Queen Regent's eyes these days," Brienne said. Jaime nodded in full agreement. The display by Sansa tonight had been brilliant, but Jaime knew that Cersei could hold a grudge for months waiting to strike back at those who crossed her.

"I am glad you are here, Brienne. In Kings Landing and by Lady Sansa's side. She has become quite dear to my family, and knowing you are looking out for her makes me worry just a little bit less for her." Brienne nodded at Jaime, then turned to take her leave.

Jaime stayed in the corridor for some time after she had departed. Lady Brienne was such an odd woman, different from any he had met before. Shaking his head, he smiled slightly to himself, remembering the feeling he had when he made her blush. It had been a long time since Jaime Lannister had even attempted to make a woman blush. He wondered then if his father was right. Was it possible to love more than one woman in a lifetime? Humming slightly, happy he had no more secrets from Brienne, Jaime made his way back to his rooms, an odd feeling of hope and excitement filling a place where before only despair and loneliness had existed.


	14. Chapter 14

_ Tyrion _

Tyrion had left Kings Landing before on business for House Lannister, both times to go North, ironically, but never when his relationship with his father was so uncontentious. For the first time in his entire life, he had the blessing of his father, his goodwill and his high praise. It was a heady feeling for the dwarf.

The trip to Braavos was long, almost a month one way, but the task was critical; securing the Iron Bank so that no one else in the Seven Kingdoms could rely on their backing would almost single-handedly guarantee that the Lannisters retained power in Westeros. It would mean that Stannis couldn't raise funds for an army, and neither could Cersei. Bronn had been happy to get out of the capital, stating that he was becoming fat and lazy doing nothing more than drinking and whoring. Personally, Tyrion thought the man lived for a bit of bloodshed. The Red Cloaks he had chosen were ones who had known him for years and were loyal to a fault.

Tyrion had no compunction about visiting the House of Black and White to order the assassination of Daenerys Targaryen. Not after Jaime's horrific tale and the simple fact that if this dragon queen were ever to return to Westeros, Tyrion had no doubts that House Lannister would be a pile of ash. His family was finally in a position to build the dynasty his father had dreamed of for so long.

Tyrion knew the moment everything had changed for House Lannister. It was when his father had agreed to a marriage with Sansa Stark. Tyrion remembered the girl from his trip North. At that time, she had been infatuated with his golden nephew. How quickly things had changed. Tywin and Tyrion had discussed; briefly, the mistakes made by Cersei and Joffrey when they had been handed the reins of power after King Robert's untimely death. And Tyrion would never forget the horror he felt watching his nephew have Lady Sansa stripped and beaten in front of a full-court. To see his new mother now, you'd hardly believe she was the same woman. Sansa had not been treated kindly or well by his sister or her loathsome offspring.

It pained Tyrion to think of his sister and brother's children. He truly loved them. Even Joffrey, before he turned into the monster, he now was. Tommen and Myrcella were still sweet and loving and always treated their littlest uncle with respect. He sincerely hoped that Myrcella was enjoying Dorne. He had the Martell's guarantee that she would be treated like the princess she was, and Tyrion hoped that by getting her away from Cersei's toxic influence, she would have a happy life. After all, look at what marriage had done for Lady Sansa.

Tyrion chuckled to himself when he thought about the fact that Tywin had first commanded him to marry the northern princess. Seeing his father with his new wife, Tyrion couldn't imagine a more absurd concept. It was as if they were made for each other. Aunt Genna and Uncle Kevan had told him stories about his mother and his father. A greater love match had not been known in the Kingdom, and Tywin had fairly doted on his wife. Tyrion had trouble imagining his father that way. For his entire life, he had not been able to picture what a Tywin Lannister in love looked like. And now he could. It was clear to anyone who observed them that his father was deeply and wholly in love with Sansa.

It made Tyrion ache slightly for Shae. He had loved her; there were no doubts, but even he knew she wasn't a fit companion for a son of Tywin Lannister. Tyrion very rarely let his thoughts drift to his fondest hope, that a high-born lady would look past his stature and his physical appearance and see the person he was. He was truly happy for his father that Lady Sansa was pregnant, but if Tyrion were completely honest, he longed for that himself. A wife and a child. Someone who wasn't ashamed of him and someone that made his father proud.

Alone on a ship in the middle of the narrow sea, Tyrion let his thoughts drifted to one of Lady Sansa's dearest friends, Lady Margaery. It made him ill to think of her being subjected to his nephew's sick and twisted sexual appetites. Jaime had come to Tyrion's room the morning after he'd killed the three whores, distraught over what his son had done. While Tyrion knew it was terrible, especially as they all had red hair, all he could think about was Lady Margaery's pale and perfect skin, marred by knife wounds and welts. He hadn't missed how she spent time with him each afternoon in the gardens when he arrived after the small council meetings had ended, or how she always made sure to ask his opinion about the latest court gossip. And on the trip to the orphanage, she had hardly spoken to Sansa at all. Instead, she had stayed by his side the entire time. He liked that at age twenty-two, she was willing to speak her mind and seemed to know what she wanted.

The day before he left for Braavos, he had run into her in the hallway and had but a moment to tell her he'd be gone for some time. He thought he saw a look of distress and sadness cross her face, but he said to himself it couldn't possibly be for him. He told her not to worry, that he was too small and slick to be killed easily. She had stunned him when she leaned down and kissed him. Not on the cheek, not on the forehead. No, she pressed her lips quickly against his and whispered, hurry back, I will miss you. Then she rose and took her leave, and he was left standing there in stunned disbelief. No one missed him. No one wanted him to hurry back. Well, he admitted, maybe Lady Sansa; they had a real and sincere friendship.

What did the kiss mean? He knew that the Tyrell's had been jockeying for a piece of the throne since Lady Margaery had grown into the beauty she was. Was she willing to give that up now that her wedding was only months away? And for him? It was a ridiculous notion, but it sustained him as he travelled. After all, Tyrion was a fool who believed in love, despite how unbelievably unlucky he had been in it.

Arriving in Braavos, Tyrion wasted no time, first meeting with Tycho Nestoris, a representative from the Iron Bank. He had a repayment schedule for the Iron Bank from the Crown, and Nestoris gave him an enigmatic look. "The Iron Bank is happy to receive payment from the Crown, and looks forward to a continued prosperous relationship with House Baratheon and House Lannister." Tyrion nodded, then cocked his head.

"Tywin Lannister would like me to remind you that peace in the realm is much more prosperous than war. And that peace, supported by House Lannister, would result in continued payments as discussed. We trust this will be considered if any other Houses approached the Iron Bank for financing to purchase an army. An army that could not possibly win against House Lannister and their allies. As we all know; dead men make no payments."

Nestoris nodded. "The Iron Bank has no wish to finance unwinnable wars as long as the repayment schedule is upheld. We were pleased to hear that the Great Lion has brought peace to the realm. His new marriage is most advantageous, uniting the North and the South."

"Indeed, it is. But we all know there are still those who look to usurp the Lion's place in Kings Landing," Tyrion said shortly, wondering if Stannis would travel this way. Pinning the tricky banker with a look, he said, "The only ones who are trustworthy from House Lannister are me, my father and Kevan Lannister. All others seek to unseat the Warden of the West. Am I clear?" Tyrion had a real fear that Cersei would try to use the Lannister name to seek funding against their house. It helped that their father was attempting to infiltrate Varys and Littlefinger's networks in Flea Bottom and would perhaps give them an advantage. 

Nestoris nodded again. His first meeting concluded, Tyrion and Bronn spent the evening getting drunk in a local pub. Ever since Shae, coupled with the incident at the orphanage, Tyrion had been reluctant to dally with a whore. To which Bronn teased him endlessly. Deep in his cups, all Tyrion could see was Lady Margaery's worried face. And feel her soft lips on his. Shaking himself, he dragged himself away from the establishment. He knew that his most daunting task lay before him tomorrow, and the last thing he needed was a heavy head.

Upon waking the next morning, Tyrion felt renewed. Once he met with the House of Black and White, he would be free to return home. He hoped the tides were swifter, as he was desperate to get back to his family, which was a uniquely odd feeling after avoiding them for so many years.

Tyrion had read all he could about the famous assassins. He knew he'd would have to go inside alone; after crossing a small island, they reached the headquarters. He had Bronn row him there, and left his sellsword alone in the boat. Approaching the vast temple, Tyrion saw the entrance; a door that was half ebony and half pale wierwood. A shiver ran down his spine.

Entering the atrium, the dwarf was awestruck by the statues of death that lined the hall. He realized that they were all gods that represented death and the unknown from across both Westeros and Essos. Sitting at the base of one statue, Tyrion waited. And waited. And waited. He was just about to give up and come back the next day when he heard soft footfalls. Approaching him was a man, so nondescript that had Tyrion been asked for a description he would be hard-pressed to give one.

The man came to stand in front of Tyrion and asked a straightforward question. "What name?"

Tyrion swallowed hard, worried that he would be struck down when he spoke. But his father trusted him with this task, and he wouldn't fail now. "Daenerys Targaryen."

"Payment?"

Tyrion nodded, indicating a piece of parchment. On it was the account for the coin that was held at the Iron Bank. It was an astronomical price. Tyrion had heard that sometimes the cost of hiring the faceless men was half of everything you owned. They weren't quite paying that price, but it was an extraordinary amount of money. Still, Tyrion supposed that trying to fight a war against three grown dragons and an army of unsullied would cost more. Perhaps even their lives. They could always raise more money; they couldn't come back from the dead.

In the end, the Lannister's knew that the Targaryen girl needed to be eliminated. With peace restored to the realm, the Crown was in a much better financial position and coupled with the gold and silver mines of Casterly Rock; the lions could afford to pay the price for her elimination.

"This concludes our business." The man turned and faded away, but not before pressing a coin into his hand.

Tyrion looked and saw the words _Valar morghulis_ stamped in High Valyrian on it. Shrugging, he pocketed it and turned and left the atrium of death. He emerged to sunshine and saw Bronn waiting by the boat. Happy his business was concluded, Tyrion was now anxious to secure passage back to Kings Landing.

Arriving back from the island, he found a rookery and sent his father a raven. Then, before he could question himself, he sent a second one — this time to Lady Margaery. With my tasks concluded, I sail for home. I trust you are well. I must confess I have spent too many moments thinking about our last encounter. The beauty of Braavos does not compare to yours. Your smallest champion. He left it unsigned, knowing she would figure it was from him. Calling himself ten times the fool, he sent it before he could doubt himself. Or her. Then he went to find Bronn and depart for home, where, quite possibly and against all the odds, more than he had ever thought possible for himself, awaited him.

_ Winterfell _

Arya and Robb stopped their army when they crested the last hill that overlooked their home. It had taken a hard months ride from the Twins to reach this point. It was a grey and bleak day, a cold wind howling and a wet hail pelted down on them. Matching grins plastered their faces. Both, for their own very different reasons, had never thought to see Winterfell again.

Sandor and Jeyne were less enthused. Both were from the Westerlands, and the further North they had pushed, the colder and harsher the climate seemed. Still, for Jeyne Stark, her husband was ecstatic to be so close to home, and his enthusiasm had rubbed off on her. Both her and Sandor had been the recipients of northern clothing, with some in party donating furs and warmer dresses and breeches to them. Arya assured Sandor when they reached Winterfell she'd command whatever seamstress she could find to make him a cloak like her father and brothers.

As they approached the magnificent castle, they could see almost no life there. They had heard it was nothing but a burnt ruin, but walls and towers remained. A few banners hung raggedly from the walls, flying the sigil of House Bolton and the flayed man. Robb seethed anew at Roose Bolton and his betrayal. Travelling north he'd heard the tales of horror emanating from the Dreadfort and that Bolton's bastard Ramsey was the one who had sacked Winterfell after Theon's betrayal. He had rounded up the remaining members of Winterfell and taken them back to his keep.

As Robb and Arya Stark had travelled North on the Kingsroad, peasants and commoners alike flocked to them, ecstatic to see that the Starks were back. As they went closer to Winterfell, their retinue grew. Robb had sent word throughout the North that builders and masons, smiths and bakers would be needed to rebuild and repopulate the great castle. Winterfell would never again be left defenceless and without a Stark within its walls.

For Robb, being back in the North settled into his bones like the warmth from a dip in the family's hot springs. He knew instinctively that this was his place. It had always been his place, and something monumental would have to happen to make him leave again.

Riding through the south gate, Robb spied a few brave souls that had returned to the burnt keep. Elders from when he was a boy, and a few too young to be of any use to Ramsey Bolton had remained behind. Spying Robb Stark they fell to their knees, grateful their rightful lord had returned.

Arya and Robb made quick work of scouting the castle. The central damage done was to the Great Hall where the ceiling had collapsed as well as one whole side of the First Keep. The Glass Gardens had been smashed, and the library was a mess, with a steaming lake having formed at the bottom of it. The Maester's Turret and the bridge connecting the Bell Tower to the rookery were also destroyed. Overall, it could have been worse. Not discouraged, Robb looked around, slightly awed he was home again.

Work had begun immediately on the restoration, and as word spread more and more men showed up. Lords of the North loyal to Robb Stark had taken their leave one by one until the last one remaining was Greatjon Umber. He had been the first to pledge his loyalty to Robb and had named him King of the North. Robb was happy to see the man and his sons able to return to their home at Last Hearth.

Clasping his arm, Robb thanked the man for his loyal service.

"You still have that fucker Ramsey Bolton to deal with," the Greatjon counselled Robb.

"Aye, I do. But first I need to make sure Winterfell is restored. Then I will ensure that no house in the North questions my authority. Can I count of you to ride with me when we go to the Dreadfort

Greatjon? Or have you lost your taste for war?" Robb said grinning.

Cuffing the boy across his head, Greatjon snorted. "Who else will see that you don't end up with a sword in your back?"

"Send a raven when you arrive. Tell me what they are saying at Last Hearth. As hard as it is to hear, I need to know what people suffered while I was away," Robb said seriously.

"Aye, I'll do that boy," the Greatjon said, proud of the man and leader Robb Stark had become. Then he gestured to The Hound.

"Are you sure about keeping him with you, Lord Stark?"

Many of the Northmen still hadn't warmed to the southern man. Robb looked at Sandor Clegane who had kept his word, training and sparring with Arya daily as well as scouting with his men. Since arriving back at Winterfell, the man had been relentless in shoring up their defences and rebuilding the keep.

"I am sure, Umber. I'm thinking of making him my Master at Arms to tell you the truth. I've hardly another fighter worth his calibre here, even amongst those that remain from my father's men."

The Greatjon snorted, then looked at Robb. "You're serious?" he said, slightly incredulous.

"He didn't just save Arya; he also saved Sansa. In Kings Landing. I have a raven from my sister telling me all the good he did for her there. Without him, I shudder to think the fate that would have befallen my sisters," Robb turned from looking at the Hound and met the Greatjon's eyes.

"I trust him. With my sister's life. And I hope you will too." The Lord from Last Hearth nodded at that. He knew that it was common knowledge the Hound had saved Arya, but he wasn't aware of what he'd done for Lady Sansa.

"Alright, King of the North," he conceded then swung up onto his massive mount. "I'll send word when I have arrived home. Be wary, Robb Stark. I've heard enough rumours about Bolton's bastard to make my blood run cold. Never hesitate to trust your instincts. You're young, but you've proven yourself a worthy King, My Lord." With that, the large man kicked his horse, called to his men, and turned to ride north. Robb watched them ride until they were but specks on the horizon, then turned back to the work of restoring Winterfell.

* * *

Almost a fortnight after the Umbers had departed, Arya, Robb, Jeyne and Sandor were seated in the newly restored family solar when a young boy burst into the room.

"A raven, My Lord," he huffed and handed it off to Robb. Confused at what could be so urgent, and dread curling in his stomach that he was to receive bad news from one of his bannermen, Robb reluctantly took the parchment. What he read had him shaking his head, and tears filled his eyes. Choked with emotion, he couldn't respond.

"What is it, Robb? Is it Sansa? Mother? Did something happen?" Arya demanded worry etched on her face.

"It's about Rickon, Arya," he said, still in disbelief. "And Bran. They're alive." Then happiness overcame him and swooped up and grabbed Arya, swinging her around the room. "They're alive Arya! Our brothers! Alive!"

"How?" she asked bewildered.

"When the Greatjon arrived home he found Rickon had taken shelter at Last Hearth with a wilding woman named Osha. Bran sent him there. They had survived both Theon's and Ramsey's attacks," Robb explained, waving the raven high above his head. Then he frowned. "Although Bran isn't with Rickon. Apparently, all he said was he had work to do beyond the wall. I must write to Jon immediately. And Sansa. Sansa must know as well."

Arya stood there, stunned. She had honestly thought they were dead. Her two littlest brothers were alive. It seemed like her family was almost whole again.

Robb had almost left the room, eager to send his ravens when he turned back to Sandor.

"Can you ride to Last Hearth and escort Rickon home? I trust no one else, and with Ramsey on the loose, I will take no chances with my family."

Sandor swallowed hard and nodded. It was an honour to be asked, and the King humbled him in the North's trust in him.

"And when you return, Clegane, we must discuss your new position here."

Sandor shot Arya a look as if to say, what the fuck do you know about this? But she shrugged her shoulders. Before he left, she gave him the cloak she had made for him. It was like the ones her father and brothers wore, and she'd even made sure that the leather straps that crossed his chest were stamped with the Stark sigil. Robb's wife Jeyne had worked on it tirelessly since her arrival back at Winterfell, and Robb clasped him on the back, declaring him to be a true North man now that he looked the part. Their efforts deeply touched Sandor.

Sandor departed at first light, taking a complement of twelve northern knights with him to retrieve Rickon Stark from Last Hearth. The men he chose were hard men like him, ones he'd trained beside and rebuilt Winterfell with. They were men that he believed had mostly come to accept him. He could feel the buzz surround them. Another Stark had been found. These were proud people, and seeing the Starks scattered across the seven kingdoms had been hard for them.

As they rode North, Sandor thought about each of the Stark siblings. Robb was entirely at home being back in Winterfell, the true King of the North. His giant wolf was never far from his side, and his pretty wife had adapted well, especially when she had discovered the hot springs that flowed underneath the Castle. Sandor had to admit; they had been a relief on the days his muscles ached.

Arya was less restless as well, devoted to helping and training, although Sandor wondered about her. He thought the little wolf had itchy feet, and sometimes he caught her muttering under her breath, names that she had said were on her list. No matter that her siblings were alive and she had returned home, the little wolf had a taste for vengeance. It remained to be seen if she would follow through on her quest.

Robb had sent immediate word to Sansa and Tywin when they had arrived at Winterfell, letting his sister know that they had made it back to the castle and that the damage wasn't as bad as they had first suspected. Sansa had replied, sharing news of Kings Landing and her pregnancy. Spending time in Winterfell, Sandor tried to picture the little bird there. It had been here where he'd first seen her, all those years ago. But in his mind, she was a southern lady, and now she would birth the next generation of Lions. He hoped she was happy in her marriage, or at the very least that the old lion had thawed a little bit when it came to his pretty young wife. She deserved that.

They reached Last Hearth two weeks after departing from Winterfell. They received a warm welcome from the Greatjon and his family, with hearty food and warms beds. But it was the young prince that interested Sandor the most. He and his giant direwolf as well as the wilding woman that had kept him safe. This one looked like Arya, and Sandor suspected he was slightly feral. Sandor grunted at the thought of Robb Stark trying to contain the two of them in the walls of Winterfell.

For some odd reason, of all the men sent to escort him home, Rickon had latched on to the Hound. Shaggydog had growled and snapped at almost everyone else, but had only barely given Sandor a sniff, seeming to accept him immediately, which meant that Rickon accepted Sandor immediately.

Two days after arriving at Last Hearth the party departed back to Winterfell. The boy was a competent rider, but Sandor kept him close to him. The last thing he needed was for something to happen on their way back to Winterfell.

It was halfway through their journey when trouble found them. A group of rough-looking men had appeared at the top of a hill, blocking their path. He sighed and looked to the men that accompanied him. They flew the Stark sigil, and by now, everyone in the North knew who was back in charge. Sandor knew they wouldn't escape this encounter without blood being shed. He spoke low and fast to two of his most trusted comrades, "No matter what, we protect Lord Stark." They swallowed hard and put their hands on the pommels of their swords. Sandor had never been more grateful for Stranger than he was right now. He knew his warhorse was an advantage that few others had.

The group, twenty in number, approached, and Sandor saw the banner of the flayed man.

"Boltons," someone hissed, and they all understood that these had been the men that Roose had left behind.

"That's him," Rickon said quietly. Sandor swung his head back to the boy. "Who?" he asked the Rickon urgently.

"The one who attacked Winterfell and took Theon," Rickon said, pointing to a smaller man with dark shaggy hair and a prominent brow.

"Bolton's bastard, Lord Clegane. Ramsey, I believe he's called," one of his men informed him.

"If we can, he comes back with us alive," Sandor growled out, knowing Robb Stark would want to be the one who swung the sword.

Bolton's group approached, and though they were outnumbered two to one, Sandor liked his chances.

"And just who do we have here?" the one called Ramsey called out.

"Sandor Clegane, sworn shield to House Stark, King of the North," Sandor replied calmly. He knew that he and Stranger alone could even the odds, and it had been too long since his sword had tasted blood.

Ramsey smiled, and Sandor saw madness in his eyes.

"Haven't you heard? There are no Starks in the North. They went south."

Sandor grunted. He wouldn't get into a debate about politics with this mad fucker. Then the one they called Ramsey spoke again. "Well, I guess that's not entirely true. It seems there is one Stark left in the North." He pointed to Rickon, and his smile sent a chill down everyone's spine. "Hand him over, and we'll let you live."

Sandor grunted again. There was no way he'd let any of these men live, not after the way this Bolton bastard made his skin crawl.

No one knew who moved first, but suddenly the air was filled with screams, and blood and death. Stranger and Sandor were a fearsome sight to behold, and the warhorse played his part well. Rickon's massive direwolf also lent his fangs and jaws, a black, snarling mass of fur and muscle willing to defend his master to the death.

In the end, the ground was littered with blood, gore and dead Boltons. Only two of the Stark men were killed, while several more sported various wounds.

Of the twenty Bolton men that attacked, only one remained alive- Ramsey. Sandor had him trussed up and gagged. Knowing they had wounded men and that Robb Stark would be anxious to have his brother back in his possession, Sandor pushed the men and horses to a near breakneck pace, and five days later they rode through the North gate of Winterfell.

Arya and Robb and Grey Wind were there to greet Rickon and Shaggydog, all smiles and tears. Rickon was in awe of Sandor and quickly spilled what had happened on their journey home. Robb and Arya approached him and saw his prisoner.

"I figured you'd want to do the honours, Lord Stark," Sandor grunted, and a fierce and feral look came into Robb's eyes.

"I do," Robb said, more than willing to swing his father's steel to deliver justice for House Stark by taking this traitor's head.

"He's a mad fucking cunt," Sandor said, shoving Ramsey to the ground. "Don't fucking trust him."

"Clegane," Robb said, clutching at the man's arm and drawing him forward. "Your loyalty and service to House Stark will not go unrewarded."

It was an odd feeling for a man like Sandor Clegane to have earned the respect of these honest and noble north men. The more he interacted with them, the more he was drawn to them. And it was a funny feeling to realize he'd delivered two of the five Stark children back to safety. Sandor spent enough time talking with Rickon on the way back to Winterfell to know that the other one, the one with the legs that didn't work had headed for the Wall. Sandor drew the line at venturing that far North. He'd let Robb Stark write his bastard brother Jon Snow at the Wall for any information on Bran Stark. For now, he'd played his part in strengthening the North and reuniting the Stark family.

_ Kings Landing- In the two months that Tyrion has been gone _

Tywin would never admit it, but he worried about his second son. Not about his mission and not about whether he would be successful, but about Tyrion himself. It was an odd feeling. When Tywin received a raven a month after Tyrion had departed stating that his business had concluded and he was on his way back, he felt a sense of relief. He had yet to approach Lady Olenna Tyrell to discuss alternative marriage alliances. He finally had to agree with his wife that it was quite possible marriage between his second son and the Rose of Highgarden would be desired by the lady herself.

It happened one afternoon when Tywin had made a point of attending Sansa's garden court and was fairly accosted by the Lady Margaery about Tyrion. The lady demanded to know where he was, how he was doing and exactly when he was due back. Taken aback, Tywin stood there gaping at her. Then he looked closer and saw genuine worry and concern on her face for his son. He shot a look to his wife, who just raised an elegant eyebrow as if to say I told you so.

"My Lady, I just received word that he is on his way back. I take it you have been concerned for him?" Tywin asked Lady Margaery. She blushed and fumbled, stumbling over her words.

"He is a dear friend, Lord Hand, and I know how close he and Lady Sansa are," she deflected.

"Hmmm," Tywin said. "And how are the preparations coming for your wedding, Lady Margaery?" he asked, curious to see the young woman's reaction. Quickly, almost too fast to catch, Tywin saw the fear cross her face before a serene smile settled on her lips.

"Well, Lord Hand, thank you for asking," then she curtseyed low to him and took her leave.

Tywin made his way over to Sansa, taking the unoccupied seat next to hers. She leaned into her husband, happy to see him, and he grazed her forehead with his lips and let his hand settle on her stomach.

This past month had been like a dream. Cersei had yet to retaliate against either her or Tywin after the dinner that she had shown up to uninvited. Sansa tried not to worry about it, but she had asked Jerrod about the possibility of Cersei being able to enter the Hand's apartments on her own whenever she pleased. He assured her that all guards had been told that she was not to enter the Tower of the Hand's rooms without the express permission of Tywin himself. That made Sansa feel slightly better. Still, she knew Cersei was plotting.

Sansa was less tired each day, although the baby still made her feel ill most mornings. Being so slim, she already felt some of her gowns getting a bit tighter, and she knew before long she'd have to commission new ones.

Leaning down to Sansa, Tywin drew his lips to her ear and whispered, "I must concede, My Lady. It seems you might be right."

Smiling brightly, she turned to him and brushed her hands against his whiskers, unconcerned who might see her. Everyone at court knew how much they were in love, and word had quickly spread about her pregnancy. High-born and commoners alike were excited about the new lion that was on its way.

"What am I right about husband?" Sansa asked, feeling her blood heat. It was always this way when Tywin was near her, and lately, she had been nearly as insatiable as him in the bedroom.

"Lady Margaery and her affections," Tywin answered, a puzzled look on his face. "It is baffling."

Sansa sighed at her husband. As much as he'd come to trust and appreciate Tyrion, he still had trouble seeing the dwarf's worth. And his appeal. Sansa knew what it was like to be engaged to a monster. She knew what Margaery was feeling, and she knew that fear. She also knew that someone like Tyrion would worship the ground that her friend walked on. He made her laugh and smile, and he always sought out her opinion. All things that Margaery had come to value.

"I know, my lion. I truly believe that she wants to marry Tyrion," Sansa murmured to him.

"We shall wait until he's back and discuss it then," Tywin said, unwilling to commit to a marriage without Tyrion's consent even if it was the best possible solution for House Lannister. He had destroyed Tyrion's first marriage. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

"How are you feeling today, Sansa?" Tywin asked, stroking his hand over Sansa's still slim stomach. He worried about his wife continuously these days and loved her more and more.

"Good, although I still tire easily. I'm thinking of adding a nap to my daily schedule," then she wrinkled her nose at that thought and sighed. "But how lazy is that?" Tywin smiled at his wife and the fact that she could even worry about such a thing. Sansa was a product of her northern upbringing, and Tywin learned had that she had a work ethic that matched his, which had been a lovely surprise.

She attended small council meetings, held court in the gardens and was planning her new refuges in Flea Bottom and had been very successful as she worked each day with Ser Marbrand, Genna and Margaery to make her dreams into reality. 

She also ran his household, took care of Tommen, saw to any extra correspondence that he was too busy to respond too, and helped Lady Margaery with her wedding.

And, to Tywin's complete shock and amazement, he had discovered by accident one evening that Sansa had also taken it upon herself to begin making clothes for the baby.

He found her in their solar one evening with her needle and thread working on a tiny piece for their child. When he'd gently suggested, he had more than enough money for her to commission any number of pieces for the baby, she looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. Wondering if his wife was as accomplished a seamstress as she was at everything else, he'd asked to see what she was working on. Happy at his interest, she brought the tiny garment to him, where, to his amazement, he discovered she was extremely talented. She had embroidered little lions around the edge of the baby's gown, and Tywin recognized the pattern from one of his doublet's. She must have copied it from memory, though his brilliant and talented wife had added one extra feature, a tiny grey wolf.

He knew that she and Genna sewed when they were in the gardens and when he'd asked her about it she had indicated they made simple things for the orphanages like blankets and clothing for donations. Nothing in her response had indicated the level of talent and skill in the piece she had just shown him.

"Why have you never made anything like this since we've been married?" he asked her quietly, genuinely curious and slightly baffled. She had returned to her seat and started stitching again.

She shrugged and then blushed. "At first, when I was alone in Kings Landing, I didn't have access to any material for new gowns. Then you commissioned such beautiful pieces for me. I didn't want to seem ungrateful. And once we were married, well, you'd been alone for so long that you had your steward take care of your needs."

She shrugged again and looked at him shyly. "I always assumed when I got married that I would be responsible for making most of my husband's clothes, the way my mother did. But you already had someone to do that, and I didn't want to upset either him or you."

Tywin was stunned. Sansa wanted to make his clothing? He couldn't remember the last time someone had made him something that hadn't been purchased with his coin. Everything he owned he'd had commissioned from the best clothes makers in Kings Landing and Lannisport. But the thought that his wife, whom he'd learned was as good, if not a better seamstress than almost anyone in the realm, wanted to make him things, sent a flood of affection through his body for her.

Realizing he hadn't responded to her, Sansa continued, "I didn't want you to think that I was too..." she searched for the word, "simple by offering to make your clothing. Or that I was insulting you by insinuating that you couldn't afford to dress us in the best." She blushed slightly at the end.

Tywin swallowed hard, not for the first time wondering what god had smiled upon him when they brought this woman into his life. When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "Sansa come here, please love," he said. She put down her needle and thread and walked over to him and settled on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and just inhaled her scent and her warmth.

"Do you want to make something for me, Sansa?" he asked quietly. She turned and smiled brightly at him.

"Oh yes, I had a couple of pieces in mind. That is if it is ok with you?" She worried she'd overstepped.

He brushed his hand down her cheek, cupping it lightly. "Yes, love, that is ok with me." He paused. He had more gold than anyone in the realm, more power than any one man ought too, and there sat his wife, working her needle and thread for their child and soon for him. Her love for him was boundless he was discovering.

She sunk into him then, content to be held by her husband. They were quiet; both lost in their thoughts until she felt Tywin's arms tighten around her. She felt him brush his lips along her forehead, and then he said gently, "You continue to amaze me, Sansa." She felt her heart thump and her blood heat.

"Take me to bed, Tywin. I need to be close with you," Sansa purred, turning and brushing her lips against his, deepening the kiss, letting the heat and the passion build in them. Tywin moaned against her, so overcome with this woman who was as vital to him as air. She was everything he needed in a wife; loyal, passionate, ruthless, cunning, smart, generous, kind and loving.

Picking her up, he carried her through their apartments to their bed and gently stood her up. Sansa reached up to begin to undress, and he brushed away her hands.

"Let me, Sansa." Tywin needed to worship her, to show her how deeply he loved her. Each movement of his was slow and deliberate, designed to draw out her pleasure and his. He stroked and patted and kissed her, lingered over her flesh and feasted on her scent. He sunk into her, holding her gaze, lost in her beauty, as he moved, slow and languid, determined to have her for as long as he could. He drew her peak out, so that she was awash in pleasure, floating on nothing but sensation and surrounded by him. When he finally allowed his control to recede, he finished deep inside her and kept them close together for as long as he possibly could. Stunning blue eyes met his emerald green ones, and they were lost in each other, grateful beyond measure that they had found each other.

* * *

In the two months that Tyrion had been gone, something had also happened between Jaime and Brienne, although neither would say anything. Sansa knew their relationship had changed just by watching them. They were more comfortable with each other, and they always seemed to be japing. Brienne often joined their household for dinner in the evenings, and Jaime teased her relentlessly. The man had a single-minded focus on her sworn shield, and if Sansa hadn't known any better, you would think the three of them, Tommen, Lady Brienne and Jaime were a family with how familiar and happy they were with each other. Tywin wouldn't concede that Jaime might be willing to consider marriage finally, but one night when Sansa was tucked in his arms, he did mention something about her uncanny ability to make Lannister men come to heel. She giggled at him and felt his chest rumble in delight.

Tommen had flourished under Sansa and Genna's care. He spent each day training with Brienne and Jaime and occasionally Tywin, and Sansa had promised that she would soon watch him. Sansa also found out that he had no interest in ruling or power or the Iron Throne. It was a casual conversation, but he was quite adamant. Tommen wanted to be a knight, to join his Uncle on the battlefield and to lead Lannister forces.

Three ravens also arrived in Kings Landing before the wedding that had a profound impact on Sansa's life. The first was from her brother, and Tywin delighted in delivering it to her after they had their noonday meal.

"From Winterfell, My Lady," Tywin said, a smile on his face when he saw the joy light her eyes.

"They made it home?" she asked, overcome with happiness. She felt just a slight bit of homesickness.

"Indeed, they did, wife, and it seems the castle is in better shape than they had previously believed," Tywin stated.

It was good for his alliance that Robb Stark had retaken Winterfell. Tywin needed his northern partnership to be healthy and fortified. He had a feeling that Stannis Baratheon viewed it as a weak point in Westeros, and with Robb Stark back in charge at Winterfell, he hoped it would limit the Baratheon's options. At some point, Tywin knew he'd have to face the man again, but if Tyrion had the Iron Bank on their side, Stannis would be hard-pressed to find enough men to challenge the Lannister forces; let alone Lannister, Stark, Tully and Tyrell forces.

Sansa was ecstatic about the news of her home, happy that her siblings had made it back and delighted that the castle wasn't as severely destroyed as they had been led to believe. She was also pleasantly surprised to hear that Sandor Clegane had pledged himself to House Stark, or more specifically her little sister and that in Robb's words, the two of them made the strangest friends in all of Westeros. Robb was also happy to report that he'd ordered glass to replace that which had been smashed in Sansa's favourite place, the Glass Gardens. She knew that Robb hoped she would revisit Winterfell one day, and it touched her deeply that he was willing to spend the coin to rebuild a part of the castle she loved.

The second raven was from Tyrion. Only it wasn't Sansa that received it. Shortly after Lady Margaery had confronted Tywin in the garden, she arrived at her usual time but with happiness alighting her features that Sansa had not previously seen. She quickly made her way over to her friend and sat down beside her and leaned in to whisper, "He sent me a raven Sansa," and then quickly placed the parchment in Sansa's hand. Eyes wide, Sansa looked around and waited until they were alone. Then, and only then, she opened it and read Tyrion's words. Her heart melted. What was it about these lions? So fierce to everyone else, they were secretly prone to grand romantic gestures with the women that they loved.

Sansa looked up, only to see Margaery pin her with a fierce look. "You must help us, Sansa," and her friend gripped her hand tightly. Sansa nodded, knowing when she told Tywin, her husband would move mountains to ensure that Tyrion finally got what he deserved.

"I will do everything in my power to ensure you are happy Margaery. Let me ask you one question. Do you want to marry him?" Sansa looked at her friend, hoping her instincts were correct.

Margaery's eyes filled with tears, joy, happiness, fear and doubt all present. "More than anything, Sansa. Do you think he will have me?" she whispered.

Sansa brushed her lips across her friend's cheek and said softly back, "He's in love with you, my dear, of course, he will have you."

That night in their bedchambers, Sansa delighted in sharing the news with Tywin. He grunted at the boldness of his son, the risk he took in sending the King's betrothed a raven. But even Tywin had to concede it was a gesture fit for a prize that was Margaery Tyrell. Tywin smirked, unable to believe that of all his children, it would be the dwarf that was to make the match of his desires. He had to give his son credit for his sheer boldness when it came to winning the Rose of Highgarden's heart from under the King's nose.

Then Tywin pushed away all thoughts of his children, their lives and their problems as Sansa's delectable mouth had descended upon him. Moaning in delight, he watched as his wife sucked and stroked him. She took particular pleasure in making him peak around her pretty red lips, and Tywin was not a man built to deny her anything. Besides, she knew he'd repay her attentions tenfold once he got his turn.

The third raven delivered such unexpected and earth-shattering news that Tywin was especially glad he was present when Sansa received it. They had just finished supper when his steward delivered the parchment, and Tywin read it.

His family was deeply engaged in conversation with Kevan who had recently arrived back in the capital in time for the wedding. Indeed they were less than a week away from the event, and Kings Landing was fuller than it had ever been. Shocked at the news he'd just received, Tywin gently grabbed Sansa's hand and pulled her attention towards him. She looked at him questioningly, having been enjoying hearing Kevan's tales from the Riverlands. It seemed he had formed quite a bond with her Uncle Edmure.

Slightly annoyed, she asked a bit snappishly, "Whatever it is Tywin, I am sure it can wait."

He raised an eyebrow at her tone, but let it pass.

"Trust me, My Lady, when I tell you it cannot," he said with utter seriousness in his voice. That stopped her. She knew by his tone that the raven must contain critical information. She paled.

"What is it Tywin?" she asked, almost afraid, gripping his hand tighter. The entire table had quieted, realizing that something monumental was happening between the two.

"It's about your brother. Your youngest brother," Tywin clarified.

She swallowed hard. "Did Robb find his killer? Did he find Theon?" she asked, her eyes filled with hurt and anger and pain, tears barely held at bay.

Tywin reached out and stroked her cheek, "No love, they found him," he said softly. Her brows drew together in confusion. Then a horrified look came over her face.

"Oh gods, they found his body?" she whispered, silent tears tracking down her face. Tywin realized he'd made a mess of telling her.

"No Sansa, they found him. Rickon. Alive. At Last Hearth with one of your brother's loyal bannermen, the Umbers. He's back at Winterfell now, along with the traitor Ramsey Bolton."

Sansa sat still as a stone, pale and shaking. She looked Tywin directly in the eyes. "You are not japing with me, are you My Lord?"

"No love," then he handed her the parchment. She took it with the hand that wasn't gripping his as if her life depended on it. She read it quickly, understanding again that her family owed The Hound a debt for returning yet another Stark to the safety of Winterfell. Sansa was overcome with emotion, and Tywin rose quickly and gathered her up. Striding from the room, leaving the stunned faces of his family behind, he brought her to the privacy of their bedroom. She clung to him, heaving and crying, her emotions heightened due to the pregnancy.

"He's alive? Honestly?" she murmured against his chest as he held her to him. He was stroking her hair and trying to calm her down, worried about the stress she was putting herself through.

"Yes, Sansa, he's alive," Tywin told her.

"And what about Bran?" she thought suddenly, looking at her husband. Even though she'd read the raven, she hadn't taken the time to digest the words.

"Your brother writes that he was alive some time ago when he sent your youngest to Last Hearth. They don't, however, know where he currently is," Tywin told her in a soothing tone.

"But it's possible," she muttered, "possible he's alive as well." She looked at Tywin then, hope and joy crashing over her face. She kissed him soundly, then laughed. "My family is alive, Tywin."

While he was deeply happy for her, he worried that the pull of her Northern siblings would turn her bitter towards him. He'd watched as she'd flourished here in the south, loving and changing the Lannisters, making them better, making them stronger. He ruthlessly tried to push his absurd jealousy aside and prayed she didn't see it in his eyes, but he should have known better. She leaned into him, stroking her hands through his whiskers as she placed kisses along his jaw that had tightened.

"Husband. Do not doubt my feelings for you. I am overjoyed my siblings are alive. But you are my heart." She kissed his cheek. "My love." She kissed his lips. "My everything." She looked at him then, her blue eyes open and honest, "My place is always with you Tywin. No matter what. You are my family." She took his hand and pressed it to her tiny belly, placing hers over his. "This is my whole world Tywin," she said again and leaned in to kiss him back.

He growled at her and flipped them, so she was pinned beneath him. Running his hand down her cheek, he kissed at her neck, loving how she arched into him. "Thank you, wife," his voice rough with emotion.

It humbled him how she knew his wants and needs and was ever attentive to them. Emotion always heightened their passion for one another, and this time was no different. Tywin made quick work of their clothing, and soon had her naked and writhing beneath him. He needed to mark her with his passion, and he nipped and bit at her until she was a mass of desire, when he finally took pity on her and joined them together. She sobbed his name as she clung to him, her peak long and hard and drawn out while wringing him dry and she felt him empty himself into her. They lay silent, their eyes never leaving the others, as close as two people could be until sleep claimed them both.

_ Tyrell/Lannister Dinner _

Tyrion arrived back in Kings Landing a short two months after he had left. He came with little fanfare and no welcoming party, just as he had planned. He had told no one of his exact arrival date, knowing that lords and ladies from across the realm would have descended on the capital for the King's wedding. Tyrion could scarcely think about that abysmal event without threatening to drown his sorrows. His rage that the woman he had somehow, inexpiably fallen in love with was being forced to marry a monster drove him with a fierce desire to see to her safety. Tyrion's sole purpose now was to convince his father somehow to remove Joffrey before he could lay a single hand on the Rose from Highgarden.

As had been his custom prior to his leaving, Tyrion made his way to the Hand's apartments. He knew that both his father and Lady Sansa would be eager to see him and to be honest he'd missed them both, which was an odd feeling, missing his father and not fearing him. Tyrion knew he'd executed his orders to perfection, and there would be no fault to be found with his actions.

Instead of finding his family seated around his father's dining table, he came upon a mix of Tyrell's and Lannisters in what was clearly a pre-wedding event. Tyrion startled for only a moment before recovering, searching the room for Sansa or Tywin or Jaime. As fate would have it, his eyes immediately landed upon Lady Margaery herself. She had noticed him the moment he had entered the room and could not contain the joy that crossed her face once she spotted him. He met her eyes and saw the truth; she had missed him, and she was happy to see him. Anything else he couldn't read from this far away, but that alone was enough.

Dragging his eyes from hers, he then noticed his father and Sansa, talking with Olenna, Mace and Willas Tyrell. Tyrion couldn't help but take a moment to observe them. They emanated power, wealth, security and beauty. Sansa made Tywin less harsh, and in turn, the Great Lion elevated her from merely a beautiful noblewoman to a Queen. Not for the first time, Tyrion wondered when his father would make his move. The people of Westeros deserved to be ruled by the likes of Sansa and Tywin Lannister.

As if thinking such thoughts could conjure the monster himself, the tone of the room changed, and Tyrion heard Joffrey and Cersei enter from behind him.

Joffrey deliberately slammed into Tyrion, then loudly exclaimed, "Uncle, I didn't see you there!" and howled uproariously.

Letting the barb slide, Tyrion stood back and watched as Joffrey immediately approached his betrothed. Watching the boy walk Tyrion knew he was already several glasses deep into the wine, and he clenched his fists in a rage as he watched the King paw at Lady Margaery.

For her part, Margaery did her best to avoid the groping touches and sloppy kisses the King was intent on bestowing upon her, until his rage ignited and he exclaimed loudly, "Lady Margaery, no reason to play coy. We are amongst family and almost wed. Surely I'm entitled to take a few liberties with my wife. It is the prerogative of the King."

Sansa had immediately realized what was going on and rescued the scene from turning ugly by loudly announcing that dinner would be served and quickly ushered everyone to their seats. Which was when the next humiliation happened. Having told no one he was returning, a place had not been set for Tyrion. An oversite that Lady Sansa was apologizing profusely for.

Tyrion waved her off, stating, "My Lady think nothing of it. The fault is mine for not informing you of my arrival."

Joffrey was laughing loudly at this point, even though Tywin was incensed at his behaviour. "You're not even worthy of a place at the family table, Uncle. Look, even stupid Tommen and Lady Margaery's cripple brother are worthy of a spot. But not you."

Tyrion just swallowed. He knew that nothing that came out of his mouth was true, but to be mocked in such a way before Margaery was trying his last nerve. He was tired, hungry and travel weary. He'd wanted to talk with his father, hug Lady Sansa, receive praise for a job well done and then retire to his chambers with a nice flagon of wine and a comfy tunic where he planned to get drunk and sleep for a solid twelve hours.

"Enough," Tywin said lowly to the King, who pointed ignored his Uncle and continue to make snide remarks. Moments later servants had produced a chair, a setting and a spot for Tyrion. Right beside Lady Margaery. Sansa shot him a look and Tyrion didn't know whether to kiss her or kill her.

Tired beyond all measure, Tyrion for once let his mind drift. He didn't try to make witty or cutting remarks, and he contributed very little to the conversation that flowed around him. This is how he almost missed a whispered, "I am most happy to see you back, My Lord," that Lady Margaery slipped in between simpering and placating the King. He felt his heartbeat just a touch faster. So he hadn't made a complete fool of himself with that raven. Lost again in his thoughts, he almost missed it when the King decided to remark on Lady Sansa's pregnancy.

"I hear congratulations are in order, Grandmother. A new cub is on the way," Joffrey roared.

Sansa nodded her head, and said demurely, "Thank you, Your Grace." A cruel gleam came into his eyes.

"Tell us, are you worried that Grandfather has put another dwarf in his wife's belly?" Joffrey smirked. "After all, his last son came out half the size."

Tyrion felt his stomach drop at such a cruel jape and Tywin's face was a mask of rage. The Tyrells blanched, unable to believe that the King would make such a crass remark.

Sansa raised her eyes, fury and hatred pooled in them, but her voice was cold water. "Any child that I am lucky enough to be graced with will know only love and acceptance from us, Your Grace." She reached out and clutched Tywin's hand. "My son, while short in stature, is a brilliant and loyal man, and I am grateful for his friendship every day." Tyrion felt his eyes water at Sansa's public praise of him. And at her defence at the idea of birthing a dwarf.

"But he tore his mother apart! Surely you must be worried that birthing a monster such as that will murder you as well!" Joffrey smirked.

Sansa raised her chin and looked Joffrey in the eye. "A mother's love knows no boundaries, Your Grace. If the price for me to birth a child, any child, is my life, then it is a price freely given. Surely your own mother agrees, Your Grace. Our children are everything, aren't they, Queen Regent. I'm sure any mother who loves her child would willingly sacrifice themselves for their child's life."

Cersei smiled tightly, silently willing Joffrey to shut his mouth. She could see her father was visibly outraged, and if he struck her son down right now, she wouldn't be shocked. Lately, it had begun to feel like Joffrey was uncontrollable, willing to break any and all rules. She understood the threat Sansa had lobbed her way. Reaching out, she grasped Joffrey's hand, pulling his attention away from his Hand and his wife.

The rest of the dinner, thankfully, passed quickly and without incident. No one was in a mood to linger, and Tyrion could not be more grateful when it ended. Before he took his leave, he noticed Olenna approaching Tywin and saw a quick and curt nod from his father. He also saw Jaime angrily in the corner, berating Cersei for Joffrey's behaviour, as well as Margaery, latched onto her brother Willas in an attempt to avoid Joffrey's pawing. Suddenly Sansa was beside him, and she leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek.

"I'm so sorry," she said quickly. "If I had known you were joining us tonight I'd have been sure to set a place for you." Tyrion waved his hand. He knew she would have.

"My Lady, you are radiant. I must say pregnancy agrees with you. Can you please pass a message along to my father? I will be by in the morning with my report. I am exhausted, Lady Sansa and beg you to take my leave," Tyrion said.

Sansa looked at him and saw the tiredness etched on his face. "Of course, Tyrion. I will pass your message to Tywin. We will see you in the morning."

Tyrion made it back to his rooms, exhausted from his travel and having to deal with the endless taunts from the King. He'd kicked off his boots and had just poured himself a goblet of wine and settled into one of his favourite chairs when his door opened, and the slim figure of Margaery Tyrell slipped through. Closing the door quietly, she bolted the lock shut and turned to face him. Tyrion was stunned. He had seen the small smile she gave him when she first realized he was back, and though he'd heard her whispered words before the King made everyone's night hell, he had assumed they would catch up tomorrow in the garden after he'd met with his father and Sansa.

Before he could say anything, she walked over to him, and dropping to her knees, leaned into him and pressed her lips against his. Reacting on instinct, Tyrion kissed her back. She had been all he'd thought about, dreamed about, hoped about in the two months that he had been gone. He felt himself to be worse than a fool, thinking that a woman like her could possibly want someone like him. But it seemed he had been wrong.

Pulling back slightly, he set his wine on the table, and said, "What is this, My Lady?"

Margaery shrugged and then blushed. She tried to turn her head, but Tyrion reached out and held it firmly.

"Margaery," he said softly, "what do you want? I am known to be a brilliant man, but even I cannot read your mind."

She looked at him then, this half-man she had missed achingly for two months since he'd be gone. All her life, she had been groomed to be a Queen. And then she'd met him, and against all logic and reasoning, she had fallen in love with a man that might possibly be one of the ugliest in the Kingdom. Being a Queen suddenly mattered little when she met a man that would worship the ground she walked on. He made her laugh and smile, and his mind was brilliant. He wouldn't rape her, or beat her, or cheat on her.

If she married Joffrey, she'd be Queen of Westeros, and she'd treated worse than a dog. But if she married Tyrion Lannister, she'd be his queen every day of her life. There was no choice for her anymore. Not after she had watched Sansa and Tywin, not after she knew that highborn couples could be in love, she wanted more than a hollow crown and an endless life of humiliation. She had to be bold enough to take what she wanted.

Standing up, she pulled Tyrion with her to his bed. Once seated beside him, she began to unhook the buckles on his doublet.

"I got your raven," she began, pushing his doublet off of him. She smiled shyly and said softly, "I missed you too, Tyrion." His heart thumped harder.

She ran her hands over him, now wearing only a tunic and breeches, and met his eyes.

"My entire life, the only thing that I have been valued for is my breeding and my maidenhood." She laughed a bit bleakly. "Did you know that your sister and your nephew had me inspected." Tyrion's brow furrowed at the thought. "They wanted to make sure that Renly hadn't spoiled me." She scoffed a bit, for they both knew she wasn't Renly's type.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't want my first time to be with someone like Joffrey, Tyrion." He felt his heartbreak for her, and he brushed his hand down her beautiful face.

"I am a poor choice, My Lady, to take something so valuable. I'm afraid I will not be able to defend either you, or myself should Joffrey discover you here, and with me of all people," Tyrion said regrettably.

Margaery smiled then, realizing he had misunderstood her intentions.

"I don't want you just for one-night Tyrion," she smiled at him, and she saw the confusion on his face. She grinned wider than and boldly asked, "What do you feel for me, Tyrion?"

He swallowed hard. He had always been a fool, and now he was a fool in love with one of the most beautiful women in all the seven kingdoms.

"I'm a fool who is in love with a woman who should not even look his way," he said raggedly.

"Hush," she said and pressed her lips against his. "I love you too, Tyrion." His eyes grew wide at her words, and he clutched at her arms, holding her to him tightly.

"What are you saying, My Lady?" Tyrion whispered.

She brushed her lips along his ear, and whispered, "Join with me tonight, Tyrion and tomorrow we will convince our families that we need to be wed."

He jerked back, unsure he'd heard her correctly. He barked out a short laugh. "Do not jape with me, Margaery, I am tired from my long journey." She brought her hands to the sides of each of his head and looked directly in his eyes.

"Look at me and see if I am japing, My Lord," and she held his gaze.

Tyrion was a master at reading people, and all he saw in her eyes was truth and love.

"But why? I am ugly and ill-made, a monster to your perfection," he stated, genuinely baffled.

She shrugged. "Beauty is nothing if the inside is rotten. Joffrey has taught me that." Then she smiled, full and flirty, "Besides, I am beautiful enough for the both of us."

Tyrion laughed. Gods, he loved her. She was brash, bold, brilliant and apparently wanted to be his.

"If we do this, Margaery, if we marry, there is no turning back. I will never let you go. And I know not what I can offer you. I am a second son, set to inherit no castles, and I own no lands." He had never felt as inadequate as he did right now. "You must be sure, Margaery."

Margaery shrugged, genuinely unconcerned about money or castles. "Our families are two of the most powerful and wealthy in all the Kingdom, Tyrion. What I want is you." She knew her grandmother only wanted her to be happy. And that she would not force her to marry the King. Not after they had learned what type of man he indeed was.

There might have been a man in the Kingdom that would have been able to resist her, but Tyrion was not that man. He'd waited his entire life to have his father's respect and a wife and family of his own. He'd acquired the first, and now he appeared to be getting the second.

Running his hand down her perfect face, he said to her softly, "We will not lie together tonight, My Lady. We will go to our families in the morning. If we are to do this, we will do it properly. My entire life, I've only ever wanted my father's respect. I married once without his consent, and it ended in disaster. I need to seek his approval at least. And not because I have taken something that rightfully belongs to your husband. When I take your maidenhood, it will be because you belong to me."

Margaery's eyes filled with tears and her heart with happiness. She had been prepared to lose her maidenhood in order to force their families to see that marriage between them was the only option. But Tyrion was right. If they wanted a chance for this marriage to work, to be accepted by their Houses, they had to do it properly. Just knowing that he loved her enough to stand up to his father to demand her hand, made her heart swell.

She pressed a kiss to his lips and whispered again, "I love you, Tyrion."

He kissed her back, stroking her hair, "And I love you." Then he shrugged and said, "And if they say no, then I promise I will steal you away and fuck you all the way to Braavos, my love. Trust me; it is a long boat ride." She laughed then, tears of happiness filling her eyes.

Hopping off the bed, he pulled her towards his door. She leaned down and kissed him again, and she whispered, "Tomorrow."

He nodded and agreed. "Tomorrow."

Tyrion had just closed the door on Lady Margaery and tucked himself back into his chair when his door opened again. Half expecting to find the woman he loved again, he was a bit started to see his brother there — a brother who raised an eyebrow and quirked it at him.

"That wouldn't be the Rose of Highgarden, the King's betrothed that I just saw, flushed and happy stealing out of your chambers, now was it, brother?"

Tyrion blushed, used to Jaime's japing, but unsure how to express what had just happened. Jaime hummed and observed his little brother. His clothes were not eschewed, and he seemed weary, but not sated.

"If she were not here for that, then tell me, brother, what was she doing here?" Jaime asked, curious.

Tyrion sighed. Then took a hard look at Jaime. "Can I trust you, brother?" he asked, serious and sombre. Jaime immediately straightened. "With your life, brother. With my life." Tyrion nodded.

"For some strange reason, and against all the odds it seems that she loves me," Tyrion said softly to Jaime. " And I love her." Then he let out a small laugh and met Jaime's eyes.

Jaime startled just a bit at these revelations; then his face broke out into a wide grin. He walked over and hugged Tyrion, knowing how much family meant to his brother.

"I'm happy for you brother. And her." Then Jaime frowned. The obvious issue was the King. But Jaime knew after tonight's display there was no way Joffrey would be alive to see his wedding. The boy was unhinged, feral and mad; he needed to be removed from power. Jaime always had mixed feelings when it came to his son. Logic and the heart warred within Jaime Lannister when he thought of the fate that awaited Joffrey.

"You need to talk with Father, Tyrion," Jaime said with some urgency to his voice.

"We are going tomorrow, Jaime." Tyrion cocked his head. "Join us and help me convince Father."

"Of course," Jaime said, once again a smile gracing his handsome face. Then he noticed the weariness on Tyrion. "Rest now, brother. Tomorrow we will secure your future. And no worries, I think you will find that Father will be agreeable."

Tyrion shrugged. Too many years of hatred from Tywin had left him jaded. He had hoped, but he also had a backup plan. He was serious. If his father said no, he'd steal Lady Margaery away and make for Essos. He'd never again let the Old Lion stand between him and the woman he loved.

_ The Apartments of the Hand _

At the end of the dinner from hell, Olenna and Tywin traded glances. Although no words were exchanged, both knew that the matriarch of Highgarden would never allow her granddaughter to marry such a repugnant man, even if she were to become Queen. What was the point of becoming Queen if you'd be dead before your wedding night ended?

Olenna came to the Tower of the Hand the next morning and met Tywin and Sansa Lannister in their solar. She arched an eyebrow at the presence of the Great Lion's wife. He shrugged.

"I have no secrets from my wife, and truthfully I valued her opinion and her judgement in these matters," Tywin said swiftly, dispensing with the formalities.

Olenna eyed them both critically. They were a dynamic pair, and they radiated power and their excellent breeding. Olenna hoped to achieve more than one outcome from this meeting. By the time she was done this morning, Joffrey's murder would be plotted, a scapegoat selected, her precious granddaughter betrothed to another and the rightful King and Queen would finally be willing to take their place on the throne. Let it be said by no one that Olenna Tyrell did not ruthlessly take advantage of the opportunities presented to her.

"Let us speak plainly then," she began, "I believe that both of our houses have benefited from our recent alliance. An alliance that should have been made stronger through marriage." She paused and pinned Tywin with a look. "I will be blunt. Once your grandson's distasteful behaviour became known, I had no intention of letting my granddaughter marry him. Well, she could have married him, but they would never have made it past the wedding feast."

Then Lady Olenna produced an ugly piece of jewelry and laid it on the table.

"Tears of Lys," she said and pointed to the gemstones.

"How did you come by this?" Tywin asked tightly.

"Baelish," Olenna replied and then smiled smugly. "Odious little prick thinks he's outplayed me."

Tywin laughed then, and Olenna shrugged.

"Truthfully, he knows too much, and I believe another way must be found. This necklace is tainted in more than one way. If we could eliminate two problems at once, then all the better for us. He has too much power now as Lord Protector of the Vale even with you chipping away his base here in Flea Bottom, Tywin."

Tywin agreed. It was hard for him to trust his alliances, but he had no choice. He needed the Reach. And he still had the most laborious task in front of him, convincing Olenna Tyrell that her granddaughter should marry his dwarf son. He worried that she would only accept Tommen as a replacement for Joffrey.

"Baelish returned to Kings Landing a fortnight ago and was approached by Cersei. It seems that Joffrey has run afoul of most of the whoremongers in the city."

Her face soured, and Olenna quipped, "That seems to happen when you return the women beaten." Distasteful looks marred all their faces.

"Needless to say, Lord Baelish has graciously stepped in to fill that void. I believe it can be arranged that an accident could happen with one of his women, implicating Baelish in the murder of the King and eliminating Joffrey," Tywin said lowly.

Olenna nodded. The plan would require work, but it was doable. And with the number of people Littlefinger had double-crossed, she doubted there would even be a trial when he was accused of regicide.

"Which brings us to our next issue, Tywin. The marriage of my granddaughter. Not too many men would be willing to marry a woman who has survived the death of two kings. I fear for Margaery and what her prospects maybe after King Joffrey's death."

Sansa coughed slightly and then looked at the Highgarden matriarch. "Can I ask a blunt question, My Lady?"

Olenna snorted. "My dear, we've just plotted the assassination of the monarch. I daresay you can ask whatever question you would like."

Sansa blushed, and Olenna was once again taken by the genuine goodness of Tywin's wife. "Is it more important Lady Margaery marry someone you approve of? Or someone she loves?"

Olenna cocked her head. "Out with it girl. I know you two are thick as thieves. Who is it my granddaughter has in mind?"

A sudden commotion could be heard outside the solar, and moments later Lady Margaery, Lord Tyrion and Ser Jaime all burst into the salon.

Olenna, Tywin and Sansa took one look at them and noted that Margaery had her hand firmly clasped in Tyrion's, with Jaime looking ready to defend his brother to the death.

"What have you fools done?" Tywin barked out and watched the colour rise in Lady Margaery's face, while Tyrion's face tightened in determination.

"Father, Mother, Lady Olenna," Tyrion began, nervous as he'd ever been, but determined to do this correctly. "I have come to ask for Lady Margaery's hand in marriage." Expecting nothing but outrage, the three were stunned when Olenna, Tywin and Sansa all just smiled. Tywin then barked out a laugh.

Olenna tipped her head to Sansa, "Ahhh, now I see. Who am I to stand in the way of true love?" She sighed, then straightened up and looked at Tywin.

"What say you, Tywin? Do we allow these foolish children to join our Houses?" Olenna asked the Great Lion.

Tywin looked at his second son, the one whom he had despised and hated for most of his life. He knew he'd destroyed Tyrion's first marriage, and that all his son had ever wanted was a wife and family. And he knew that despite all the odds, Lady Margaery was in love with his son. Besides the clear political advantage, Tywin knew this to be an excellent match for his family.

Tywin stood and approached them both. He gave a stern look. "I trust you two have not done anything irreversible to ensure this union must take place?"

Lady Margaery blushed, recalling her initial plan, grateful more than ever that Tyrion had insisted they stop last night. Tyrion swallowed hard and met his gaze, "No, Father, we have not."

Tywin grunted. "Good." Then he smiled. "You both have my blessing on your eventual betrothal. Which will have to wait until Lady Margaery's current engagement had ended." Tyrion looked around the room in stunned awe, unable to believe he had the blessing of his father.

"Truly?" he said so quietly that only Tywin could here.

He clasped his son on the shoulder and leaned down, "Truly, son."

Then Margaery grabbed Tyrion and bent down to kiss him soundly on the lips. Tywin and Olenna gave them both a stern look.

"You two are going to have to repress all of that for at least the next few days."

"So it is decided then, Father?" Jaime asked quietly. Tywin nodded, meeting his son's gaze. Although Jaime knew this day was coming, it was still impossible to believe they were plotting the death of his son.

The odd group gathered had all taken their seats after the initial interruption, and though no details were discussed, it was known that those in this room would have all have a hand in the death of the King. Silence reigned as everyone was lost in their thoughts.

Finally, Olenna spoke, "Do put us out of our misery, Tywin." She gave him a small smile. He gave her a funny look not comprehending the meaning behind her words.

"When that loathsome grandson of yours is dead, seize the throne. Become the King you were always destined to be. Be the ruler that Westeros needs. Enough of this hiding behind mad and corrupt and inept rulers. Everyone knows you are the power behind the throne. Set up of the shadows and take your rightful place."

Tywin said nothing; his eyes never leaving Olenna's until he saw nothing but the truth in them.

He turned to Sansa. He had told her it would always be her choice; whatever decisions arose in their life that had a significant impact on them. He had promised her this.

"What do you say, wife? Are you prepared to become Queen of Westeros?" Tywin asked her softly. Sansa left her chair and came to him then, and he stood to take her in his arms. This would not be a decision he made without her full support.

The others in the room ogled the Great Lion. They knew that he valued his wife's opinion, but they would never have thought he would consult with her on such an important decision. How many men had ever had a chance to be King? And who amongst those would leave such a critical decision to their wife?

Sansa looked at her husband. She knew he feared that being King would make him a greater target, but they had already wielded so much power that they would always have enemies, whether he sat on the throne or not. Tywin had been born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, and she was proud that his moment had come. Reaching for him, she grasped his hand.

"Yes, My Lord, I am prepared," and she ran her other hand through his whiskers. He dropped his forehead to hers, and whispered softly, "Are you sure, Sansa? We do not have to take this step." She loved him so much at that moment. She kissed him soundly and let him see the truth in her eyes.

"Yes, we do. It is what we were born to do Tywin. Together."

He smiled at her then, fierce and lethal. Turning back to the other's in the room, he searched their faces.

Jaime just shrugged. "Tommen has no desire or aptitude to be King, Father; you know this. You would be saving him, not stealing from him. And once Stannis is dealt with the Stormlands are his. That gives you his support." Jaime swallowed hard, then added, "And seven hells if you let Cersei anywhere near the throne. The realm would suffer unimaginably."

Everyone in the room agreed. With Joffrey dead, Cersei would be sure to try and seize power, either through Tommen or by herself.

Olenna spoke next. "You know you have the support of the Reach, My Lord, and I will be leaving after this is all settled to wed Willas to a nice woman from House Tarly. Expect no opposition from us. Although I must say, if you are looking for a particularly fearsome battle commander, do not overlook Lord Tarly and his son Dickon. And I expect you can find an empty castle for Lord Tyrion and Lady Margaery to occupy." She sent them a wink. Margaery just grinned at her grandmother.

"You know you have the support of both the Riverlands and the North, Tywin," Sansa said to the room. "Although I'm sure my brother will have some choice words when he finds out I am his Queen."

"That leaves Dorne and the Vale," Tyrion said. "Our Myrcella is still set to marry the heir of Dorne, and I can't imagine her ever acting against our House. And once Littlefinger is dealt with, the Vale belongs to Robin Arryn and Lord Royce. They have neither the men nor the aptitude or the desire to challenge us for the Crown."

Tywin looked around the room. His sons, his wife, his soon to be daughter in law, and her wily grandmother. He had once told Jaime that the decisions they made now would shape House Lannister for the years to come, that they could establish a dynasty for their house that would last a thousand years, and here was proof. With Sansa already pregnant, their child would be heir not just to Casterly Rock, but to the Iron Throne itself. Holding Sansa to him tightly, he met each of their eyes, and nodded, seeing their support and their agreement.

"Then, it is decided. Once Joffrey is eliminated, House Lannister will seize the Iron Throne." He turned back to his wife, who met his eyes, and saw her support and pride reflected back to him. She would be his Queen, and all of Westeros would be united under their rule, bringing the south and north together once again.


	15. Chapter 15

_ Apartments of the Hand _

The Lannister family had gathered in Tywin's solar the next morning, knowing they needed to come up with a plan for the King's elimination. It was a distasteful topic, and Genna had begged off, opting to spend time with Tommen instead.

Tywin would be a liar if he said he'd never considered taking the throne before, but the timing had never been correct. To be a great ruler, Tywin believed a King should have a competent and willing Queen by his side. Until recently, that had never been an option for him; Sansa had changed everything.

His wife was beloved by the common people, adored by her kin in the North and the Riverlands, and worshiped by anyone from the Westerlands that knew her. The Queen Regent and Lady Sansa were as different as the moon and sun, and everyone knew who the commoners preferred. Sansa had also kept the Tyrell's in their orbit of influence by helping to secure a new marriage alliance and had even won the backing of Lord Varys. As much as Tywin Lannister had been born to be King, Sansa had all the makings to be one of the greatest Queens the realm had ever seen.

Tyrion was happy to have a chance to speak with his Uncle and informed him of the latest developments. Always having a soft spot for the dwarf, Kevan was pleasantly surprised and genuinely happy that the boy had found someone as lovely as the Rose of Highgarden to marry. Tyrion informed his family of his meeting with the Iron Bank and passed along their best wishes on Tywin Lannister's most advantageous marriage to Sansa Stark.

When Tywin asked if they would finance any other houses, Tyrion shrugged and said, "I made it abundantly clear that our military might would crush any uprising. And that dead men paid no debts. That seemed to satisfy them. I also impressed upon the banker that Cersei from House Lannister was not to be trusted should she approach them for the backing."

Jaime's face soured at that comment. He was brooding knowing that his family plotted his son's death, even though logic dictated it must happen. He was extremely worried about how Cersei would react to the death of her child. He'd attempted to spend time with his first-born son, to see if there were any way to salvage a relationship with him, much like what had happened with Tommen. But the King had neither the time nor the inclination to be around his uncle. Jaime grieved for a son that was already lost to him.

Tyrion looked around the room and asked, "How do we secure the appropriate person to enact our plan?" They needed a plan, and they needed to put it into motion immediately. The wedding was a few short days away, and everyone knew that the time to strike was upon them.

"Lord Varys," Sansa said quietly. They all turned to look at her, and she held their gazes. She was a lion and a player in the game of thrones. She also knew that the entire realm would benefit from Joffrey's removal. She straightened her spine.

"Varys and Littlefinger have always been natural enemies. With Petyr having been absent from the capital for so long, Varys has had his run of the informants in Kings Landing." Sansa shrugged. She'd found herself engaged in more and more conversations with the eunuch. He was a veritable wealth of knowledge about the ordinary people and had taken a keen interest in helping her with her refuge. Sansa still didn't fully understand the Spider; she knew he cared about the people, but she also knew he would ruthlessly use them to his advantage whenever he needed.

"He will have access to an appropriate woman, have no doubts. And he will seize the opportunity to eliminate Littlefinger," Sansa said.

A feeling of dread settled in Tywin's stomach. He wanted Sansa nowhere near the plotting and murder of the King. He knew that if Cersei got even a hint of her involvement, she would call for her head.

"And who could get close enough to the Spider to ask him for such a favour?" Tyrion asked, a bit perplexed. Tywin's blood ran cold, and before he could say anything, his worst fears were confirmed when his wife spoke.

"I can," Sansa said softly. "We are meeting today at one of the buildings. And it is not so much a favour as a mutually beneficial arrangement. Varys has no love for Littlefinger or the King."

"And you trust him, mother?" Tyrion asked, doubt colouring his voice.

"No," Sansa laughed, "Not at all. But, I trust that our objectives and his objectives are the same, and therefore he can be counted upon to fulfill his end of the agreement." She looked at her husband and saw that his face was a hard and unmoving mask of fear and dread. His jaw was clenched, and his hands were making fists, a sure sign that his legendary control was slipping.

She turned and said quietly to the others, "Please, give us the room." One look at the Great Lion and they all nodded and left.

She went to him as he sat in his chair behind his desk where he ruled the Kingdom, rigid and tightly wound. She placed herself in front of him, willing him to let her in, to allow her to comfort him, and to trust that she was able to do this for them. It took only a moment before he pulled her to his lap, tightening his arms around her and dragging her face down to his.

"I don't want you anywhere near this, Sansa," he said roughly, worry and fear making his voice deep and raspy.

She ran her hands through his whiskers, as was her custom, as she looked into his eyes. "I know my love, I know. But I am the only one Lord Varys trusts."

He shook his head. "There is another way," he whispered.

"There is no time to find another way, Tywin," Sansa said softly. "This is our best plan. The King is heavily guarded each night, with only a select few gaining access to him. It has to be one of the women who are sent to him nightly and one that he wouldn't suspect."

Tywin swallowed hard, still silent. Sansa looked at him, confusion marring her pretty face.

"What I am about to tell you," he paused, "No one else in the Kingdom knows Sansa. At least no one that is still alive." Intrigued Sansa waited for Tywin to continue. His hands were stroking her back, and she had curled into him, so they sat, each able to see each other's eyes, barely a breath width between their faces.

"When Maegor Targaryen built the Red Keep he commissioned several secret passageways throughout the Castle. There is one that goes directly from the Hand's bedchambers to the King's chambers."

Sansa was astonished. "And no one knows about this?" she asked.

Tywin shook his head. "I suspect Lord Arryn used the passageways to smuggle whores in secretly for him and King Robert."

Sansa's blue eyes narrowed, and she sent him a fierce look, "Don't even think about it, husband," her jealousy sparking at the thought of another woman near her lion.

He barked out a laugh. The fact that she could think he would even want to look at another woman was adorable. Sansa honestly had no idea how much he belonged to her. He kissed her soundly. "Never, my love, never." Tywin let out a small smile, wonder at how much his wife loved him. Then his mood turned dark as he thought about the King.

"He's my blood Sansa, and he needs to be removed. I will do it. Tomorrow evening, before the wedding day, when the whore comes to his room, I will ensure that Joffrey is dead, and Baelish is implicated." He sighed heavily. His entire life he'd borne the burden of ruling and making impossible decisions alone- this was just one more in an impossibly long list.

He thought of his son, whom they still called Kingslayer to his face and behind his back. Now he would be no different. Except for the King, he would be killing was his flesh and blood. Surely that made him a monster of the worst kind. How could someone like Sansa even stand to touch him?

Sansa drew her hands up to his face, knowing that he would do this gruesome task because he trusted no others, and it was required for their safety and prosperity. But in his eyes, she saw a flicker of some emotion she couldn't identify. Shame? Doubt? Worry?

She held his gaze, willing him to look at her. "Tywin, the very reason you are fit to be King is because of this moment. You are not stealing anything from Joffrey. The realm suffers under him. People suffer under him. You have the backing of your family, Tywin. This is not a decision you made alone and not one made out of envy or greed. This is for the good of the realm. And for our House and our legacy, husband." Sansa was fierce in her defence of him, willing to push back at the doubts that filled him.

Gods, he loved her. He pulled her close again, inhaling her scent and thinking about her initial plan to include the Spider in their plot.

"Too many people already know about our plans, Sansa. I don't trust Lord Varys in the slightest. Too much could go wrong, and I will not have you implicated in the King's death. If Cersei got even a whiff of your participation..." Tywin let his sentence trail off and leaned his forehead against hers.

"I would destroy the seven kingdoms, Sansa if anything were to happen to you," he whispered and kissed her hard on the lips. He pulled back and ran his hand down her pale cheek. "I am serious Sansa. I do not care what it would cost me, or our House. The Kingdom could burn to ash and every soul within it for all I care if something were to happen to you." He let her see all his love and fierce possessiveness and the extraordinary breadth of emotion he felt for her.

Sansa saw the truth in his eyes and let the love she felt for this man brand her very soul. Some women might have been put off by Tywin's possessiveness and intensity, but Sansa craved it. She felt the same way about him. She couldn't imagine being married to any else, to loving anyone else, to belonging to anyone else. Their vows had never been truer. She was his, and he was hers. She kissed him again and let her lips rest against his.

"If we are to rule the Kingdom, we must do this Tywin," she said softly. "Remember this time you are not alone. You will never be alone again. You are mine, husband, from this day until the end of my days."

Tywin cupped her cheek and saw her equally fierce love for him. "And you are mine, wife. You will make a magnificent Queen Sansa," he murmured, trailing his hands down her face, unable to imagine anyone else by his side when he took the throne.

Kissing her husband one last time, she rose and pulled him from his seat, sending him a wink and a smile, "Come, my King, let us tell your sons and brother that there is a plan. They do not need to know the details. This will remain, as always, between you and me."

He clasped her hand to his, knowing she was correct. Tomorrow, he would strike, and the only person in all of Westeros that would know his real role would be the one person he loved and trusted above all else. He knew at that moment that she would always love and support him, that this is what he had seen in her those many months ago when they had first met; a wife that could be cunning when it was required, and caring when necessary. She was everything to him, and Tywin knew for the first time in thirty-five years that he would never be alone again in the terrible decisions he was forced to make. When he was King, Sansa would always be by his side, his fiercest champion and greatest defender, willing to stand by him no matter what, her love for him matched only by his feelings for her.

_ Littlefinger _

Petyr Baelish had been back in Kings Landing for almost a fortnight. He had forgotten just how intoxicating it was this close to the Iron Throne. He spent countless hours in the throne room, observing the King. He soon discovered that Joffrey ruled in name only, much as he had suspected. More often than not, it was Tywin Lannister that sat on the throne, but surprisingly, his pretty wife not at his side. Petyr had heard she held her version of court most days in the gardens, but since it was mostly ladies, he was unsure of how to procure an invitation to such an event.

Catelyn was a concern. He'd settled her into a room at his most upscale brothel, but he could tell by the distasteful look in her eyes and her pinched mouth that she was less than pleased to be occupying such an establishment. She was restless and eager to see her daughter, and each evening when he returned, she regularly asked about their plans for Sansa.

The largest concern was his eroding power in Flea Bottom. To date, Tywin Lannister had managed to close four of his establishments and Petyr was beyond angry at these turn of events. There was no one to appeal to, as the small council fully backed the Great Lion in his quest to clean up Flea Bottom. Which left only the Queen Regent. 

A few days after his arrival, Cersei had come to Petyr. He'd heard the rumours about the King, and here was the proof that he had something of value to offer the Queen Regent. Cersei wasted no time, clearly outlining what she required of him. He assured her that he would be able to provide the King with adequate evening entertainment, at least until the wedding.

They sat across from each other in his study, goblets of wine in hand, assessing one another. Neither quite knew what the other wanted, but both were desperate. Options that had previously been open to them seemed to be disappearing by the day.

Cersei was most concerned about the influence of Margaery Tyrell and what would happen after the wedding. That and her father's wife. She wanted Sansa gone. Either eliminated or away from the capital and out of Tywin's reach. She didn't think Petyr Baelish could help her with the first option, but she knew he now commanded an impenetrable castle. If Petyr could smuggle Sansa out of the Capital and to the Vale, her father could throw ten armies at the Eyrie and still never retrieve his wife. And Cersei had seen how Petyr had watched Sansa. She knew the man wanted for the northern bitch.

Petyr wanted it all. Joffrey and Tywin dead and himself on the Iron Throne with Sansa as his queen. When Cersei proposed kidnapping Lady Sansa and taking her to the Vale, he eagerly went along with her plan. She did not have to know he had a larger scheme at work, and this plan at least gave the Queen Regent the perception that they were working together for a common goal. And if things didn't work out, stealing Lady Sansa away and keeping her prisoner at the Eyrie was an excellent second option.

"It must happen soon, Lord Baelish," Cersei said quickly, and grasped his hand, pouring all her desperation into her voice. "Her influence over my father grows daily, and he has made House Lannister the laughingstock of the Kingdom."

Petyr nodded, then wondered how mad Cersei truly was. He'd heard no such thing about Lady Sansa. Indeed, all he'd heard upon his arrival back in the capital is how beloved both Lord and Lady Lannister were.

"I promise you, Lady Cersei, plans will be made, and soon. I've no desire to dally in the capital when such an important castle awaits my return."

Cersei nodded, relieved to finally have a partner and a plan to deal with Sansa. And one that her father couldn't trace back to her. Everyone knew how much she hated Littlefinger.

"She visits her Flea Bottom at least once per week, Lord Baelish. Even though she takes guards, she is most vulnerable then. Once she is in the Red Keep my father's men surround her and more often than not at least one or more of my traitorous family members," Cersei disclosed, still bitter that all the men in her family had abandoned her for her father's pretty new wife.

Before she took her leave, Petyr said softly, "I must implore you, Lady Cersei, to convey how important it is to your son that my merchandise is returned in the best possible condition." If only Cersei could control Joffrey better, Petyr thought. Sighing to himself, he realized that he'd be lucky if he didn't have to replace several of his women before the King was wed.

What followed was a week from hell. He'd yet to catch even a glimpse of Lady Sansa, and never alone where he might be able to talk with her. He had not been asked back to the small council meetings, and Catelyn was driving him mad with her insistence that he get her access to Sansa. So fed up was he with Catelyn that he'd slowly been allowing her more freedom to move about Flea Bottom as long as she disguised herself.

That all changed when one of Baelish's spies reported to him that Lady Lannister was planning a visit to Flea Bottom that day. Remembering what the Queen Regent had said, Petyr knew this was his opportunity to see Sansa.

Unknown to him, was the fact that Catelyn Stark had also been told this news, and she planned to visit her daughter as well. Catelyn had quickly realized that her original plan on murdering Sansa's husband was unrealistic and unattainable. Spending time amongst Petyr's whores, Catelyn had heard how much the people loved both her daughter and her husband. She had also heard how Sansa was pregnant. The entire capital was excited about the newest Lannister Lion on its way. Catelyn shuddered at such a thought.

Since she couldn't get to Tywin Lannister himself, stealing his wife would be the only, and perhaps crueller way, to hurt him. Especially if she could rid Sansa of the abomination, she had growing in her belly. Catelyn made quiet inquiries on her daily walks throughout Flea Bottom, and she learned ships were leaving the Capital daily. Some even sailed to White Harbor. All she had to do was get Sansa to the boat she had chosen and once they were North call Robb's bannermen to their side. There was no way the Lion would pursue his wife that far North.

_ Flea Bottom _

Tywin was reluctant to let Sansa leave their apartments, even if logic dictated she was safe with her guards. Nothing had happened in all the times she'd gone to Flea Bottom before, and Sansa insisted that she had to visit the refuge today. Sansa decided to take both Lady Brienne and Jerrod with her. She had noticed that her favourite Red Cloak respected her sworn shield the most out of all of Tywin's guards, and she knew that Brienne felt comfortable around the knight. It pleased her when people treated Lady Brienne with respect and refrained from commenting on her odd looks.

She met Lord Varys just outside the Red Keep, where they settled into the carriage provided for them. To his credit, Varys had become a veritable font of information for Sansa on the plight of the common people. Even though she was focused on her tasks, Varys was always quick to show her other ills and slights that the people suffered. While the Lannister name commanded a tremendous amount of respect, there was still only so much Sansa could do. But today was a day for excitement. The old boarding house had finally been restored, and they were working on getting all the final bits of furniture installed. Varys and Sansa wanted to do one last look through before the women started to arrive.

Varys had helped Sansa find the perfect headmistress, a former woman of the night, but one that had come from a minor noble house. The woman, Alyrra, had been forced into the trade when her family backed the wrong house in a dispute. She had been made the mistress of the winning Lord. She had several different noble companions that had paid for her lifestyle. She was well-read, spoke several languages, and at over fifty was finally forced to look for a different way to earn an income. Sansa found her honest, straightforward and brilliant. They had bonded quickly, and Sansa was grateful for her guidance and her no-nonsense attitude.

It made Sansa smile to think of the people she now interacted with daily. A eunuch. A sellsword. A former prostitute. Now married for over three months, and with a husband whose appetite for her in the bedroom was insatiable, Sansa had blossomed into a confident and powerful woman, secure in her beauty and her sexuality. And her place in King's Landing and in House Lannister. She had learned the hard way that much less should be made about one's birth or title than one's character, and she took this lesson to heart with every person she met.

Lord Varys saw her genuineness any time they ventured past the walls of the Red Keep. If his sources were correct, soon the Dragon Queen wouldn't have to worry about raising an army to come back to Westeros. The House of Black and White was legendary, and though Varys would have done whatever he could to bring Daenerys Targaryen back to Kings Landing, the eunuch hadn't survived this long by continuing to back a losing horse; or a dead one which the last Targaryen was soon to be.

Anyone with half a brain could see that the lions ruled Westeros these days, despite the King's imminent marriage to the Rose of Highgarden. Lady Sansa and Lady Margaery were particularly close, and Varys knew that Lady Sansa wielded significant influence over the Tyrell woman. Besides all that, Varys sincerely liked Lady Sansa, and he was happy they'd formed a friendship.

Sansa was excited when they finally reached her building. She had yet to come up with a name, having debated several. Mostly she wanted those who came here to find hope. S

They had been inside for several minutes when Sansa and Varys heard movement. Suddenly Lord Baelish appeared, all of the Red Cloaks aligned behind him. With Lady Brienne at her side, Sansa wasn't nervous for her safety, but she did wonder what Littlefinger wanted. Sansa made eye contact with Jerrod and indicated her head, as if to say, get Tywin. Jerrod pulled one of the younger guards aside and whispered urgently in his ear, unwilling to leave Lady Lannister with only her sworn shield and a few Red Cloaks as protection.

"Lady Sansa, Lord Varys," Petyr said in that rasping voice of his. Sansa suppressed a shudder. He tsked at her — "Such security My Lady. I thought the realm was no longer at war. Surely the Great Lion trusts the common people with his beloved wife. After all, you are most talked about, Lady Sansa." He moved closer to her then, and Sansa could see the small smirk on his lips and the gleam of hunger in his eyes.

"Lord Baelish, welcome back to Kings Landing," Sansa said demurely, curtsying to the Lord Protector of the Vale.

"I was most disappointed that I wasn't able to attend your wedding, my dear. After all, once your father died, I often thought of you as my daughter," he said, a tone of hurt and accusation colouring his words.

Sansa tried to read the man. Was he telling her he thought of her as a daughter because he knew where her mother was? Or was he referring to the past, where if he had his way, he would have been the one who'd married Catelyn Stark?

"My apologies, My Lord. Rest assured, I had my family's blessing. And my dear husband's family was there as well."

"Forgive me for saying it, Lady Sansa, but I heard a rumour your mother was most distressed upon hearing about your marriage." He cocked his head at her. "I was sure a Lady such as you would have been raised to respect her mother's wishes. Especially when choosing a husband."

It was a slight that Sansa tried not let affect her. While she and Robb had spent countless ravens repairing their relationship and trust in one another, the fact that her mother had rejected her marriage so soundly still stung deeply. Especially considering how much she had come to love her husband.

"My mother is a troubled woman, Lord Baelish. If you are at all aware of her whereabouts, I know my brother would dearly love to see her again. Much has happened since she left him at Riverrun, and both her eldest children are set to make her a grandmother in the coming months," Sansa said sweetly. She watched as his face pinched and soured at the mention of her pregnancy.

"Yes, I had heard that you were with child. Congratulations are in store. With such a supple young bride, it is no surprise the Old Lion could not contain his desires. But I assume when you are the age of Tywin Lannister, then there is not a day to waste. Men of a certain age must always be so careful. There are so many accidents that might befall them," Baelish threatened.

Sansa stiffened. She knew that Tywin's next nameday would have him turn fifty-nine, but she honestly forgot most days how much older her husband was than her. He was still fit and in fine form, training daily with Jaime and Tommen. He worked twice as hard as men half his age and even had time to lavish attention on her in the bedroom. His appetite for her was well known within their circle of friends and family, and there wasn't anyone who met him who doubted his health and vitality. Before she could respond, Petyr waved a hand, as if dismissing what he'd just said.

"I came to plead for your assistance on a different matter." He gestured to the building they were standing in. "My dear," and Sansa felt her teeth clench at his tone, "it is admirable what you are attempting to do here. But My Lady, these people are not your concern. You will only anger powerful men in the Kingdom if you persist on going down this path."

"Lord Baelish, any man who cannot see that everyone deserves a chance at an honest living is not a man that concerns me. Or my husband. Whoremongers and flesh sellers will not threaten me," Sansa hissed at him, outraged that he would attempt to threaten her.

He shrugged, secretly charmed by her fire. Seeing her again brought mixed feelings forward. She was a stunningly beautiful woman, and the golden lion necklace around her neck proclaimed her wealth and allegiance. She glowed with her pregnancy. Examining her critically, Petyr could see her body was already starting to change; to ripen and become lush.

But she also felt tainted to him, knowing Tywin Lannister was bedding her. And her desire to help the common people put her directly at odds with him. After all, Petyr's power came from exploiting them. Still, she was an exquisite woman, and like any man who saw something that wasn't his, Baelish coveted her.

Realizing he'd angered her, he dropped his head into a slight bow. It was enough that he had finally seen her. He knew he'd upset her, and that she was uncomfortable in his presence. That meant she would think of him long after this meeting had concluded.

"My apologies, My Lady. I beg your forgivingness for my bluntness, I didn't mean to anger you," then he dipped his head once more and left her building.

Sansa felt her whole body sag in relief. She had known that he would eventually contact her, but she hadn't expected it here. She should have realized he would look to find her in a place where she was most vulnerable. Tywin had been correct after all. Their entire exchange had taken hardly any time at all, and Sansa wanted to feel foolish that she had sent a guard for Tywin, but she didn't. Even though her husband was a busy man, she knew he would come for her whenever she needed him, and she was grateful he was on her way to her now. Littlefinger had made her skin crawl, and she wanted Tywin's strength and support.

Shaking herself from that unpleasant encounter, Sansa turned back to Varys and Alyrra. There were several women in the building today, stocking the kitchens and putting linens on the beds that the rest of the rooms were a veritable hive of activity, which was why no one had noticed a middle-aged woman with hair a deeper shade of auburn than Lady Sansa's slip in when the confrontation with Petyr had taken place.

Sansa and Varys had just made it to the main entrance, when Sansa felt a thin arm wrap itself around her stomach and cold steel at her neck. The tip of a knife was held to her throat, hard enough to draw a bead of blood. Lord Varys gasped in shock and immediately moved away from Sansa, and Lady Brienne drew her sword, cursing herself for her ineptitude.

The Red Cloaks had moved outside the building once the threat of Littlefinger had left, so the room contained only Lady Brienne, Lord Varys, Lady Sansa and Alyrra. And Catelyn Stark.

"Lady Brienne. Traitor," Catelyn hissed at the large woman. "You swore an oath to return my daughter to me." She was in a rage at the large woman.

"Mother?" Sansa said softly, afraid to make any sudden moves. Never in her wildest dreams would she have ever believed her mother would threaten her life.

"Hush, darling, Mother is here now. I am taking you away from here Sansa. Away from your cruel husband," Catelyn crooned to her. "Don't move Sansa, don't make me hurt you."

Tears had come to Sansa's eyes. What on earth was her mother thinking? This was madness.

"Mother," Sansa said softly, "we are in the middle of Flea Bottom. I am well known. There is no escape."

Catelyn sobbed at that, misconstruing Sansa's words. "I know my darling. I know you feel there is no escape. But I promise you; you will never have to go back to him. Never have to suffer under his hand again. I am here to rescue you."

Confusion marred Sansa's brow. Rescue her? From what? From Tywin? The man she loved more than anyone else in all of Westeros? How mad was her mother? Sansa thought desperately.

"Mother you received my raven to Robb. You know that I am happy in my marriage to Tywin. He has been good to me." Sansa could feel her mother shake her head against hers, denying her words, her arms loosening slightly, the knife coming away from Sansa's skin.

Sansa looked to Brienne then, wondering if her shield had a plan, but Brienne stood there like a statue, unable to reconcile which Stark woman she was supposed to be protecting. Sansa sighed, and then she tried a different tactic with her mother.

"Why have you come here, mother? Why did you not return home, to Robb? To Winterfell?" Sansa asked softly.

She heard a great sigh from her mother, and the knife dropped a little lower. Sansa decided to try and push her luck just a little bit further. She softened her voice to a soothing tone.

"They are alive mother. Arya and Rickon. They are alive, and they are at Winterfell with Robb."

That was too much for Catelyn. She spun Sansa then, and brought them face to face, searching her daughter's eyes for the truth.

It had been so long since Catelyn had last seen her eldest daughter. Sansa was everything Lady Catelyn had ever wanted her to be. A true lady, beautiful and elegant and composed. It broke Cat's heart to see the golden lion necklace adorning Sansa's pale neck, but as she searched her daughter's face, she could see no signs of dishonesty.

Sansa could not believe that the woman who stood in front of her was the same one she'd seen in Kings Landing a few short years ago. Time had not been kind to her mother, and where once she had been a gorgeous woman, now she looked older than her years, tired and worn.

A ragged whisper emerged from her mother's lips, "Surely, you lie about your siblings." She almost hoped Sansa wasn't telling her the truth. If she was, then what reason did Cat have for her vengeance?

Sansa shook her head softly at her mother. "It is no lie, Mother." She reached down to the hand that held the knife. She slowly gripped it, and said to her mother, "Let go, and I will tell you all about them, and Winterfell and my life here in Kings Landing."

Catelyn sagged, unsure of what was true and whom to trust. Sansa leaned into her, her hand never

leaving the knife, and hugged her mother. Sensation overcame Catelyn when she smelled Sansa's hair. The same scent that she had used on Sansa since she was a child. Lavender and lemons.

Almost collapsing, Cat let the knife dropped from her fingers and clung to Sansa, just as Tywin burst through the door. He noted first that Sansa held a very dangerous looking knife in her hands, and that there appeared to be blood running down her neck. And that she had an inconsolable woman clinging to her, one who had almost dragged his wife to the floor.

"Sansa," he called urgently. She tried to turn to him, but her mother's weight prevented her from moving.

"Tywin," she said a bit desperately, needing someone to help her. When he reached her, he took the knife from her and handed it to one of his guards. Then motioning to Jerrod, his most trusted man pried Sansa's mother away from her.

She spun into his arms, and he cradled her to his chest, worry etching his features. Pushing her back slightly, his large hands framed her face, "Sansa, love, are you hurt? Tell me where she hurt you. You are bleeding." He tried to turn her neck to look at her wound, but she stilled his hands.

"It is just a nick, Tywin. I am unharmed," she said softly. He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, kissing her softly at first, merely glad she was alive. Then he deepened the kiss, pouring all his love and worry into her. When he pulled his mouth from hers, he turned her neck and saw the blood, which he wiped away gently.

"Gods, Sansa, I was so worried when I heard that Baelish had confronted you here," he whispered. His entire world had almost been taken from him again; another beloved wife of Tywin Lannister’s almost dead. He knew he’d never survive it if something happened to Sansa.

"Me too Tywin, that's why I sent someone to get you," she murmured happy to be held by him. She took one more moment and turned to look at her mother, who was being restrained by Jerrod, her face a mask of fury and confusion.

At that moment, Lady Brienne approached them and knelt in shame at Sansa's feet. "I am sorry, My Lady, for failing to protect you when you needed it most. I understand if you wish to dismiss me from your service."

Sansa felt Tywin tense and knew if she allowed it, he would give Brienne a tongue lashing that she wouldn't recover from. She stilled him and looked at her sworn shield. While it had been a difficult choice, Sansa was disappointed that her friend hadn't leapt to her defence.

"Lady Brienne, we will discuss this later," Sansa said coolly, unwilling to decide her fate when emotions were running so high. "For now, you will be removed from my service. As long as my mother is in Kings Landing, I cannot trust your loyalty." Brienne bowed her head, still ashamed by her lack of action. Sansa's punishment was more than fair.

"That includes training with my son and grandson, Lady Brienne," Tywin ground out. The large woman nodded, then rose and left the building.

Catelyn Stark was stunned and confused. She had watched how her daughter had willingly reached for her husband and then proceeded to press herself to him so she could kiss him and stroke his whiskers. The Great Lion himself was clearly beside himself with worry for his wife. He was tender and loving with her, upset that she was hurt and frustrated that he'd been unable to defend her.

Cat didn't know what to think. Sansa had told her she wanted this marriage, but Catelyn hadn't believed her. Then Petyr had told her all those horrible things about Tywin to the point where there was no way she could ever imagine her daughter being happy.

But this couple standing in front of her was the epitome of love. Even she hadn't looked at Ned that way. What if what Sansa said was true? If her children were alive, and Sansa was truly happy and in love, then what did that mean for her and her plans for revenge?

"What do we do with her Tywin?" Sansa asked softly, gesturing to her mother.

"She cannot stay here Sansa, not in Kings Landing and not in the south," Tywin replied, then sighed deeply. Before him, he saw a troubled woman. He knew Catelyn Stark could not remain here, but if he had her killed, then he would risk inducing the wrath of not only the North but that of his wife. If he returned her to Winterfell and her son, he would gain more goodwill with his northern alliance, as well as the gratitude of his wife. There was no choice. He knew that unless Lady Stark did something extremely rash, he would return her to her home in the North.

"Bring her to our apartments, Jerrod. This is a family matter that will be settled away from curious and prying eyes," Tywin ordered. "And find Tyrion, Jaime, Genna and Kevan. It is past time that my goodmother met the Lions of House Lannister." Tywin gave the woman a cutting smile. He was no boy to be played with, and she had best remember that. He wouldn't hesitate to defend his wife and his unborn child if she made one move out of line.

Sansa squeezed his hand, thankful for his cool logic. She knew his instinct was to lash out and protect her. He was giving her a chance to convince her mother to give up this quest for vengeance. "Thank you, husband," Sansa said softly, and the small group made their way back to the apartments of the Hand.

_ Apartments of the Hand _

As she had been escorted back to the apartments of the Hand, Catelyn Stark watched everything. The guards themselves moved quickly and efficiently, securing her in the carriage that had brought Sansa here.

Tywin had raced down to Flea Bottom on his white warhorse, and the beast was huge. Completely at ease on such a fearsome beast, Tywin mounted his horse and then had Sansa handed to him. He trusted no one but himself with his wife. She let out a quiet peep when she was lifted to his lap and then settled into her husband's arms.

As they rode through Flea Bottom, Catelyn Stark heard the people cheering the Lord and Lady Lannister. Everywhere they rode the people flocked to the streets, gleeful at such a rare opportunity to see the Northern Princess and her handsome husband together. Sansa was like one of the maidens from the songs she loved so much.

The one Red Cloak that had restrained her leaned over from his mount, his face an angry mask.

"Look there, you foolish woman," and pointed to the cheering people. "They love them here in the capital. Everyone adores your daughter. I will give you one piece of advice that I suggest you heed if you love her the way you claim you do. Forget what anyone has told you. Watch and listen and then make up your mind about them." Then Jerrod broke off, afraid he'd revealed too much. His loyalty to Tywin was legendary, and it was matched only by his deep affection for Lady Sansa. Catelyn frowned at being lectured by this Lannister man, but she took his advice. She watched, and she listened.

She watched as Tywin gently cradled her daughter in his arms, never letting her go the entire way back to the Red Keep. He kept leaning down and pressing his lips to her forehead, and she heard her daughter's laugh at one point, bright and cheerful. Catelyn remembered her laughing like that at Winterfell when her brothers teased her. It was a pleasant sound and one Catelyn couldn't remember hearing for years.

When they arrived at the Castle, they never left each other's side as they made their way to their home, and Catelyn was stunned by how close Tywin kept Sansa to him, holding her hand and never letting her stray too far from him. And her daughter seemed to welcome his affection, often leaning into her husband. For the first time since she had seen her daughter, Catelyn took the time to examine Sansa.

She wore a beautiful golden gown, trimmed in with red and embroidered with lions, along with the golden lion necklace at her throat. Her hair was styled in a Northern half braid, with most of it loose down her back. She looked every bit the Lady of Casterly Rock. And with the Great Lion by her side, they indeed were the epitome of a golden couple, secure in their power, wealth and excellent breeding.

Now that she was back in the safety of her home, Sansa was glowing, and her hands often rested on her stomach. As Sansa walked through her home, she greeted the members of her household by name, making them smile at her when she remembered some trivial detail about their lives, and they rushed to do her bidding, happy she was safe.

When Catelyn was seated and secured, she continued to observe her daughter and watched as the Lannister lions entered the solar. She was truly in the lion's den now, and kept eyes open and fixed on the Lannisters.

First, it was Sansa's goodsister and goodbrother, Genna and Kevan whom she embraced and kissed on each cheek. Genna inquired about her trip to Flea Bottom, concern and anger on her face. She shot Catelyn a look of such disgust that Cat felt her stomach turn. Then she watched as Genna gently put her hands-on Sansa's stomach and asked how she was feeling. A bolt of jealousy went through Catelyn Stark. Who was this woman to be so familiar with her daughter? What did they mean to each other? Genna's gentle handling of Sansa was much like that of a mother to a beloved daughter and that thought ate at Catelyn.

Kevan was hardly any better, scooping Sansa up and hugging her tightly, whispering that he was grateful she was safe. Sansa sent him a radiant smile and kissed him on the cheek, making him blush. Catelyn would have scoffed at that had her mouth not been tied with a rag. She had never intended to harm her daughter. She had wanted to take her away from these awful people.

She stiffened as she watched Tywin Lannister's sons enter the solar, but Sansa had no such reaction, seemingly happy to see them both. She leaned down to press a kiss to Tyrion's cheek, and he made some quip that made Sansa smile, and then she straightened to talk with Jaime. He drew her to him for a quick hug, and then she heard her daughter reassure him that they would work the situation out with Lady Brienne, we have to let Tywin cool down. Jaime's face collapsed in relief.

And then she watched as the Golden Lion, the Warden of the West, the Lord of Casterly Rock, the Hand to the King, and the richest and most powerful man in all of Westeros entered his solar and immediately looked for his wife. Catelyn's eyes went to her daughter, wanting to see how she reacted to such a possessive look by her husband.

Sansa's entire face lit with joy when she caught her husband's eyes. They immediately moved towards the other, and when they reached each other, Tywin pulled her to him tightly, as if they had been parted for hours instead of mere minutes. Sansa wrapped her arms around him and nestled into him. Interestingly enough, none of his family reacted as if this were an uncommon occurrence. They seemed unfazed by the open affection the two showed for each other.

Catelyn Stark was used to high-born relationships where a husband and wife barely touched, and they were unwilling to show their affection for each other in public. It was how she was raised and how she conducted herself at all times. It was scandalous how much her daughter and her husband groped at each other. They hardly stopped touching and kissing one another. She felt her prudish upbringing want to call out and scold her daughter for her lack of propriety.

But as she watched her daughter laugh and smile at her husband, happy in this place that was so foreign to Catelyn Stark, she understood with perfect clarity that Sansa was no longer her little girl, but a powerful and confident woman, secure in her husband's love and her place in his family. The woman in front of her might as well have been a stranger; she had changed that drastically.

Cat watched as Tywin traced his hand down her daughter's cheek, then turned her head slightly to inspect the tiny wound that her knife had inflicted. Upon spotting the reddened mark, Tywin's entire demeanour changed, and he turned his lethal green eyes on her. Catelyn swallowed hard, and for the first time, truly worried about her safety.

Tywin left Sansa then and moved towards her. "The only reason you are alive is that your daughter convinced me you could be persuaded to give up your quest for vengeance against our house." He saw Catelyn Starks's mouth tighten at that statement. "She is of House Lannister My Lady, and she carries the next heir to Casterly Rock. She is beloved by my family and my people. Do not give me any reason to doubt your willingness to cooperate," his voice deep and commanding. He was upset with what this woman had put his wife through, and he wouldn't let her continue to distress Sansa. Then he turned and took his seat behind his massive desk, knowing the imposing figure he cut when he positioned himself there.

Sansa came and sat down across from her and gently pulled the cloth from her mouth. She swallowed hard before she spoke.

"Mother, I need you to understand the gravity of your situation. By law, you should, at the very least, stand trial for the attempted kidnapping of the wife of the hand of the King." Sansa paused. "I don't want that to happen. But you must let go of this misguided notion of revenge against House Lannister. They are my family and allies to House Stark. Tell us mother, what has happened to you since you left Robb?"

Catelyn swallowed hard and looked around the room, noting the looks of disgust and anger on each of the lions' faces. Except for Sansa's. She looked at her with something akin to pity and regret. Catelyn felt the emotion swell in her. She had been parted from Sansa for far too long, and she had lost her little girl. In her place sat a confident and composed noblewoman that Catelyn had always hoped she would become.

It appeared that Petyr had not been entirely truthful with her. Sansa was not in any immediate danger or distress from the Lannister's. The family seemed to adore her, with her husband leading the pride. They might have been her enemies, but they appeared to be Sansa's family now, and by all indications, her daughter was well-loved by these lions.

Catelyn Stark had a moment to decide what she wanted; revenge or a chance. And she realized that what she wanted more than anything else was to have a chance. A chance to make things right, a chance to start over, a chance to see her children and her home again. She wondered if she would be that lucky after what had happened today.

"Will you tell me about the others?" she asked Sansa softly.

Sansa nodded. "But first you must tell us where you were and what has happened in the time you have been missing."

Catelyn began her tale, going back to when Petyr Baelish had told her and Ned that the Lannister's were the ones who had poisoned Jon Arryn. Tywin growled at that. She looked at him directly.

"I later found out that it was Petyr who had convinced Lysa to murder her husband."

"But how?" Sansa asked, shocked that Littlefinger would reveal such a massive secret. Catelyn blushed and then looked away.

"The truth, Lady Stark," Tywin growled, low and hard. He had no time for her games.

Catelyn coughed, and then whispered, "He talks in his sleep," before she blushed again and looked away from Sansa.

Sansa felt a swell of pity for her mother. She knew how much she had loved her husband and how devastated she must have been when he died. Sansa knew her mother must have been truly desperate to let a man like Petyr Baelish into her bed. She reached out and squeezed her mother's hand in support.

As they had suspected, the more story that was revealed, the more that it became evident that Petyr Baelish was behind everything. The distrust between Lannister and Stark was sewn with that first lie and all the others that followed; the truth behind Bran's fall, the kidnapping of Tyrion, the call to war. And later, the vivid and disgusting descriptions of Tywin's treatment of Sansa's and their marriage. All of it came down to the lies told by one man who had tried to destroy two of the most significant houses in Westeros to take power for himself.

By the time she had finished telling them about her time in the Vale and Petyr throwing Lysa from the moon door, even Catelyn had come to realize that she had been nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game. She felt physically ill when she understood the magnitude of the lies that she had believed. A broken woman sat before them, shattered and empty from the constant emotional upheaval that had been her life for the past few years.

Sansa was angry with her mother. Angry that by believing her friend, the entire Stark family had almost perished. Furious that her mother was weak and stupid and trusted the wrong person. Angry that she had attempted to kidnap her and angry that her mother had refused to listen to either her or Robb when they pleaded with her that Sansa's marriage to Tywin would save their house. But there was no way to take her anger out on her mother. Catelyn was sobbing, inconsolable about the part she had played in the misery that had befallen her husband's house and her children and all because she had trusted the wrong person.

It was Jaime who found his compassion first, remembering that this was the woman who had let him go, who had given him a task, who had been the first one to believe he might have some honour left. He moved to her then, bringing a goblet of wine, and undid the ropes that held her. He tried to offer her comfort. She resisted at first until she relented and threw herself into his arms. She reminded Jaime of himself when he'd first arrived back in Kings Landing; broken, hollow, bitter, empty. He alone knew how steep her road to redemption would be. He was still on it himself. But just as Sansa had been willing to give him a chance, he hoped she would find it in herself to give her mother the same opportunity.

Finally, when Catelyn calmed, Jaime retreated, but not before receiving Sansa's grateful look. She had been unable to comfort her mother at that moment, and it meant everything to her that Jaime had.

Reaching for her mother's hands, she clasped them to her and drew an elegant hand down her mother's devastated face.

"Hush Mother, all is not lost. Would you like to hear what has happened since you left Robb's camp at Riverrun?" Sansa asked softly. Catelyn nodded, and took a sip of wine, her one hand never leaving Sansa's, grateful her daughter would at least be willing to share this news with her.

Tywin was astounded at his wife's compassion. She had every right to rage at this woman, and the devastation she had brought to her house. Instead, Sansa was treating her with more care than Tywin thought she would ever deserve. It confirmed what Tywin had long known. Sansa made them all better. He sincerely hoped Lady Stark would come to realize what an amazing woman her daughter was.

"Robb was victorious at the Twins, with help from Kevan and the Lannister Army," Sansa nodded to her good brother. "Mother, I need you to know that Tywin gave me an early wedding gift. He had Father's sword Ice returned to Robb. Returned to the North." Catelyn let out a startled gasp and looked past Sansa to where Tywin sat, implacable and unreadable in his chair behind his imposing desk. He nodded at her to confirm the truth of Sansa's words. He seemed so cold with everyone besides Sansa and Catelyn did not doubt for one moment how lethal Tywin Lannister could be when called for.

"But why?" Catelyn asked, perplexed. Tywin rose and came from behind his desk. He drew a chair and sat beside Sansa, so they faced Lady Stark together. Then he picked up his wife's hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, before looking at his goodmother.

"My wife means everything to me, Lady Stark," Tywin said, and he let Sansa's mother see the truth in his eyes. She held his gaze for a moment before she shook herself from those cats like eyes. She believed him sincere in his affections for Sansa.

Grateful for his presence by her side, Sansa continued. "Mother, you need to know that both the Frey's and the Bolton's had plans to betray us. And that my marriage with Tywin saved House Stark and Tully." Sansa paused and leaned into her husband. She looked directly at her mother when she spoke. "My marriage is to a good man, Mother. I love him deeply, and I need you to believe me when I tell you how happy I am. The Lannister's have been wonderful to me."

Tywin pulled her closer to him and pressed his lips to her forehead. He was always slightly undone when she openly declared her feelings for him in front of his family.

She turned to Tywin then, and ran her hands through his whiskers, and whispered, "You know it's true, husband. From the moment we met, you've done nothing but make me happy."

Catelyn watched them together, this man harsh and possessive man, and her beautiful daughter. By all the laws of Westeros, the best they could have hoped for was mild acceptance for each other over time due to the strategic and political nature of their marriage. But Sansa had found something rare; a man who loved her as deeply as she did him. Catelyn could see it.

Sansa continued her story, drawing from Tywin's strength at her side. "Once Robb was victorious, Sandor Clegane arrived at the Twins with Arya."

Sansa heard the shocked gasps from the others in the room. Only her and Tywin had known the identity of Arya's rescuer. Catelyn was floored. Arya had been returned to them by The Hound? That loathsome, scarred man that was the King's loyal dog?

Sansa sighed. How did she sufficiently sum up what Sandor Clegane had done for their family? Knowing now was not the time or place, she said, "He has been looking out for Starks' since Kings Landing. He saved me again and again when he was still here. Ask Tyrion," and she gestured to the dwarf.

Tyrion nodded at Catelyn. "It is true, My Lady. There were at least two times when I witnessed Clegane come to Lady Sansa's rescue." Then he sent Sansa a funny look, one that promised they would talk about this development in much greater detail at a later time.

"So, Arya's alive?" Catelyn asked quietly.

"Yes, Mother. Alive and with Robb. And she's acquired a most unusual guard dog." Sansa's lips twitched. She would love to see Sandor Clegane trying to deal with her sister. She imagined there were a fair number of cuss words exchanged between the two.

Lady Stark gasped. "Surely not! Robb would be a fool to trust him. He's a Lannister man!" Then she gasped again as she realized what she said.

Tywin barked, "No, he is not. He's a traitor to our house, and if he ever again steps foot below Moat Cailin, I will have his head." He felt Sansa's hand squeeze him and then added, "But he has become a most loyal man to House Stark. Lady Stark, we received two ravens a short time ago. First informing us that your son and daughter made it home to Winterfell. And second, that your youngest son was returned to Winterfell by none other than Clegane himself."

"Truly?" Catelyn whispered and grasped Sansa's hand again. She nodded.

"Yes, Mother. Theon must have lied. We have heard that Bran is alive as well, but he was headed for the wall. Robb is in contact with Jon to try to see if there has been any word of him. All your children are alive," Sansa said joyously.

Catelyn had a moment of pure happiness at the thought of all her children being alive before her face fell when she realized the gravity of her mistakes. She felt sorrow and shame for not trusting her children, for questioning their loyalty to House Stark and each other, and for hating them for not blindly following her in her quest for vengeance.

"How will they ever forgive me?" she asked her daughter brokenly. "How will you?" Her eyes met Sansa's, deep pools of pain and despair.

Sansa sighed, unsure of what to do, thankful when Genna intervened. Genna had been prepared to hate this woman who had caused her dearest friend and surrogate daughter so much grief. But after listening to her story, all she felt was pity. Genna couldn't imagine what she would do if someone had threatened her family, and while it was Catelyn Starks's fault for believing a man like Baelish, Genna knew how persuasive some people could be. The man had preyed upon Catelyn Stark and her friendship. She approached Catelyn and drew her into her arms, looking at Tywin and Sansa.

"I think that's enough for now. She needs rest, bath, food and time to think," Genna said softly.

Tywin looked at Sansa and saw the exhaustion on her face as well. It had been a trying day, to say the least.

"She must be guarded at all times. No one can know she is here, and she cannot ever be by herself."

Tywin was afraid of what she might do to herself when the true magnitude of her crimes hit her. He was no longer worried she was a threat to his wife, but he would take no chances. He'd already decided the best course of action was to allow her to recover in Kings Landing until after the wedding, then send her back to Robb Stark in the North. Sansa would never forgive him if he didn't at least try, and to be fair, he didn't believe the woman deserved to be put on trial or held in the black cells. Misguided and misled, she had acted out of defence for her family. Strangely, Tywin could understand her motivations. He'd launched a war to win back a son he hadn't even liked at the time.

Sansa squeezed his hand and whispered, "Thank you, husband." Then she rose to help Genna escort her mother to her new room.

Before she left, she turned to Tywin and leaned into him and asked softly, her hands playing with the buckles on his doublet, "Do you have any more business to see to today? Or will you be here when I return?"

It was only early afternoon, but she needed him. He saw all of her need cross her face, and immediately cancelled any plans he might have had. He shot Tyrion a look, that said, take care of my afternoon appointments, and saw his son nod.

"I will be here Sansa," and then he pressed a kiss gently to her forehead. The women departed, and he turned to his brother and his sons. He needed to know if he was a fool, giving Sansa's mother this much grace. He had never asked for advice like this from his son's before, but he needed to be sure that his feelings for his wife weren't leading him astray.

"Am I wrong to give Lady Stark a chance?" he asked them quietly. Jaime and Tyrion were shocked. They'd never been asked for their advice before. Kevan was more used to it. There were many times over the years when Tywin had asked his opinion. He just never did it in front of those whom he didn't trust and value. It seemed his sons had earned that honour at last.

Tyrion shrugged and said, "It would take a braver man than me to send my wife's mother to the black cells, or worse." Then he sighed. "She seems to be genuinely remorseful, father. I do not think your instincts are wrong on this."

Jaime agreed. "With her children alive father, she has no real need for vengeance against our House. And any fool can see how much you care for her daughter. How much we all care for her daughter. Lady Sansa will win her over."

Kevan looked at Tywin. "The woman values family above all else. She was misguided and misinformed by a master manipulator. With her free from the clutches of a man like Petyr Baelish, she might be able to see reason again."

Tywin nodded, then dismissed his family. Sansa would be back soon, and he still hadn't defeated his worry when he'd heard that Lord Baelish had found her. Tywin needed to hold her and touch with her and join with her to chase away any lingering fear that he had. He wouldn't be entirely comfortable until he had his wife in his arms in their bed.

Tywin ordered a late lunch for Sansa and had it delivered to their bedroom. Everything had been arranged, and when she arrived back, she had a grateful smile on her exhausted face. She collapsed into a chair at the small table that had platefuls of food adorning it and begun to eat earnestly, the baby driving her hunger. Tywin watched, amused and relieved. If she was willing to eat like that, then he knew she was feeling ok. Finally slowing her frantic pace, she swallowed some water and smiled at him. He felt his heart thump harder as he gazed at her, her beauty stealing his breath.

She broke into a wide grin and started to chuckle before her whole body was shaking and she was laughing so hard she was crying. Delighted that she seemed to be in a good mood, Tywin pulled her from the chair and begun to undress her. As he slipped the laces and hooks from her back, she sighed happily, enjoying having her husband's hands on her body. Tywin loved the moment when he could undress her. She was like a present that was made only for him.

"What an utterly ridiculous and absurd two days," she murmured. Tywin growled his agreement. Since yesterday, Tyrion and Margaery had shared their plans for marriage, a plot for the King was devised, the decision to seize the Iron Throne agreed upon, Tywin had disclosed a monumental secret to his wife, Baelish had confronted his wife, and his wife had been held at knifepoint by her mother. He wanted to lock Sansa in their bedchamber and never let her leave his side again.

Tywin pulled the gown down over her shoulders and let it pool around her long legs. Keeping her back to him, he moved her glorious waterfall of flame-red hair off her neck so he could run his tongue down the back her neck, sucking on her and heating her blood. She moaned.

"How did she settle in, Sansa?" he murmured into her, loving the feel and smell of her skin. He reached around her and cupped her breasts. Sansa shrugged, distracted by his hands on her body. She needed time to come to terms with her mother and what, if anything, could be salvaged from their relationship. While Sansa would always feel the tug of the North whenever she received a raven from her family, her home was now with her husband.

A husband who it seemed was trying to drive her mad with desire before he took pity on her. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she grabbed his hand and brought it between her legs. She rubbed herself against him and begged him for more. He chuckled softly, pleased at how greedy she was for him.

"Gods, wife, what you do to me," he murmured in her ear, sucking at the shell as she bucked against him and moaned again. Impatient, she turned nipped at his lip, biting at him.

"Do not play with me husband. I am on my last bit of patience for the day," she growled and smashed her lips to his, pulling them both down on the bed. As he fell on top of her, he braced himself so he would not hurt her and then rose slightly to look at her. She was superb. Her face flushed with love and desire; her chest was heaving, and her scent was intoxicating. She had wrapped her long legs around his waist, bringing him into direct contact with her heat.

Leaning down, he whispered against her ear, "You are mine, Sansa," and then surged into her, taking her hard and deep. She clenched around him. He kept his mouth next to her ear, "Tell me you are mine Sansa," Tywin commanded, drowning in his need and want and love for her. His words and his actions drove her mad as she ground into him, tightening her sheath to keep him buried deep within her.

She sobbed as he thrust into her, overcome with all she felt for him, and whimpered, "Yours Tywin. I'm yours, yours, yours. Always yours."

They were lost in each other and Sansa wanted him as close to her as he could be. Weaving his fingers through her hair, he held her head, so her gaze never left his as he pounded into her. Wild in their need for each other, Sansa matched every stroke and every moan. He kept his punishing pace, happy to feel herself start to flutter around him. When she cried out, "I love you Tywin," he felt himself peak and empty into her, and he grunted "Love you" into her neck where he had buried his face, overcome with how much he felt for her.

He held himself in her, loving how it felt to be this close to her, needing to hold her tightly until he felt her breathing slow and he knew that she would soon drift off to sleep, exhaustion from the day finally claiming her. He pulled out of her slowly then, and he held her, thinking about the upcoming days, and the tasks before him. He had it on good authority that Joffrey had requested a special whore for the night before his wedding and Tywin knew had one opportunity to strike.

Tywin thought about the fallout from the King's death. He was a man who always planned ten steps ahead. Littlefinger and Cersei would have to be dealt with immediately if he were to take the Iron Throne successfully. Both would use the chaos of the King's death to try and seize power for themselves.

Tywin sighed and looked at his wife, happier than ever that she was by his side, but as always, he worried about her safety. Her mother, Littlefinger, Cersei, even the King. There were so many who wanted to harm her or steal her from him.

He let his hands drift lower down her body until they rested on Sansa's stomach. A tiny stomach that had just begun to grow larger. Their child. A fierce love came over him them, not only for his wife but for this new heir of his. Then he thought of his child, vulnerable to Joffrey and Cersei and his resolve hardened. Tomorrow he would ensure that they were both safe. Soon everyone in the Kingdom would finally know who indeed ruled Westeros. The next few days would define the Lannister legacy for years to come and he fully intended to leave a united seven kingdoms to his wife and heirs.


	16. Chapter 16

_ Tyrion's Room _

Margaery had been desperate to get back to Tyrion since they had received their family's blessing on their betrothal. She had missed him so much, and she had barely had a chance to spend any time with him since he'd arrived back from Braavos.

Margaery knew she was taking a considerable risk, but she hadn't seen Tyrion since the day he'd arrived back home. For some reason, Sansa and the rest of the Lannister's had been very occupied, and where she would typically get a chance to speak with him in the garden's he hadn't shown, which is why she took this chance to come to him early in the morning. This evening the entire court would be present at their last pre-wedding event; a massive feast with presents, dancing, singing and more courses of food than Margaery could count. She was already dreading having to simper and preen and appease the King, and she was worried about how he would treat his uncle.

When Margaery had snuck into Tyrion's rooms, it was still dark, dawn still hours away yet. She knew she would have to leave within a few hours, but any time with the man she loved was worth the risk. His bedchamber was dark, and his body was lying on top of the sheets as if he'd stumbled over and passed out. She did notice more than one empty flagon of wine in the other room. He clearly must have been entertaining his brother last night.

She giggled a little to realize what a large bed he had and gently climbed up, making sure she didn't disturb him. When Tyrion woke, it was to an armful of woman snuggled close to him. Margaery nuzzled at his neck, and he turned to kiss her, his eyes wide and asking the question of what she was doing here.

"I missed you. And I know we can't couple, but I wanted to feel close to you," she said quietly, moaning slightly as he continued to suckle at her neck. Today would be especially trying, and she knew that Joffrey would be miserable to be around. She needed something that belonged to just her. And now she had this happy memory.

Margaery sighed, and Tyrion knew she had to go back to her rooms, but he enjoyed having her cuddled into him, as he stroked her hair. He pressed kisses to her forehead and thought about the day before them. And an endless parade of family and pageantry. And the next time he'd see the woman he loved, she'd be on the arm of the King.

They spoke softly of things that had nothing to do with the King or their marriage; only of their dreams and wants, things they might have in common. It was unlike any experience Tyrion had ever had, and he knew he’d treasure it for the long days to come.

"Soon, my love, soon," he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone when she got agitated thinking about the night ahead of them. He had to trust that his father and Lady Sansa had a plan for the King. He would never let Joffrey lay a hand on her, even if that meant he had to sacrifice his life for hers.

"I just want it to be over," she sighed, anguish in every word. She worried that Joffrey was uncontrollable, even with Lord Tywin on their side. It seemed that no one could control him these days, and there was so much that could go wrong.

"I know," he said, unable to give her any more comfort. Not for the first time in his life, did Tyrion lament his dwarf status. It grated fiercely that he would be unable to defend the woman he loved.

After a few moments, she pulled herself from his embrace and leaned down to kiss him once more, looking into his eyes, a fierce and determined look in her eyes.

"No matter what happens, no matter what I say, or do, or what he says or does, remember this Tyrion." He nodded. "Promise me," she whispered. “Remember that I love you.”

"I promise," he said softly.

"I love you," she murmured again. “You are mine.”

"And I love you," he said back to her.

Moments later, she slipped from his rooms. He almost believed it had all just been a vivid dream, except he could still taste her lips on his, smell her in his bed and feel her in his heart. No matter what happened, Tyrion knew that the Rose of Highgarden loved him; an ill-made creature that had never had anything like her in his life.

_ The Apartments of the Hand _

In a high tower, ensconced in her husbands' huge bed, Sansa had for once awoken before her lion. She took the time to observe him. Free from his usual burdens of running an entire Kingdom, she once again reflected on how much she truly loved him. Deeply. Passionately. Wholly.

She knew tonight he would do something horrific, and she couldn't even imagine the strength that was in him to be willing to do this. She knew they were both worried about how Joffrey's death would affect Jaime. He and Tywin had just started to repair their relationship, and this could change things irrevocably. She brushed her hands gently over his skin, tracing lines and scars, feeling how warm and stable he was.

Here in their bedroom, away from all the pressures and worries that ruling Westeros brought to their door, they were just husband and wife. She briefly wondered what it would have been like if she had chosen to go back to Casterly Rock, knowing he'd have come there with her. Would they have been happier? Or would they have always felt the looming shadow of Joffrey and Cersei? She had to believe that they were meant to be here; in King’s Landing and on the path they had chosen.

Sansa wondered at the change in her as well. She never thought she'd be the type of person who would actively participate in the murder of another. But if anyone deserved it, it was Joffrey. So caught up in her musings, Sansa hadn't realized that silent tears had tracked down her face. It wasn't until she felt a gentle finger trace the tracks her tears left that she lifted her eyes to his. His beautiful gold-green eyes that had instilled nothing but fear in so many throughout the Kingdom, held nothing but love for her.

"Sansa, what is it, love?" Tywin asked quietly, the dawn not quite having risen yet, worried that his wife was crying.

"It's just," she whispered, voice so soft it seemed to float on the air between them, "it's so unfair that the burden always falls on you Tywin."

He smiled at her, his fierce lioness and passionate wife. Her love for him was so deep it humbled him. It had been ages since anyone had worried about him; it was a strange feeling to him. "I know how much it means that you and Jaime have reconciled and I would hate that this might come between you.”

"Hush, Sansa," Tywin said gently, cradling her to him. He'd been making decisions like this for years. He loved how much she was part of his life, but he was used to the burden ruling put on a man, and she wasn't. Despite her willingness to be ruthless, at her core, his wife was a gentle and caring soul. It was more than enough that she even thought of him and how killing Joffrey might affect him. No one, not even Joanna had ever had this type of consideration for him.

"When is it too much Tywin?" she asked softly. He stroked her cheek and then let his hand trail down to rest against her stomach where she safely grew their child.

He swallowed hard, wondering how much more vulnerable he was willing to become with her. She knew he loved her, and that he respected her. She knew how possessive and jealous he could be. But did she know how much he needed her? Craved her? How she made him better, made him feel whole again. Tywin Lannister was not a poetic man, but he knew this was a critical moment for them. Gently he titled her chin up, so their eyes met, and he traced her jaw.

"I married young, for love, and some say foolishly. Lady Joanna didn't bring me any lands, or new titles, or riches. She was my cousin, and I'd been in love with her for as long as I could remember. I wanted her and loved her, and so I married her." Tywin paused, and Sansa held her breath. Tywin had so rarely shared anything about his previous wife with her, and most of what she'd learned had come second hand from Genna or Kevan.

He sighed. "It is true I loved my first wife deeply, Sansa. And maybe if she had lived things would have been different. Maybe Cersei wouldn't be so hard and cruel. Maybe she and Jaime would never have started their ill-conceived affair. Maybe I would have had a better relationship with Tyrion. It is impossible to know. For thirty-five years, the pain and loneliness that consumed me from losing her drove my every action." Tywin paused. "Perhaps to the detriment of my family." He smiled sardonically then, knowing his statement was more than a little bit true. "Every decision I made came from a place of pain, Sansa, and her death hardened me."

He smiled at her. "Then Stannis attacked Kings Landing, and mere weeks later, a little wolf walked into the lion's den and tuned my well-ordered and painfully lonely life upside down." Sansa smiled at his description.

"Nothing is too much with you by my side Sansa. I never believed I could love as deeply as I did before and then you came along and have proven me wrong every day since our first meeting." Tywin's face had relaxed, and Sansa traced his jawline with her fingers, hearing him rumble into her hand. He kissed her palm.

"Here in our room, where it is only you and I, I can tell you I am a better man with you and your love in my life, and that nothing is too much to ensure your safety. Nothing Sansa." Gods she loved it when he spoke about their life with such intensity. Sansa leaned up and kissed him then, love for him drowning her.

"Tywin," she breathed into him, emotion swamping her.

"You have to know how much I love you, Sansa," he said, almost urgently and she nodded. "You are everything Sansa, everything to me." He relaxed again and then said, "And tonight, after we've gone to this horrid dinner and after I've dispatched the King, I will come back, and I will come to you. And it will all be enough because I know you will be here and that I have your love and acceptance. That is a rare gift; to love a man such as me even when you know the truth of what I am."

She was overwhelmed with how much he meant to her. He leaned down and kissed her, and moved over her, languid and content as she welcomed him into her body. She was all around him, everything to him, and he moved slowly in her, drawing out their connection and desire until she sobbed his name and trembled in his arms as he spent himself deep in her. They stayed locked to each other, patting and stroking, kissing and touching until dawn crept in and the room lightened.

They rose eventually, and dressed, but not before Sansa had brought her ruby to Tywin. She shrugged and said that she wanted to wear it today, that it reminded her of them, and that she'd need the extra bursts of pleasure to get through such an awful day. Tywin was delighted. He attached the chains around her slightly bigger stomach, happy that it still fit, for it wouldn't much longer. He couldn't help but spend a moment to nuzzle the small mound that had started to grow, and he smelled his wife's arousal building again as he stroked her curls and the ruby. Each day she seemed more perfect for him.

Sansa helped Tywin with his doublet, securing the buckles and picking up his Hand of the King pin. She stroked it lightly, then pinned it to his chest, noting that if their plan were successful, this pin would have to find a new owner. She briefly wondered who Tywin might have in mind for such a role, then pushed it out of her head, determined not to borrow worries that hadn't yet come. Tywin leaned down and kissed his wife before he tucked her arm in his and escorted them to the dining hall where their family awaited.

* * *

Catelyn had spent a rather comfortable night in her rooms that were part of the vast network that belonged to the Hand of the King. Sansa's husband. She could hardly believe the man had been willing to allow her to stay. She'd spent the entire night thinking about her actions. She regretted many and others she was ashamed of. But the hardest part for her was reconciling the man she'd seen with her daughter today and the one with the fiercest reputation in all of Westeros.

Tywin Lannister had done some truly awful things in his life. Everyone knew how he'd single-handedly wiped two houses loyal to House Lannister from the map. And all before he'd even turned twenty. Ned had always held the lions from Casterly Rock in suspicion, and Robert had complained enough about his marriage to Cersei to solidify Ned's dislike of House Lannister.

Catelyn Stark didn't think she would ever be able to trust the Lannisters. But it was clear her daughter did. Cat realized something else as well. It didn't matter how many armies Robb might raise, Tywin Lannister would never give Sansa up. The only way her daughter would ever see the North again would be because her husband accompanied her there. For a visit. In truth, it was what she had always wanted for Sansa, what she had groomed her for. To be the lady of an excellent keep, to marry an important man, to give him sons and heirs. Her daughter had exceeded all expectations of her mother. The problem was she had exceeded her expectations by marrying the enemy. That's what Catelyn had troubles with. She couldn't even imagine what her husband would say if he were still alive. They both had never pictured such a match for Sansa.

Catelyn had to admit, Genna Lannister had been wonderful to her, and as she'd shown her to her rooms and called for a bath, she'd answered most of Cat's questions. When she asked how far along Sansa was in her pregnancy, Genna's eyes lit with pride and excitement and happiness. "Just over three months, Lady Stark." Cat felt something clench in her heart. She knew they had plans to send her North, and that meant she wouldn't be here for the birth of her grandchild. Sansa had told her that Robb's wife was also pregnant, but it was different when it was her daughter. Catelyn had always imagined that no matter whom Sansa married, she would be there for the birth of her first child. A daughter needed her mother during such a time. Genna murmured an agreement, and Cat realized she had spoken out loud.

"Tell me, Lady Lannister, how bad was it here for Sansa?" Catelyn asked softly.

Genna's brow furrowed. "You mean before Ty came back?" Catelyn nodded. Genna paused. She didn't know what parts of the story were hers to tell, and what parts Sansa didn't want to be disclosed. Suffice it to say; they were on tenuous ground.

Genna sighed. "My Lady, you and your daughter have much catching up to do." Before Cat could protest, Genna held up a hand. "It wasn't good, Lady Stark. The fact that your daughter is here, happy and in love, and alive, is a testament to her willpower and her strength. Remember that."

Catelyn felt her eyes fill. What had happened to Sansa in her time here? Yesterday all she'd seen was a well-loved and well taken care of noblewoman. Cat swallowed. Clearly there was much more to the story. She was eager to have time to speak with Sansa again.

"And after the Great Lion came back?" she asked softly.

Genna smiled then laughed a bit. "No one knows how it happened between them. Ty and Sansa won't say a word. I arrived a couple of weeks before their wedding, and I took one look at the two of them and just knew. Knew that they were too fools falling in love with each other."

Genna looked at Cat and saw a slightly horrified expression on the woman's face, and she was annoyed with the woman. Noble families had been marrying their offspring for political advantage since the dawn of time. She had been given to a loathsome Frey man. Catelyn Stark should be thrilled that her daughter had found someone to love and that he loved her back. In Genna's experience, Sansa and Tywin were the exception to the rule, not the norm.

"I'll tell you this, Lady Stark. When Lannister men love, it is as true and deep and intense as any other in the entire Kingdom. My brother would burn the seven kingdoms to the ground for your daughter. And she would let him. Watch them. I've rarely seen two people who were so clearly meant to be together. Just give him a chance, My Lady. I am well aware of the reputation of Tywin Lannister, and I will make no apologies for what my brother has done for our house. Indeed I will defend him to my last breath. But he loves your daughter, deep and true and well, Lady Stark. You can trust me on that."

Genna had left shortly after that, leaving a very confused and very tired Lady Stark behind.

This morning she'd been escorted to the dining hall, and she watched as Lannister's filtered in. First Genna, then Kevan, then Jaime who sent her a small smile and inquired about her evening. She wondered about him. She could hardly believe that there were only two years age difference between them. She'd seen his golden hand and asked what had happened to him since she'd let him go. He seemed almost a different man. Kinder, gentler, less cocky. And his place within the lion's den was well established. When she had talked with him before, he often spoke about his father with an air of scorn or mockery. Cat saw none of that now.

Next Tywin and Sansa entered, and they were once again touching each other. Cat watched as Tywin leaned down and whispered something in Sansa's ear. She blushed and swatted at him. He threw his head back and laughed at her, and she heard her daughter mutter, "Do not mock me husband or I will make you pay." Then she heard him say back, "I look most foreword to your punishments wife," and Sansa's face coloured again. Sansa loved it when he said the word wife in his growly voice.

When Catelyn looked around the table to see how everyone took such inappropriate japing, Genna just smiled, and Kevan shook his head at their antics.

Jaime raised an eyebrow at Lady Stark's expression and said quietly, "I'm afraid they are always like this, Lady Stark." He looked at them then, his father and his pretty young wife. "It should be absurd, but instead, it just makes most of us realize what we are missing."

Then shaking himself from his melancholy, he turned his attention to his youngest brother, who'd entered the room whistling. And with a saunter. Jaime raised his eyebrows at that. He'd been with Tyrion the entire evening, spending it getting pleasantly drunk and hoping to forget that his first-born son was most likely set to die this evening. What on earth had Tyrion gotten himself into that he'd ended up in such a happy mood? Jaime wondered.

Jaime wasn't the only one to notice the dwarf's good mood. Tywin arched an eyebrow. He sincerely hoped his second son hadn't done something incredibly stupid with Joffrey's intended.

Walking up to Sansa, Tyrion placed a kiss on her cheek and murmured in her ear, "I don't know whether to kiss you or kill you for the ideas you've put in Lady Margaery's head, Mother. But suffice it to say, I settled on a kiss!" Sansa laughed, remembering how Sansa had told Margaery how much she loved to just lay in bed and talk with her husband; how it had bonded them.

Tywin arched an eyebrow her way, and she just smiled at him. He knew that look. He pulled her close to him and whispered in her ear, making sure his breath tickled her, "Perhaps you are the one who deserves to be punished, My Lady." Sansa turned as red as the ruby that he'd secured around her just a short time ago. "Hush," and swatted at him again, feeling the lust pool in her loins. She briefly wondered if she would ever get enough of this man, and then shrugged. He was hers, and she was his, and that was good enough for her.

Breakfast passed quickly, everyone having tasks to see to. Sansa had told Tywin that she wanted to spend the day with her mother, and he agreed. There was a smaller solar, hardly used, and Genna and Sansa escorted Catelyn there after the men had left for their small council meeting.

Sansa had arranged for tea and sweets, and as the three ladies settled in, Genna asked Sansa how she was feeling. Sansa grinned at her good sister, one of her dearest and closest friends, and forgetting for a moment that her mother was sitting there, said, "Insatiable, Genna." Then she smiled as Genna laughed.

"I'm sure Ty has no issues with that, my dear.” Genna reached over to rest her hand against Sansa's growing stomach.

"I know you said my desires will get even more intense but is it like this for every lady when she is with child?" Sansa asked, clearly wanting to know more.

Genna shrugged. "I'm sure it varies, but I can tell you my husband was always happiest when I told him he'd gotten me with child again." Genna paused. "I'd hope it's like this for most. Birthing a child is no easy task, Sansa, and many women have paid the ultimate price. Maybe it's our reward." Sansa grimaced slightly at that thought, knowing how Lady Joanna had died.

"Have you thought any more about a midwife or a Maester? Has Ty said anything?"

Sansa shook her head. She was reluctant to bring such a topic up with her husband, knowing what had happened last time Tywin Lannister's wife had been pregnant.

"I know it's improper, but I can't imagine doing this without him. But I don't know how to ask him. What would he think of me? And surely no husband wants to see his lady in such a state," Sansa said softly. She knew all about birthing. She'd attended more than one woman who'd brought a babe into the world when she lived at Winterfell. While they had both Maester and midwives, as a future Lady of a great keep, Sansa had been expected to know what had happened in the birthing room, both, as it was expected from her and expected she would ensure others, could safely bring their children into the world.

Catelyn coughed slightly then, hoping Sansa would look to her for advice, seemingly having forgotten she was even there. Sansa looked at her, and exclaimed, "Mother! I am so sorry. Often Lady Genna and I discuss matters such as these. I've very few other women here in Kings Landing that have had such experiences. Two of my dearest friends are still yet to be married."

Catelyn nodded. She needed to treat Sansa like the married woman she was, and not like the maiden she had been when she left Winterfell. Indeed her daughter seemed well versed in the bed play if the displays from her husband were any indication. And her pregnancy.

Catelyn cleared her throat and then said, "Your father also benefited greatly through all five of my pregnancies, Sansa." Then Catelyn blushed. Sansa gaped at her mother for a moment before she let out a pretty laugh and grasped her mother's hand, her eyes dancing with mirth. It was a happy thought to imagine her parents having such a need for each other while her mother was pregnant. And it helped Sansa feel normal for how much she wanted her husband. Being with Tywin and the Lannister's had done much to curb Sansa of her prudish northern upbringing.

"Truly?" she asked. "This need is normal?"

Catelyn nodded, tears forming in her eyes when Sansa reached for her. She took a chance and brushed a stray hair from her daughter's face.

"Yes. As for the other, well, with you and Robb and Arya, your father wanted nothing to do with the birthing rooms. But by the time Bran and Rickon came along I told him I wasn't the only one who'd gotten me in that state and he'd better do his best to help me get through it." Cat smiled at the memory, remembering how Ned had wrapped himself around her and supported her as she birthed his last two children. "If your husband is willing to be there with you Sansa, I would recommend you take him up on his offer. His strength will help you greatly."

Sansa felt the emotion of the moment overwhelm her. This is what had been missing, what she had longed for. It had been so very long since she had seen her family, felt their support, received their love. She'd been left alone and defenceless in Kings Landing until Tywin came back to the city. And while most of the Lannister's had welcomed her, there was still no substitute for her mother. She threw herself into her mother's arms and sobbed as she felt Cately n's arms band around her, holding her to her lap as Sansa spent herself. Genna had moved closer and rubbed circles' on her back.

"I missed you so much. They made me write that awful note to you. I had no idea what would happen. You must believe me, Mother. You must. And then they made me watch. They made me watch as Joffrey ordered Father to die. They made me watch as that awful Illyn Payne took Ice and used it to remove Father's head. Then Joffrey dragged me to where they had put his head on a spike, where I could only see his empty eyes. I didn't mean to betray out house Mother." Sansa was a heaving and inconsolable mess.

Catelyn Stark's heart broke. How did this magnificent creature, this amazing daughter of hers survive such horrors? And clearly, she thought they blamed her for the letter they had received. Catelyn had known immediately that Sansa would never have written such things if she hadn't been tricked or coerced.

"Hush darling, hush," Catelyn crooned as Sansa wept. "No one thinks any of those things of you, my brave girl." Catelyn raised her eyes and met Genna's. Both women felt the pain of what Sansa had been through, what the Stark's had been through. At that moment, Catelyn let go of any lingering hatred for House Lannister. She knew that they were responsible for some of the greatest pain that had come to House Stark, but it seemed that they were also responsible for some of their greatest joy.

This woman rubbing Sansa's back, offering her daughter comfort and acceptance clearly loved her as much as any natural-born daughter. Catelyn had seen the looks exchanged between Tywin and Sansa, and though she could never have pictured it, it seemed Sansa was thrilled in her marriage. And in love. And not the love that Cat had built with Ned. Not that slow love, built brick by brick, day by day, child by child. No Sansa had found a love that rivalled those in the stories and songs she loved. And now, somehow against all the odds, Catelyn had been given another chance. There were countless things to discuss, old hurts to work through, barbs to forgive. But for the first time, Catelyn believed that she would be a part of Sansa's life.

Sansa raised her eyes, her tears slowing. "Will you stay? For just a little while longer. I know you despise Kings Landing. But I just got you back, Mother. We need time. Time to work on things."

Catelyn traced a hand down Sansa's pale cheek, hardly daring to breathe now that Sansa had asked such a thing of her. She swallowed hard, emotion clogging her throat. "I will stay for as long as you need me, Sansa. I will do whatever it takes." Catelyn raised her eyes from Sansa's and met Genna's. "I find myself more and more grateful for the family you have created here Sansa. And I am so proud of you, darling." Catelyn pressed a kiss to Sansa's cheek.

"They love me, Mother. They honestly, truly and deeply love me, and none more than Tywin. I can't imagine my life with anyone else. I love him so much, and I'm sorry if that makes you mad at me, or if you think I am awful or disgusting. I can't help who I love Mother."

_Gods_, Catelyn thought, her heartbreaking. _What had she done to her child that Sansa felt that loving her husband made her less worthy in her mother's eyes? Was she such a monster that she had driven Sansa to this? _She was such a fool.

"Oh my love, no, no, no," Catelyn said urgently to her. "The fault lies entirely with me Sansa. Not you. Never you."

Sansa's Tully blue eyes met Cat's, and she could see the doubt and fear of judgement still there.

Cat swallowed hard. "He never would have been who I would have chosen for you," and held up her hand before Sansa could protest, "But I see what is between you. I see it is true and deep and good. And I see that he feels as much for you as you do him. And that he treats you well. I may never fully understand what has happened between you and him Sansa, but you have my blessing on your marriage."

Sansa felt her eyes fill again, and a broken piece of her heart knitted itself back together. She never thought her mother would ever say those words to her. She hugged her mother tightly and felt those familiar hands stroke her hair. "Thank you," she whispered into her mother's embrace, and Catelyn Stark felt a weight leave her shoulders, amazed at the turn of events in the past few days. She had somehow, against all the odds, managed to salvage her relationship with her daughter. And that was more important than all the vengeance in the world.


	17. Chapter 17

_ Pre-Wedding Dinner _

Sansa had been extraordinarily meticulous in the selection of her gown for this evening. Remembering her husband's eyes when she had arrived in her royal blue gown months ago, tonight Sansa had chosen a deep green colour that would highlight her pale complexion and red hair. She'd ensured that there were golden lions stitched into the gown, and had the seamstress make it so that it hugged her body so that the swell of her stomach was noticeable. Sansa had also instructed her husband he was to wear black tonight. He'd given her a look at that command, and she'd smiled sweetly at him. Even the Great Lion could not resist such a look.

"Trust me, we will look every inch the Lord and Lady Lannister, husband," and she kissed him on the cheek. "I love the jacket with the golden lions stitched on it," and laughed when he'd growled at her.

Secretly, Tywin loved that Sansa cared about what he wore. For too long there had been nobody to ensure the way that he presented himself showcased his wealth and power; now there was his wife, and it delighted him even if outwardly he gave her a look or two. They both knew he was fooling no one- Tywin loved having a wife again.

Before getting ready in their rooms, Sansa had met with Tywin in the solar, wrung out from the emotional interaction with her mother. She felt they'd turned a corner in their relationship. It wasn't what it had been, but Sansa realized it never would be. She was a grown woman now, with a husband and a family and a child on the way. Today, for the first time, Sansa felt like her mother talked to her like the adult she was. And she finally had her mother's blessing on her marriage. Tywin had been circumspect in his comments. He still didn't trust Lady Stark, but he hoped for her sake that she was genuinely trying with Sansa. His wife deserved that.

Tonight, all the Lannister's would be attending the feast in the Great Hall, so Tywin had Ser Addam Marbrand, his trusted bannerman and Commander of the City Watch scheduled to be in their apartments. Tywin had heard rumours when he was in the Red Keep today that Lord Baelish was beside himself because he had lost one of his girls. Tywin had snorted at that. He knew precisely whom Baelish searched for, and he knew tonight would be a perfect opportunity for the greasy little man to try to gain access to Catelyn Stark. Littlefinger honestly couldn't believe that she would have gone anywhere else but to her daughter.

Tywin had just finished dressing when Sansa walked back into their bedroom. He stopped what he was doing, stunned by how beautiful his wife was. Her gown was deep green and accentuated her stunning figure, highlighting the small bump that had appeared almost overnight around her midsection. Tywin knew beneath that gown she wore their secret ruby, and around her neck, she'd chosen her wedding choker. Her hair was styled up tonight, a sight he rarely saw these days, so everything highlighted the Lannister gold, rubies and diamonds. She looked wealthy. And beautiful. And like a Queen. A Queen that was set to give the Kingdom its next heir; no one who looked upon her would be able to deny that the next heir to Casterly Rock was on its way.

Unaware of her husband's reaction to her, Sansa tsked slightly under her breath when she saw he hadn't finished with his coat, and quickly came up to him to help him. When she was within arm's length, Tywin pulled her to him and crushed her body to his. She laughed brightly and turned so she could nuzzle into his neck.

"I take it you approve, husband?" she asked and quirked an eyebrow at him.

"You look like a Queen, Sansa. Beautiful. Regal. Elegant. Mine." Tywin growled the last word and smashed his lips to her, wondering if the day would ever come when he didn't want her. He doubted it. She moaned into him before she gathered all her willpower to push him back slightly.

Flushed and fighting back her own needs, she whispered, "Tywin, we will be late." He sighed, knowing she was correct. Finishing quickly, they made their way to the dining hall where Kevan, Genna, Jaime, Tyrion and Catelyn waited, the later clearly not coming with them tonight. Not when they still had Littlefinger to deal with. They were chatting softly with Ser Marbrand. Sansa had met him a couple of times, and he reminded Sansa of Kevan. She also knew he was a widower and that both his sons had perished in various wars, the latest a casualty of the night Stannis Baratheon attacked Kings Landing. Tywin had told Sansa that he had arranged for Ser Marbrand to be in their apartments as added security as he was taking Jerrod with them and didn't trust Lord Baelish.

When Sansa and Tywin entered the dining hall, all conversation stopped, and everyone just looked at them. Even Catelyn Stark thought they looked like royalty. Here was the real power behind the throne, she thought. Her daughter had never looked more beautiful, and Tywin Lannister was, she admitted, a handsome man, if somewhat severe for her tastes.

Jaime Lannister had spent his life guarding Kings and had seen his fair share of beautiful woman filter through the Red Keep's halls. He was unsure if he'd seen anything more exquisite than Sansa Lannister at that moment. She was positively glowing, her pregnancy showing and the love for his father shining in her eyes. If every single person in the Hall tonight didn't view her as their true Queen he'd eat his white cloak.

Tyrion recovered first, exclaiming, "Mother, you are stunning. A true vision for us mortals." Sansa blushed and dropped a small curtsey to him, then laughed brightly.

"Sansa, darling," her mother gushed, tears in her eyes. She rushed over to hug her daughter, and Sansa embraced her before pulling back.

"This was my wedding gift, Mother, from Tywin," Sansa said, brushing her hand along the spectacular piece of jewelry. Catelyn looked at it closely, seeing just how intricate and stunning the necklace was.

"Oh Sansa, I bet you were a beautiful bride," Catelyn said softly, once again furious at herself for missing out on so much of her daughter's life. At least she had this, these new memories and moments.

Tywin coughed slightly, and Catelyn blushed and stepped back, letting the Great Lion once again claim his wife. He made eye contact with Ser Marbrand, knowing the man would do whatever it took to protect Lady Stark and then indicated to his family that it was time to go. The only one missing was Tommen, but Cersei had insisted that he be with her today and Tywin had relented. Myrcella hadn't made the trip from Dorne, for which Tywin was thankful.

When they reached the Great Hall, they were the last family to arrive by Tywin's design, and as their entry was announced, Tywin couldn't help but wonder if this would be the last time he held these exact titles. If their plan worked, the next time he and Sansa were presented to the Court, it would be as the King and Queen of the seven kingdoms.

_Presenting Lord Tywin of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport, Hand of the King, Protector of the Realm and Savior of the City, and his wife, Lady Sansa Lannister, of House Stark, Princess of the North._

As the lions of House Lannister walked through the Great Hall, led by Sansa and Tywin, all the Lords and Ladies of the Court knew they were in the presence of the true King and Queen. Tywin ruthlessly cultivated that image, ensuring he and Sansa were paraded in front of the entire court. He'd instructed his Red Cloaks to make an aisle for them to walk down as they approached the head table. The room had hushed the moment they had been announced, and there wasn't a single eye in the entire hall that wasn't riveted to them. At one-point, Tywin reached down and gently squeezed Sansa's arm, and she shot him a brilliant smile. Those who witnessed it almost swooned, seeing that Lady Sansa was so in love with the most powerful man in the realm. Not since the early years of the Targaryen's had the court felt like they were in the presence of true royalty. House Lannister, led by the Great Lion himself, with his beautiful pregnant wife, his sons and his siblings, ruled the seven kingdoms in all but name.

Joffrey, Margaery, Cersei and Tommen had already been seated, so every single eye was upon Sansa and Tywin as they approached the head table. Tywin met his daughter's eyes and saw she understood his power play. Then he watched the rage and fury consume her. He had single handily upstaged the entire event, almost openly proclaiming to the whole court that he was in charge, he was the power of Westeros and that Sansa was his Queen. A hush had fallen over the crowd until someone announced, that dinner was ready to be served. Tywin knew every single highborn lord and lady in the room tonight would remember this display tomorrow when he claimed the Iron Throne. And he doubted a single person in the room would openly challenge him for it.

All the Lords and Ladies of the court and indeed most of Westeros had gathered for this feast before the King's wedding tomorrow. Cersei had been in her element, having organized everything. And in a single moment, it felt like ashes in her mouth as her father, his whore wife and the rest of her traitorous family seized the moment that should belong to her son — the King. Bitter rage flowed through her.

Reaching the head table, Sansa curtsied low to Joffrey and Margaery, smiling softly at her friend, who returned her smile. Sansa also caught Cersei's eye. Sansa thought the woman might come out of her seat and attack her; the hatred was so great, but one growl from Tywin seemed to stop her. Once the family had been seated, the endless courses of food began.

Surprisingly the dinner was pleasant, mostly, Sansa thought because she was seated between Tywin and Tyrion and the dwarf kept her in stitches.

She knew his placement beside her had been deliberate. When Joffrey called for the entertainment, he'd arranged for Sansa felt a pit in her stomach. What followed was a grotesque re-enactment using other dwarves of every horrible thing that had ever happened to Tyrion and House Lannister, including the death of Lady Joanna, the rape of Tyrion's first wife, the battle when Tyrion had been in the vanguard and had been injured, the attack by Stannis and the night that Sansa and Shae had been assaulted.

Sansa felt her appetite leave her, and her face pale as she watched Joffrey chortle in glee at the reenactment, calling out insults to Tyrion at particularly awful parts. She reached down under the table and grasped Tyrion's hand. She couldn't do anything to stop the spectacle, but she could let him know he wasn't alone. She felt him give her hand a sharp tug back, and she knew he was grateful for her support.

Sansa looked around to see everyone's reaction. Tywin looked ready to murder the king right here in front of the entire court. Jaime looked like he'd be ill, unable to believe his son would choose to air their family history in such a way. Lady Margaery had tears in her eyes, unable to contain her hatred for the King when she looked upon him. Tyrion just clenched his jaw, having been prepared for such a scene. His only regret is that shame it brought to Lady Sansa and Lady Margaery. Finally, having seen enough, Tywin stood and looked at the actors rolling around on the floor and boomed out, "Enough!" Startled, they looked up to see the imposing man towering over them, and realizing they were in more danger from him than the King quickly scrambled to leave, much to the consternation of the King.

"Hand!" Joffrey barked jumping to his feet, outrage colouring his face, "You had no right to dismiss my entertainment. I should have you arrested."

Tywin just stared the boy down. "Do not threaten me. If you want to arrest me, do it. Otherwise, sit down and be quiet!" Tywin commanded the City Watch and the Red Cloaks, plus the entire Lannister Army. There wasn't a force in the seven Kingdoms save for the one in the North that could challenge him in military superiority. And not a single force near Kings Landing in a position to do so. Cersei had to know that Joffrey didn't have a leg to stand on. And even though Tywin had a plan to deal with both Joffrey and Baelish, one more offensive move by the King tonight and he would cut him down, right here and now and claim the throne, and let anyone who protested try their hand against his might.

The two men stared each other down before Cersei grabbed Joffrey's hand and announced that the dancing was set to begin.

Joffrey turned from Tywin and looked to Lady Margaery who had once again schooled her face into a serene mask. Almost grabbing at her arm, Joffrey led her down to the open floor before the music started.

Tywin finally sat back down, and Sansa could see it was all he could do to hold on to his legendary control. Knowing that if they remained at the table, he might do something out of anger at his grandson, Sansa reached and grabbed his hand, stroking him before she murmured, "Dance with me, My Lord." He swung his eyes around to her, saw her love and support and felt the worst of his rage cool. Standing back up, he drew her to her feet and led her down to the floor to dance.

Tucked in Tywin's arms, Sansa could feel the tension coursing through his body. If there had been a single shadow of a doubt about Joffrey's fate, his display here tonight had eradicated it. Joffrey was teetering on pure madness and had brought shame to House Lannister with his presentation. It had been true that for years Tywin had never held his second son in high regard, but Tyrion was a Lannister. The family was everything to Tywin, and no one, not even his bastard grandchild could be allowed to sully the family name so publicly. While Tywin would take no pleasure in his task, he knew the Kingdom would be infinitely better once his grandson no longer sat on the throne.

Before long, Sansa had tired, and Tywin brought them back to their seats. Unbeknownst to her, he had made sure that her favourite dessert was served tonight, and he saw her face light when she came back to her place and saw two lemon tarts sitting on a plate, waiting for her. She let out a bright laugh and leaned over to kiss him. Tywin had brought his hand up to cup her cheek and momentarily touched his forehead to hers before they broke apart. Sansa failed to realize just how captivated people were with them, and those who had witnessed the tender moment between the two sighed at their love. Cersei had not failed to realize anything and seethed anew at the audacity of the northern woman.

Sansa bit into one of the lemon tarts and let out a breathy moan as she closed her eyes in pure pleasure. That drew both Jaime and Tyrion's attention to her. Tyrion let out a brief laugh, and Jaime's eyes went sky high. Both couldn't help but wonder if that was a sound and look their father was familiar with. Sansa Lannister was a stunningly beautiful and sensual woman, and when she made a sound like that and had such a look of pleasure on her face, they couldn't help where their imaginations went. Tywin saw the looks on their faces, and for once, instead of being jealous he smirked and shot his sons' a wink, as if to say, yes sons, every single night I hear that sound. Tyrion and Jaime howled in laughter, and for once, all the Lannister men were in complete accord with one another. Sansa just looked at them in confusion, unsure what had happened, but happy to see her family salvage something useful from this night.

Having just finished her first dessert, Sansa was momentarily upset when Jerrod approached them. Walking urgently, Sansa could tell something had happened. Worry for her mother made her face pale. Jerrod leaned down and whispered that Lord and Lady Lannister were needed immediately in their apartments.

Tywin stood and made their excuses, and soon they arrived back at the Tower of the Hand. Tywin and Sansa walked into the dining hall to see Ser Marbrand cleaning his sword. A grimy looking man dressed in all black occupied the floor, clearly dead.

"My Lord, he was able to attack two of the guards before he tried to enter the apartments, upon where I was able to cut him down. He never even gained entry and I dragged him in here. He said nothing, My Lord."

Tywin's eyes narrowed in rage, furious that Lord Baelish had attempted to come after him and his family. Regardless of what he felt for Lady Stark, she was family. And Tywin was legendary in what he did in defence of his family.

He gestured to two other Red Cloaks and barked that they should remove the body before Sansa stilled his arm. "A moment, My Lord," she said softly. Unsure of what his wife was doing, she leaned down to the dead man and started to undo his leather jerkin.

"What in seven hells are you after Sansa?" Tywin barked at her. She shot him a look.

"My Lord," and he knew she was a bit angry at him by the tone of her voice, "Often men of a lower class sew a sigil into their clothing. It helps them keep track of what belongs to them. I know this as I've sewn many such garments when I lived at Winterfell." Sansa ran her fingers around the neckline of the tunic, then her eyes lit. "Found it." She looked between Ser Marbrand and her husband. "Do either one of you have a knife?"

Tywin reached down to his side and pulled a small dagger from its sheath. He never went anywhere unarmed. Not even in the Red Keep. Especially in the Red Keep. He turned the handle and passed it to Sansa, who to his delight and surprise, expertly handled it and swiftly cut the sigil from the dead man's clothes. Having completed her task, his wife, his queen, rose and handed him back his dagger as if this were an everyday occurrence, and then gave him the piece of cloth. On it was a falcon.

"Baelish" Tywin hissed. Ser Marbrand had been wholly stunned watching Lord Tywin's pretty wife handle the dagger and the dead man as if this happened all the time. He'd heard everyone speak of her and the Great Lion. He could admit he was skeptical, almost angry at first when he had listened to what his liege lord had done to secure peace. But looking at this woman, watching her and his Lord, he knew for certain that Tywin Lannister had made a brilliant marriage.

Soon the body was cleaned up, and Ser Marbrand dismissed, but not before Tywin promised him a handsome reward and spoke to him that his service as the Commander of the City Watch would be needed tomorrow, reminding the man to which Lannister he owed his allegiance. Ser Marbrand nodded. He had followed Tywin Lannister into war, and he'd defend the man until he was dead. There was no other that had his loyalty.

Tywin and Sansa made their way to their bedrooms, his anger driving his steps. Once there, he looked at Sansa, and she grinned, and he wondered what was on his brilliant wife's mind. Then she laughed.

"He's so stupid. He might as well have signed his death warrant," she said, her eyes fierce with the vengeance she could almost taste.

Cocking his head at her, Tywin wondered what she was getting at. She gestured to the cloth that held the sigil for the Vale.

"Tonight you will leave that beside Joffrey. Everyone knows Baelish has supplied his whores. When you go to his rooms, you will leave that behind, husband, and tomorrow, when Joffrey is discovered, dead with a whore from Littlefinger and a sigil representing the Vale in his bed, everyone will know it was him."

Tywin's eyebrow arched and he just looked at her. His cunning and ferocious lioness. Gods, he loved her. He scooped her up into his arms and brought her to the bed. They had hours yet until the King made his way to his bed, and Tywin didn't plan on wasting a single minute.

_ The Kings Chambers _

The secret passageway from the Hands bedchambers to the Kings was nothing more than an innocuous-looking stone wall that opened into a doorway. Tywin had concealed the seam of the opening with a red Lannister tapestry. Sansa sat on their bed, sporting fresh love bites and whisker marks over her pale body and wearing Tywin's robe. But instead of contentment, she wore a worried look. And would continue to do so until her husband returned. This was the single most dangerous part of the plan. There were only supposed to be two people in the King's chamber tonight- him and his whore, but any number of things could go wrong. Tywin tried to reassure her, but still, Sansa worried. She wrapped herself in his robe, and kissed him hard, making sure that he had the cloth sigil.

"Come back to me, husband," she whispered, worry and love making her voice demanding.

"Do not worry yourself, wife. Soon this task will be done." Then Tywin kissed her, hard and fierce, and slipped through the doorway.

Earlier, he had instructed Sansa to close it behind him and open it only for him. If anyone else came through that door, she was to scream, and Jerrod would be there in a minute. If for any reason Joffrey were able to alert his loyal Kingsguard and the passageway was discovered, Tywin had no doubts the King would order her raped and murdered. Sansa had shown him the dagger of his she kept from earlier.

She had looked him directly in the eye and said, "If anyone but you comes through that doorway, they will not take me alive, Tywin. He will never lay a hand on me again." He kissed his wife then, and whispered, "My fierce lioness. I love you."

When Tywin approached the King's chambers, he heard the unmistakable sounds of violence. Though muffled, Tywin could hear the screams and grunts and felt his stomach turn. Tywin had seen violence his entire life. He didn't get to where he was without having a strong stomach and a ruthlessness that was willing to unleash harm upon others. He was the one who'd cultivated the Clegane boys, making them into the killing machines they were today. And even though Ser Gregor had been marshalled at Haarenhal for some time now, had Tywin not secured peace with the North he would have been prepared to unleash the man on the Riverlands, to wreak his havoc as he was so very good at. He had done so once before, letting Ser Gregor loose on Prince Rhaegar's family and Tywin had no regrets about that decision. Just like he would have ordered the death of each member of Sansa's family by the Bolton's and Frey's. Sansa was correct when she'd said he would do horrible things to keep his family safe. Tywin made no excuses for the lengths he was willing to go to secure his dynasty. The violence Tywin unleashed though, was mostly controlled and certainly didn't please him and there was always a reason and a justification to his actions. Tywin had no compunction about what he was about to do.

He entered the King's bedchamber silently, a shadow of death, to a scene that looked like a slaughterhouse. Surely the woman must be dead, Tywin thought. No one could lose that much blood and survive. Tywin could see that the King was still inside her, but her glassy eyes indicated she was dead. So lost in his madness, the fool didn't even realize it. Thoroughly disgusted, Tywin made his way to the large bed that dominated the room, when Joffrey suddenly realized his grandfather was there.

Confusion marred the King's features, and he pulled himself from the dead woman. "Grandfather," he exclaimed, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening.

Wasting no time, Tywin walked to the King as if he were to embrace him, where he drove his knife straight into Joffrey's heart, and whispered to Joffrey, "You were no true King. And you will never harm House Lannister again." The King's eyes widened, and he had but a moment to look down and see the knife protruding from his chest. For a brief instant, their eyes met once more, before the king slumped in his arms.

Tywin went to work quickly. He laid the King in his bed beside his dead woman, then ensured her arms were free. He positioned her, so it looked like in one last attempt to save her life, she'd taken the kings. He placed the cloth sigil beside the bodies, and surveying the room one last time, took his leave. The entire act had taken less than an hour, and Tywin felt only satisfaction, the way one might when they've put down a particularly mad and vicious dog. For the first time since Tywin had met Sansa, he felt a slight release of pressure. The greatest threat to his wife and his House had been eliminated. And by his hand.

When he arrived back at his bedchambers, Sansa was pacing. She had arranged for a basin of hot water to be ready for her husband, as well as clean clothing. She had no idea what state he might be in. He walked through the door, and Sansa felt relief flood through her body. She didn't care if it made her the worst hypocrite to be glad the King was dead. She had never been more pleased to hear about the death of a monarch. Tywin spotted her immediately and silently made his way to the large basin of warm water. Washing the blood off of his hands, his wife next helped him undress, murmuring that she would ensure his clothes were cleaned discreetly tomorrow. Then he gathered her to him in their large bed, where she lay in the cradle of his arms. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, inhaling the scent he loved so much and whispered, "It is done, wife." Sansa's response was to squeeze him tighter. They would speak of this no more, the Lord and Lady Lannister. They had done what was required to secure their future, and tomorrow they would take the Iron Throne.

* * *

Jaime had asked two things of his father when plans had been made to eliminate Joffrey. He asked that it be as quick and as painless as possible, and he asked that he be nowhere near the event. So last evening, after his father and new mother had left the Great Hall, Jaime and Tyrion departed soon after. They planned to spend their evening together. Jaime wouldn't be leaving his little brother's rooms at all. This was to protect Tyrion. He knew as soon as Cersei found out that Joffrey was dead, she could easily try to blame Tyrion. She had a hatred for their little brother that was unnatural.

Neither man had been much in the mood for a conversation that evening, although Jaime finally worked out why Tyrion had been so happy that morning. He just shook his head at the audacity of the two of them, unable to believe that Tyrion had found someone that matched him so well. The Rose of Highgarden was high spirited indeed, and Jaime had heard more than enough tales about his little brother's voracious sexual appetite that he had no doubt they would litter the place with heirs in no time. He was sure his father would be pleased by that.

For his part, Jaime was in a world of deep self-reflection. He wondered where so much of his life had gone wrong. He could admit he still loved Cersei, and not just as a sister. He'd resisted all her attempts to reconcile, but that still didn't stop his heart from feeling what it did. He was thirty-nine years old and had been in love with exactly one woman his entire life. He had three children, none of whom he could claim or who even knew he was their father. Every part of his relationship disgusted and outraged his father, and for good reason. Jaime wasn't the smartest Lannister, but even he could understand how wrong they had been. But where did that leave him?

He had no interest in any other high-born lady, no interest in protecting a King that was so wicked and cruel. He couldn't imagine his father would allow him to stay in the Kingsguard once he took the throne. Briefly, he thought about Lady Sansa. He wondered idly what would have happened if his father had married him to someone like her. Could he have been happy if she was his wife? Never in his life would Jaime have ever thought that Tywin Lannister would be so in love with his new wife, so Jaime supposed it could have been possible. But women like Sansa Lannister didn't come along every day. Even the brief flare of emotion he'd felt towards Brienne had dimmed since she'd been banished from the Lannister's. Which was just as well, given his propensity for making stupid decisions. The last thing Jaime needed was to end up in an unwanted marriage. With Tyrion set to marry Lady Margaery, and his father's next heir well on the way, the pressure was almost completely gone from Jaime to take his place as heir to Casterly Rock. Which left him at loose ends. Jaime fell asleep on a daybed in Tyrion's rooms, no closer to understanding where or what his life meant than when he'd entered his brother's room.

* * *

It was early morning when Tywin awoke and rose to find his sons. He knew that how things played out today would be critical. Cersei was sure to descend on Joffrey's rooms early to ensure he was ready for the wedding. Tywin and his sons needed to be there to witness her finding his body. They needed to lay blame on Littlefnger immediately. Sansa rose as well, and they dressed silently. Tywin knew that once the body was discovered, Cersei would move quickly to try and secure Tommen on the throne. He had the assurance of his trust Red Cloaks, the City Watch as well as all his Lannister forces that they would be ready to defend House Lannister if it were required. The most that Cersei might be able to muster would be some loyal Kingsguard. It was Baelish he was more worried about. The man had arrived in Kings Landing quietly, but Tywin had discovered that the knights of the Vale had accompanied their Lord Commander and now marshalled outside Kings Landing in the Kingswood. As soon as Baelish was arrested, Tywin planned to send an emissary to Lord Royce. He could either bend the knee to the new King, or Tywin would destroy him.

Tywin had a full complement of Red Cloaks with him, as well as Ser Marbrand when he entered Tyrion's chambers and found both his sons. He was pleased to see they had been smart and spent the night together, without whores or their sister. There could be no suspicion cast on their participation in the King's death. And no one would dare accuse Tywin. Everyone knew he spent each night with his pretty wife.

"It is time?" Tyrion asked. Tywin nodded, then they left to gather Cersei. They were operating under the guise that they had family gifts for the King to bestow upon him before he wed. Tywin knew Cersei would be pleased with such a notion and as they made their way to her chambers, he wondered briefly if this was what was needed to bring her back to House Lannister. Knocking on her door, Jaime entered her rooms first, and spoke low and pleadingly to her, telling her that today was about family and that they wanted to make sure the King had a happy wedding day. Cersei, unable to see past her self-importance bought the lies, and soon the Lannister's were on their way to the King's chambers.

Kingsguard stood sentry at the entrance to the King's rooms, and Cersei waved a hand for them to stand aside. Tywin felt a slight twinge of regret for what his daughter was about to witness. For all that Cersei was, she was still a mother, and she loved her children fiercely. Joffrey perhaps best of all. They could debate what that love had done to her son, but no one in the seven kingdoms would ever deny that she would kill for him.

Tywin thanked the gods that Jaime was there, for one look at the scene in the bedroom and Cersei collapsed into his arms. Tywin barked out orders, demanding the guards come immediately where he questioned where they had been when their King was being murdered. They both attested to the fact that they were outside all evening, and that only the woman had entered the chambers. Tywin summarily dismissed them but told them to keep their mouths shut. They were to speak of this to no one.

Cersei turned her eyes on Jaime. "Where were you? It was your job to protect the King!" Jaime had never seen such hatred in her eyes. At least never directed at him.

"Cersei," he said, a pleading tone to his voice. "I wasn't on duty, sister. Ask Tyrion; I was with him all night." She looked to the dwarf, and her eyes glittered. Then she looked back to her twin. "He was our son Jaime, our son. And you let him die."

Jaime reeled back, hurt beyond measure that she would say such a thing to him.

"Enough," Tywin said with force. "Cersei, your bother is not responsible for this. Joffrey had his loyal guards posted outside his door as normal. There is nothing more Jaime could have done." Cersei collapsed into herself, still unable to believe that her son was dead.

Tywin looked to Tyrion and asked loudly who was supplying the King with his whores these days. Tyrion swallowed hard and looked to his sister and said, "Baelish." Cersei was inconsolable and tried to climb up to cradle her son in her arms, and as she did, the cloth sigil caught her eyes. They widened then, and she turned her green eyes, so like her twins' to her father.

"I want him dead, Father. Lord Baelish. He has been planning this since his arrival back in the Capital. He met with me, convinced me he could make the King happy, when all along he was planning on murdering him."

Pieces in place, Tywin looked to Ser Marbrand and said, "Arrest Lord Baelish on charges of regicide and hold him in the black cells."

Then Cersei cried out, "Tommen, oh gods, Father, Tommen. He is to be King." The room was devoid of anyone who wasn't a Lannister or Jerrod.

Tywin met Cersei's gaze and made his tone firm. "No, he is not." Then he turned to Jerrod. "Assemble the Lords and find my wife within one hour. Use the City Watch if need be. And Jerrod, bar the gates to Kings Landing. Lock the City down. I have had word that the Knights of the Vale have gathered outside the city walls. No one is to gain entry until after a new King has taken the throne."

Cersei's mind was working furiously, but too much had happened for her to process what her father meant.

"Surely you cannot mean to make Stannis King Father," she said, somewhat bewildered. "The throne belongs to Tommen. It belongs to my son. He is the rightful heir."

Tywin sighed. "He is not, daughter, and you know that as well as I do. Just like Joffrey," and he flicked a hand to his dead grandson.

Cersei's eyes clouded, confusion marring them. "Then who...." And she trailed off; her face turned cold and angry.

"You mean to steal the throne from your grandson?" she raged. "You would make that northern whore your Queen?"

Jaime just stared at her, and Tyrion held his tongue.

"It is my gold, my armies, and my blood that has defended and protected the realm, daughter. I advise you to hold your tongue when it comes to my wife and focus on the fact that by allowing Petyr Baelish to provide your son with his whores, it led to his death." It was a harsh blow, and Cersei reeled back.

Cersei whirled on Jaime. "You would let him do this; let our father steal the throne from your son?” She was shaking; she was so engaged.

"Cersei, he is not the heir to the throne. You and I both saw to that. And Tommen doesn't want this. You know that. The last thing he wants is to be King," he pleaded with her, praying she saw reason. If Cersei pushed, their father would not hesitate to remove her. Nothing would impede the Great Lion from the Iron Throne. Cersei looked at Jaime, disgust in her features.

"You were never worthy of being called their father," she spat at him, before turning back to Tywin, missing the look of pain that crossed Jaime's face.

"No one will accept her Father. They will all see that Stark bitch for what she is. A traitor and a usurper."

Tywin reacted quickly and swiftly, slapping her across the face.

"You will hold your tongue. My wife will be Queen, and you will support her and me in every aspect of our reign. You will act like a Lannister for once in your life," Tywin seethed at her.

"Or else what, father?" Cersei raged at him. "You won't do anything to me, not to your precious family."

Tywin let his cold green eyes settle on his daughter. He walked up to her and leaned down, to whisper in her ear. "I will do everything possible to protect my wife, Cersei. Including removing you. Do not test me on this daughter. You will not like the results." He pulled back and ensured she saw the complete sincerity in his gaze. Cersei shivered, and for the first time in her life, she was scared of Tywin Lannister.

He looked to Jaime, and said, "Get her settled. If she does not cooperate, lock her in her rooms. You will be in the Throne Room within the hour."

Then he gestured to Tyrion, and they exited the Kings Chambers.

* * *

Jaime was reeling. He had thought he was prepared to see Joffrey's body, but he immediately realized that nothing could prepare a person to see your child dead. Even if that child never even known you were their father. Then Cersei had collapsed, and within the space of minutes, turned her rage and grief on him; first for somehow failing to protect their son, and then for not backing her when she realized that Tommen would not be the next King. He always knew his sister's passions ruled her, that as much as she liked to say she was a female version of their father that nothing was further from the truth. He just hadn't expected her to be so cruel towards him.

And he was deeply concerned for her. He knew as well as Tyrion that this murder had Tywin's hands all over it. Lord Baelish might take the fall, but only because Tywin needed a scapegoat. If Cersei continued, Jaime had no doubts that his father would strike her down. He would allow no one to come between him and his soon to be Queen and their heir. No longer was their father jockeying for the best position in the seven kingdoms. Within the hour, he would rule Westeros, and anyone who got in his way would be ruthlessly dealt with.

Jaime practically dragged Cersei out of the King's chambers and back to hers, where another thankless task awaited him — telling Tommen that his brother was dead.

When they arrived at Cersei's rooms, she immediately went to the wine, while Tommen looked up and smiled when he saw his uncle. Jaime looked to his sister to see if she was going to be any help, but she seemed almost catatonic at this point, merely sitting there drinking and staring off into space. Tommen looked between the two of them and knew something had happened.

"What is it, Uncle Jaime?" he asked quietly. Jaime sighed and ran his fingers through his short hair. "Something has happened to the King, Tommen," Jaime said quietly.

"Oh," Tommen replied. "Is he dead?" Jaime nodded and heard Cersei let out a keening sound that was haunting. He knew she was in pain, and that despite the monster Joffrey was, she had loved him deeply.

"Yes, Tommen, the King has been murdered."

Jaime watched his second son's face, and saw the relief pass over the boy's features, only to be replaced by dread and worry and outright fear.

He swallowed hard and then looked at Jaime. "Does that mean..." he paused, then started again. "Does that mean I am the King, Uncle Jaime?"

For the first time in a long time, Jaime thanked his father for his cunning and his foresight. Jaime was grateful that Tywin Lannister understood that this was too big a burden to saddle Tommen with, that he had no aptitude or ability to be the King, and that being the King would most likely kill the boy. At that moment, Jaime believed that his father had saved his son, for surely being King could end in nothing but Tommen's death. Jaime has never been more grateful for the type of man his father was than at that moment. Jaime wasn't sure if he could have survived having another child die, and especially not one he'd become so close too.

Jaime couldn't help himself. He drew Tommen to him, and hugged the boy tightly, and whispered in his ear, "No Tommen. Grandfather will be taking the throne." He felt his son sag in relief.

"That makes me happy, Uncle," Tommen said quietly back and then shot a look to his mother.

Jaime left Tommen then and went to Cersei, taking the cup of wine from her hand. He had no doubts that this would not be the last of her hatred, but he had to know if she would openly support or rebel against their father. Either way, Jaime and Tommen were walking out of these rooms together.

He crouched down in front of her and drew her gaze to his. Her eyes were glass and far away. "He was such a good baby, Jaime. Do you remember? Do you remember when he was born? You were there, in the room with me, when we brought our son into the world," Cersei was lost in her memories, unable to comprehend that Tommen was still in the room.

Jaime shot the boy a look and saw that his eyes had widened.

"Cersei," Jaime said, a bit harshly, and tapped her lightly on the cheek. He saw her eyes come back to him, and they filled with tears. "Enough right now. Father will be taking the throne in mere moments. Tommen and I will be in the Great Hall with our family. Will you?"

"He stole the throne from our son Jaime."

Jaime sighed. "Cersei now is not the time. You are either an ally of the Great Lion, or you are an enemy. Do not make yourself an enemy sister." Jaime pleaded with her. Cersei nodded, then rose to wash her face. Left alone momentarily with Tommen, Jaime turned to the boy, prepared to face his wrath and disgust. Instead, he saw an odd look on the boy's face.

"Is it true? Are you really, my father?" Tommen asked Jaime quietly. Jaime nodded. Then he watched as Tommen's face broke out into a grin.

Jaime couldn't help but smile back, then said lowly, "People can't know Tommen. No one outside our family can know. You are still the heir to the Stormlands."

Tommen nodded. Then he walked back to Jaime and threw his arms around him. Jaime staggered once, before catching the boy. His boy. His son. He felt the tears in his eyes come and squeezed him back.

"The next time you leave for war Father, I want to come with you. I want to be your squire. I want to lead the Lannister forces one day. Promise me I can come," Tommen said urgently, relief that he wouldn't have to sit on that awful throne propelling him to ask for his greatest desire.

Jaime felt his heart swell with love and pride for his son. He'd worked so hard these past few months, learning how to be one of his beloved knights. And now his son wanted to ride to war with him, to lead men in battle, to defend the Lannister's. Jaime was overcome with emotion, and he looked at Tommen.

"I promise son. When the time comes, you will be by my side," Jaime said, making a vow to his son. "For now, this stays between us. I will talk to your Grandfather, Tommen." His son nodded at him.

As Cersei appeared back in the rooms, and the three Lannister's made their way back to the Throne Room, Jaime reflected on the past few hours. He would mourn Joffrey, as any father would, but he'd gained so much with his other son. He might never be able to claim him publicly, but it was enough that he would have his son by his side, that he could teach him and groom him to be an honourable and worthy man for the titles he would inherit. He knew that his father would be pleased. As Jaime watched Cersei and Tommen enter the cavernous hall, he knew there would be a reckoning with his sister, but he also knew he'd gained more today than he had lost.

* * *

As soon as they had exited the King's chambers, Tyrion looked at Tywin.

"Go," Tywin said. "But ensure you are both in the Throne Room within the hour."

"Thank you, Father," Tyrion said and scurried away, desperate to get to Lady Margaery. Somehow, and he had no idea how, but his father had managed the impossible. Joffrey was dead, and all evidence pointed to Lord Baelish. Joffrey was dead! Which meant Tyrion Lannister would finally, have everything he'd ever wanted.

As soon as he reached Lady Margaery's room, he knocked softly, and the door swung open to reveal his love. She looked worried until she spotted him, then her face lit in a brilliant smile, and he closed the door behind them.

"It's done?" she asked, and Tyrion nodded.

"He's dead?" She needed confirmation.

"Yes, My Lady, I just came from his room. I saw the body myself." Before Tyrion could react, she threw herself at him, and he had to brace himself, overcome with a shaking and quivering woman. Realizing they needed a better space to talk, they made their way over to a soft pillowed bench, and Tyrion hopped up. Margaery curled up beside him and laid her head in his lap. Tyrion stroked his fingers through her hair, knowing they had no time for more at this moment.

"He was so awful to you last night Tyrion. Awful. And then I had to dance with him, and he touched me, and whispered all the horrid things he would do to me as soon as we were wed." She shuddered again, overcome with relief that she would be spared from the King's perverted ways.

"Hush now loves, he's dead, and he can no longer hurt you," Tyrion crooned to her.

"Thank the Gods," she breathed, and they just sat basking in each other's presence, which is when Tyrion's big, but stupid brain got in his way. After some moments, he looked down at his beloved and asked himself again why such a beautiful woman would want to tie herself to him. He knew he was a monster. Maybe not a monster like Joffrey, but still, a monster. And now that the bigger monster was dead, she had no reason to be with him. In a single moment, he convinced himself that the only reason she had agreed to marry him was to save herself from the King.

He cleared his throat, and Margaery lifted her eyes to his, smiling slightly. Then she saw the look on his face, and her eyes narrowed.

"The King is dead, and you are free. I will not hold you to your promise to wed me, My Lady. I will not force you to be tied to a monster like me. I know that before you were seeking safety, and even as pitiful as I would have been as a defender, I am honoured that you chose me for a moment."

For an extraordinarily intelligent man, at that moment, Tyrion Lannister didn't yet realize just how badly he had fucked up. Missing the look of outrage on his lady's face, Tyrion was contemplating just how drunk he was going to have to get tonight to forget her. He was sure there wasn't enough wine in all of Flea Bottom for the type of drunk he needed to be to forget her and all her charms.

Which is why he missed when her hand reached out and cracked him across the face. Stunned, he looked at her and saw she was once again shaking. But this time in rage. At him.

"You are only allowed to do that once, only once in our lifetime. And after today, you will never question what I feel for you again. You will never diminish my words or my feelings again. Are we clear, My Lord?" Margaery ground out, emotions riding high in her face and her heart.

Tyrion realized immediately that he was the biggest fool in Westeros. Apparently, against all the odds, it appeared that the Rose of Highgarden truly loved him. Truly wanted him. Truly chose him. It was staggering.

"I love you, Tyrion Lannister. I chose you. And not because of Joffrey but in spite of him. If you no longer want me, be enough of a man to admit that. But do not question my heart and my desires on this matter."

Seven fucking hells, Tyrion cursed himself. He was as big of a fool as anyone. "Margaery, I beg your forgiveness. It is not a good excuse, but a lifetime of bitter disappointments has left me jaded when it comes to love. And trusting people. And I would regret every day if you felt forced to tie yourself to me. I am a smart man, My Lady, but even smart men can be stupid in the presence of a beautiful woman."

She reached out and cupped the cheek she had just slapped, and he felt the warmth of her palm. She met his eyes, and her whole body had softened towards him. "Tyrion, I love you. Not for a day, or a week. But for the rest of our days."

He swallowed hard and said, "And I love you, for the rest of my days." They leaned in and kissed each other, but before they could bank the desires in each other, he pulled back. "I regret that we must make our way to the Great Hall. There are a new King and Queen that require our support. Allow me to escort you to your family, My Lady."

Tyrion hopped off the bench and offered his love his hand, which she clasped in his and exited her rooms to watch their family become the new rulers of Westeros.

* * *

Tywin entered the apartments of the hand for perhaps for the last time. Everyone had gathered in the solar, including Lady Stark. Tywin and Sansa had discussed how to handle Lady Stark and now was the moment of reckoning.

Tywin drew Sansa to his side and pinned his eyes to his wife's mother. "Lord Baelish has been arrested for the murder of the King."

Catelyn Stark tried not to gasp and failed.

"He will have a trial, in which, My Lady, his past crimes, including the murders of Lord and Lady Arryn, would help make the case against him stronger." Tywin paused and let Cat digest the news. "I ask you now, and only once. Are you prepared to speak against Lord Baelish? To share what you know of his crimes."

Catelyn swallowed hard. It was beyond embarrassing to admit her part in the death of her sister, although Lysa had attacked her. And she knew she could speak to Petyr's role in the death of Lord Arryn. She knew that it would bring shame on House Tully, exposing her sister's betrayal. Catelyn had been so wrong in so many things, and the root was all Littlefinger. He was ultimately responsible for the death of her husband, and that was a crime Catelyn Stark could not forget.

She nodded and looked straight at Tywin, "Yes, Lord Lannister. I am prepared to speak against Lord Baelish." Tywin let himself slump back in his seat slightly. With three murders attributed to the man, he knew that Littlefinger would be done. Once it was revealed to the Lords of the Vale that their protector had murdered their liege lord, Tywin was convinced he could get them to return to the Eyrie once they had pledged their loyalty to the Crown. Littlefinger had significantly miscalculated when he had left his nest in the Vale.

"All of you must be ready within the hour. The Lords are being gathered in the throne room. Lady Stark, I feel you must be seen with our family today," Tywin said. "It will make the case that the North and the Riverlands have accepted the new king."

Catelyn looked confused. New king? What did it matter if she saw Tommen Baratheon accept the crown? Then she saw Sansa squeeze her husband's hand, and her heart begun to flutter. _Oh _Gods, she thought. She looked at the two of them, such a strong and united front, and let herself imagine for a moment what peace might feel like again in the seven kingdoms. She still didn't fully trust Tywin Lannister. But she did trust her daughter. She had been born to be a Queen. She had left Winterfell, betrothed to the next king, and now she was moments away from taking her rightful place.

"The North and the Riverlands will accept the new King and Queen of Westeros, My Lord," Catelyn Stark said, her voice strong and steady. "Long may they reign."

Tywin Lannister's smile was a fearsome thing to behold, and Cat pitied any house which stood in his way after today.

After he had spoken with Catelyn, Tywin rose and dismissed his family. He needed time with Sansa. Once they walked into the Throne Room, everything would inevitably change. Tywin grasped her hand and drew her into their bedroom. Once they were alone, he folded her into his arms. This was the one place, the only place in the entire realm where Tywin Lannister could find comfort and peace. Sansa held him tightly and breathed in his very familiar scent of musk and sandalwood. She knew unequivocally that her husband would make an excellent King. His entire life, he had been working towards this position. Whether that had been his intention or not was beside the point. Tywin Lannister had been born to rule the seven kingdoms, and in less than an hour, he would do just that.

He pulled back from her and laid his hand on her growing stomach. He swallowed hard and then looked her in the eyes. "If it is a boy, he will inherit an entire Kingdom to rule, Sansa. He will be born a prince. The entire realm will look to him, to rule them justly and wisely. Are you prepared for such a task, wife? To raise the next King of Westeros?"

Sansa cupped Tywin's cheek and looked him in the eyes.

"Yes, Tywin, because he will learn from you. He will learn how to be a good ruler, a just ruler, a fearsome ruler. He will learn all he needs to know from us. And he will be loved. He will be so loved by his family and by the realm."

Tywin had spoken of family and dynasty his entire life. He'd spent forty years trying to teach his children about legacy. And it took this northern princess to deliver to him what he had always desired. The ability to ensure that the Lannister family name lived on. He rested his forehead against hers.

"I love you, Tywin. You are mine, and I am yours, and together, we will ensure that there is peace in the seven kingdoms. And we will destroy anyone who seeks to harm us," Sansa said. Tywin felt his heart clench at her statement, so fierce and loyal to him.

"I love you, Sansa," he murmured to her, unable to contain what he felt for her. Wrapped up in each other, taking the time to ground themselves in each other, Tywin and Sansa finally drew apart, and clasped hands, ready to finally take their place as the rulers of Westeros.

* * *

Within an hour, Tywin had received word that all his commands had been carried out. The gates to Kings Landing had been closed; the city effectively cut off. Word had spread that Joffrey had been murdered, and Lord Baelish had been arrested and was in the black cells. The Lords and Ladies who had all come to the capital to witness a wedding were now ensconced within the Throne Room, ready to see the coronation of the new King and Queen. Tywin knew he had the North, the Reach, the Riverlands, the Stormlands, and the Westerlands. Dorne and the Vale were wild cards, but he knew Dorne would not attack today.

Tywin had directed all his supporters to the front of the hall, to be as close to the Throne as possible in a show of solidarity. The Tyrells were there for the Reach, Mace having been placated by Olenna days earlier. Jaime had somehow convinced both Tommen and Cersei to attend, representing the Baratheon's. Catelyn Stark had walked though the Throne Room with her head held high, at the side of Genna and Kevan Lannister, and all understood that this meant that the North and the Riverlands supported Tywin's claim. Lastly, Jaime and Tyrion stood by Throne, clearly supportive of their father.

Sansa and Tywin waited at the entrance of the great room. Tywin looked at her, and asked her softly, "One last time, my love, and then there is no turning back. Are you sure?"

Sansa squeezed his arm, and smiled at him, before gently reaching up to press his lips to his. "Yes, my King, I am sure."

Tywin felt his heart thump faster, his love for her all-consuming. The moment he'd waited for his entire life, all the decisions he had made, all the people he had double-crossed, all the horrible things he had done was here. House Lannister would finally claim the Iron Throne, and the man who had ruled Westeros in all but name would finally take his place as the true ruler of Westeros. He had secured his family’s legacy and it was all due to Sansa.

A more formal coronation would occur later, where pomp and celebration would rule the day. But for now, in order to ensure that no one else claimed what was his, Tywin Lannister would be crowned King today as he and Sansa entered the Great Hall, the Lords and Ladies of Westeros hushed and watched their ascension. As Tywin climbed the steps to that awful chair, Sansa by his side, he felt her put slight pressure on his arm, letting him know she supported him.

When he reached the top, he turned before the court and Grand Maester Pycell's voice rang out, clear and loud, "All hail His Grace, Tywin of House Lannister, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm." A cheer rang from the crowd, and shouts of King Tywin rang through the hall.

When they had quieted, Tywin looked out to the many faces before him and spoke loud and clear. "My Lords today marks a new era for Westeros. An era of peace and prosperity. An era of reunification. Any house that still stands against the Crown after today is an enemy. And our enemies shall know no rest, no sleep, no peace until they bend the knee or are wiped from the map. Those who seek to destroy the seven kingdoms will be met with the severest punishment, and those who support the Crown will be rewarded. Queen Sansa has already brought peace to the seven kingdoms, through our marriage and alliances with Houses Stark and Tully. There are serious matters yet to attend — the funeral of King Joffrey and the trail of his accused. But there will be time for celebration as well. Our strength lies in our alliances, and we will not rest until our enemies are dead."

A cheer arose again, for many in the great hall had heard the rumours of the Dragon Queen and her fearsome beasts. Not a single soul in the hall wanted to be subjected to the reign of dragon fire again and the mad Targaryens.

Most trusted that Tywin Lannister was the one man in Westeros that could defeat such an enemy. Suddenly a chant arose, and the hall rang once more with the sounds of "All hail King Tywin." Tywin turned and looked at his wife. Her eyes shone with pride and love for him, and as he turned to take his rightful place on the Iron Throne, he knew that it was all due to Sansa, his fierce little wolf, who had been brave enough, bold enough and desperate enough to make him see that she could be his greatest asset. As he sat, he met her eyes, and he squeezed her hand before she let it go, and Tywin Lannister, first of his name, sat on the Iron Throne.


	18. Chapter 18

_ King’s Landing _

Sansa refused to set one foot in the Kings Chamber's until it had been gutted and redone. She had wrinkled her nose and declared the entire suite of rooms unlivable- everything had to go. She would not live in a place that had even a hint of Joffrey or Robert left in them. She required a nursery to be constructed as well; her children would not be far from her or Tywin. Gone were the days when the King’s Chambers were a veritable whorehouse. Sansa's family was to live here, and it would be a home.

Sansa Lannister knew precisely what she required to create the space she desired in the one place she thought she hated. She knew that they would never live anywhere else but King’s Landing, even if they were to visit Casterly Rock or Winterfell- those would be nothing more than visits. This was now her home and the home of the child she carried. When Tywin had taken the throne, her future children had suddenly become the heirs to the Crownlands as well as the Westerlands, and she required a proper place to raise them.

Sansa was demanding in her instructions for what she wanted but respectful and fair. Tywin was pleased to watch her deal with the people who now served them; Sansa always acted like a true Queen. He wondered briefly if they had ever been treated so kindly having suffered for years under Cersei's commands. And much to his grudging admiration, his wife's mother and his sister were extraordinarily helpful; so much so that it would be mere weeks instead of months when they could move in. For now, Tywin and Sansa were still in the Hand's apartments.

The day after Tywin had taken the throne had seen a flurry of activity, with many lords requiring his attention to swear their loyal devotion to him. Sansa had been equally busy, mingling with the ladies whom she now ruled, and they had barely seen each other since the coronation.

The evening after the coronation was the first time that Tywin had managed to get his wife alone and he locked them in their bedchambers after dinner, dismissing everyone else from their apartments. While Tywin had come to rely on his family, and generally sought their council, especially during small council meetings, Sansa had become the only person that Tywin confided in. He was determined to teach her as much as he could about ruling Westeros. Sansa would outlive him, and she needed to know how to either rule for their son as Regent until he came of age, or how to support him in his reign. The Targaryen's ruled Westeros for three hundred years; Tywin saw no reason why Lannister's couldn't do the same.

With his wife, he was able to discuss any matter of ideas and issues, including military options and affairs of state, which was what they were currently doing, naked in their huge bed. The King of the seven kingdoms was presently lying flat on his back while the Queen and her very talented hands and tongue traced over his body.

They were in their current position because Tywin had become distracted. Lost in his thoughts, he momentarily raised his head from his task of pleasuring her and had a faraway look in his eyes. Sansa growled, and when he hadn't responded, she rose up and nipped at him.

"Tywin," she said, her voice taut and low with need. Brought back to the present, he grimaced somewhat ruefully at her.

"I am sorry Sansa; I am distracted. Matters of state will not leave my head." Sansa cocked her head and pondered that. Quick as a snake, Sansa made her move, sliding out from under him and pushing him to his back, so she could sit astride him, forcing his attention back to her.

"Well, then my King, let your Queen help." Tywin rumbled at her.

She wagged a finger. "Do not make me tie you up husband," and she grinned at him as she saw his heart rate increase and his eyes widen at that thought. Sansa would remember that in the future, then she leaned down and started to kiss him.

"Tell me what is on your mind, Tywin, and let me help," she said, and he groaned as he felt her talented hands and lips go to work.

"I need to name a Hand," Tywin said, and watched as his wife tailed her hands down his torso, lightly scratching and petting him.

She arched an eyebrow at him, then let out a muffled sound.

His eyes narrowed. "Speak your mind, wife."

She huffed and then sat up, momentarily stopping her delightful torture of him. "You know as well as I do who should be your hand, husband."

"It's out of the question." Silence.

"It is preposterous." More silence.

"Wife do not ask this of me. It is too much."

Sansa just held his gaze. She could see the battle within him, and while she wanted nothing more than to ease this decision for him, she knew for him to be completely comfortable with it, he had to make it on his own.

Sansa held up her hand and ticked off the reasons why. "He is loyal to you. He is family. He is one of the smartest people in Kings Landing. He has proven his worth."

Tywin growled. Sansa leaned down and kissed him gently on the lips; then murmured, "You know it is the right decision, Tywin."

He carded his hands through her hair, pinning his lips to hers and kissed her almost bruisingly hard. When he let her go for air, he leaned his head against hers.

"Kevan will stay as Master of Laws. Varys as Master of Whispers. Jaime will command the Lannister forces once you release him from the Kingsguard. Ser Marbrand is still the Commander of the City Watch and could take on the role of Master of Coin. And Tyrion Lannister will become your hand."

Sansa had neatly summed up Tywin's new small council. If he could reconcile himself to the fact that it was his dwarf son whom he'd spent most of his life hating that was indeed the best choice to become his hand.

He huffed out a hot breath, knowing Sansa was correct, but years of distrust and hatred for his second son still wared with his knowledge of the dwarf's use.

"It will also appease Mace Tyrell, to have his new goodson that close to the Throne, further securing our alliance with the Reach, Tywin," Sansa said all this gently and ran her hands through her husbands' whiskers.

He nuzzled into her fingers, and his green eyes pinned hers. He growled at her again, frustrated she was right, frustrated she asked so much of him.

"You ask too much of me, wife," he puffed. Sansa turned her head, so her lips grazed his ear, and began to suck and tug on him, feeling his hips involuntarily start to move.

"No more than you can give, husband."

She trailed sharp nips and bites down his throat until she settled herself over her husband. Sansa sunk on to him, bringing him into her while she pinned his hands to his side, so he was completely at her mercy. Tywin just laid there as his wife rode him, letting his frustrations at her logic ebb away as her love soothed the worst of his temper. He knew she was right, no matter how much it grated. Tywin was content to let his wife play, until she started to gasp and pant and almost cry, unable to find her pleasure. Knowing he had the power now, he flicked his hand out, lightning-fast and pressed on her nub until she started to buck and writhe.

"Gods Sansa" he cried harshly into the room, watching his wife peak on him before he followed her over. She collapsed on him, puffing and panting and when he looked down a contented smile graced her face. He snorted at her then, wondering what the realm would think about how greedy their Queen was in finding her pleasure with her King.

Holding her on his chest, he felt her heart rate slow, and then she said softly, "If it is too much give it to Kevan. He has more than earned the chance."

Tywin sighed. Even now, when she knew she was right, Sansa always sought to put him first, giving him a way out of his dilemma. He knew that as long as he reigned, it would be together and not just as a single man on the throne. He tugged on her hair, then kissed her softly, before relenting.

"I will give him a chance, Sansa. That is all. One chance."

She smiled into his chest and pressed a kiss to his sternum.

"That is all I ask, Tywin."

* * *

The next morning Tywin called a special small council meeting. Present were Tyrion, Master of Coin, Lord Varys, Master of Whispers, and Kevan Lannister, Master of Laws. Also present were Grand Maester Pycelle, Cersei and Jaime, Catelyn Stark, and the Tyrells, including Mace, Olenna and Margaery. Tywin and Sansa had yet to arrive.

Cersei had been incensed when she walked into the room and witnessed the presence of Catelyn Stark and the Tyrells.

She still was reeling from the death of her beloved son, as well as the loss of the crown and her position as Queen Regent. The only claim that Cersei now had in the entire seven kingdoms was as the daughter of the King and the mother of the boy who would inherit the Stormlands.

Tommen had never returned to her chambers after her father's coronation. When she confronted Jaime on this, he said the boy was safe and had chosen to spend time with his father. Jaime gave her a very pointed look at that, still angry that she had revealed his true parentage to their son. Cersei waved him off. She didn't know why he was also so concerned about what everyone thought. With their father now in charge of the entire country they were untouchable. Why did it matter if anyone knew that Tommen was theirs?

Jaime had stormed out of her rooms when she'd made that statement, muttering something about destroying everything she touched. Cersei had spent the past two days drinking an increasingly alarming amount of wine and was unable to hold her tongue or her temper whenever she found a new victim to berate.

"The mother of a known traitor and a family that has no claim on the throne," she sneered to the assembled group. "Tell me, Lady Margaery, how does it feel to know that men would rather die than be married to you?"

Margaery sent her a smirk, and had Cersei not been so deep into her cups already; she would have realized that something was happening when the Rose of Highgarden didn't rise to her barb. Cersei hated to be made a fool of, but at this moment, she was too drunk and too hurt to realize that she had been left out of important plans that impacted her.

Lady Stark stared at Tywin Lannister's daughter. She remembered when the vile woman had come to Winterfell, and she remembered her disdain for everything in the North. Genna had let it slip that Cersei had actively let Joffrey beat her daughter after Ned had been killed in King’s Landing. It had only been Tyrion that had ever tried to stop him until Tywin showed up.

It had become clear to Catelyn over the past few days just how much Cersei hated Sansa. When Catelyn had asked Sansa about the Queen Regent, her daughter's lips had pursed, and she said very little. She tried to reassure her mother that if it were required, her husband would do what was necessary to protect her. Catelyn had gasped at that thought, hardly able to imagine such viciousness towards family members. She might not have ever like Robb's wife, and she sorely disagreed with his choice to marry the Westerlands woman, but she had never sought to harm her.

At that moment, Tywin and Sansa entered the small council chambers, and while most of the eyes were on them, Tyrion kept his eye on his sister, and he saw the flash of pure hatred Cersei had for Sansa. He had a pit in his stomach. Her behaviour before Joffrey's murder hadn't exactly been stable, and he was worried about what she would be willing to do now. She had essentially lost both sons since Tommen refused to leave his father's side.

Tyrion had been shocked when Jaime had let him know that she had inadvertently revealed Tommen's true parentage in front of the boy. He was happy for his brother that his son finally knew who his true father was, but the closeness between the two was sure to make Cersei even angrier once she recovered from the shock of Joffrey's death. He hoped his father had a plan in place. He knew she was a critical witness in the case against Lord Baelish, but he had begun to question if her value outweighed the risk. This was the woman who had stood by while the new Queen was regularly and viciously beaten in front of the full court. Now that she had lost almost everything, what was stopping her from acting out against their father? Or Sansa? Tyrion knew that even Jaime didn't have a handle on her anymore; she was uncontrollable. He'd waited his entire life to see his brother break free of her toxic influence, and it had finally happened. But at what cost?

Jaime was also anxious about Cersei. After the coronation, he had not returned Tommen to her rooms, instead, installing him as his squire in his chambers. His son had been eager for such an opportunity, and they had been inseparable for the past two days. Tommen seemed to come into himself the moment he knew Joffrey was dead and he wouldn't have to be King. He was excited to continue training, and Jaime had resumed their schedule. He needed to talk with his father soon about making Tommen his squire, as well as the fate of Lady Brienne. He had understood why Sansa and his father had reacted the way they had, but now that Lady Stark seemed to be an accepted member of their household, surely Lady Brienne could come back and at least train with them. Jaime had missed his friend desperately these past few days.

Taking his place at the head of the table, with Sansa sitting in her usual place by his side, Tywin eyed those in the room. Of all of them, the present Lord Varys was the least trustworthy to Tywin, but he knew that to remove the man now would create more problems than it solved especially now that Tywin was chipping away at his power base in Flea Bottom. Each day Sansa made more progress on her projects, and Ser Marbrand had reported that crime and theft was down significantly in Flea Bottom.

More importantly, Sansa was beloved by all those living there. Neither Varys nor Tywin was in a position to remove the other, but even the eunuch could see the writing on the wall- Tywin had finally done what Robert should of years ago, and that was an attempt to take some of his power away. The chubby man didn’t like it, but he could respect the game. And the common people were the beneficiaries.

Tywin was still awaiting word from the Faceless Men he had hired, but he was sure that at least for now, Varys was on their side. Tywin Lannister on the throne practically guaranteed peace and prosperity, two things Lord Varys believed in genuinely.

There were several things Tywin needed to accomplish today to secure his place as King. He needed to meet with Lord Royce from the Vale as well as Oberyn Martell to obtain the final two Kingdoms in Westeros and determine if they were going to be loyal to the Crown. Tywin had already decided that Sansa would be present for both meetings. It was an excellent opportunity for her to learn about ruling and would send a clear message about the unity of their marriage and their rule. If anything were to happen to him, Sansa would be required to rule for their heir as regent until he came of age. Tywin had no doubts in his wife's ability to carry on his legacy, even though he had no plans of vacating the throne he had just seized any time soon.

He also needed to deal with the fallout of arresting Lord Baelish, and move to shut the man’s businesses down completely before someone filled that vacuum of power. Before as Hand, his power had been more restricted; as King, he could turn the full power of the Crown to cleaning up King’s Landing for good and ensuring the common people were totally dedicated to he and Sansa. Beyond that loyalty, it would be a lasting impact of his reign, to be the King and Queen that treated the commoners well, and how ensured they were taken care of after wars had ravaged the lands. It would bring a sense of stability to Tywin’s reign that had long been missing.

But first, he needed to get through his first small council meeting as King and not Hand.

"There are urgent matters that require the council's immediate attention. First, Ser Jaime, tomorrow in the Throne Room you will be relieved of your duties to the Kingsguard. Your loyal service to the crown is noted. The entire Kingsguard will be dismissed, to be replaced with men loyal to Houses' Lannister and Stark."

There was no way that Tywin trusted a single member of Joffrey's vicious gang, and all would be replaced with men loyal to him and Sansa. He would send a raven to Robb Stark immediately asking him to send faithful men to guard the new Queen. He was sure he would comply. Ensuring that Sansa Lannister remained Queen was in the North's best interest. Tywin briefly wondered if he should ask for Sandor Clegane back. The man had proven his loyalty to Sansa time and again, and there was no better warrior in the seven than him, save perhaps his brother. He knew that the man would die for his wife. Was that enough to forgive his betrayal to House Lannister? Tywin pushed the thought aside to deal with later.

Jaime nodded at his father. He had known there was no way his father would allow him to stay in the Kingsguard, and frankly, Jaime had no desire too. He was restless in Kings Landing, and the thought of leading the Lannister forces in their next war was pulling at him. He knew they still had enemies to deal with, and Jaime was always a man of action. He was comfortable on a warhorse, with men and mud, and he'd stayed too long in Kings Landing.

"You will take over as the head of the Lannister army, Ser Jaime," Tywin stated, confirming Jaime's suspicions. They still hadn't discussed who was to inherit Casterly Rock, if anything had changed for Jaime if he might one day contemplate marriage. But at least with his son out of that ridiculous white cloak, the possibility was back on the table.

Tywin turned his attention to his daughter, who sat there, rage and smugness waring in her expressions as she nursed a steady glass of wine. Tywin was sure she would react poorly to his next news.

"Cersei, a marriage alliance has been secured for you with Ser Balon Swann, who will also be released from the Kingsguard. Once you two have been wed, you will return to the Stormlands and rule there as regents until Tommen reaches his majority."

Tywin delivered this news without inflection, knowing it was a good match for Cersei. The Swann's were the second most powerful house in the Stormlands and had been loyal to King Joffrey. And Ser Balon Swann was an imposing man, and man that would hopefully be able to control his impetuous daughter. Additionally, the man was rumoured to have fathered a bastard or two, so if he weren't able to get a child on Cersei, he would still have a son to inherit his titles if his daughter was indeed past the age of bearing children.

"I will not, Father," Cersei spat, her green eyes narrowed in ire. 

Tywin stared her down and let the silence of the room stretch until she squirmed under his gaze, uncomfortable and uneasy, but still angry. Tywin was not playing these games with her any longer. She had no place here in King’s Landing.

"You will so. The Stormlands need to be secured. With Stannis still at Dragonstone, he could easily attempt to retake his seat. Ser Swann is a loyal bannerman to House Baratheon, and loyal to House Lannister. You will marry and give Ser Balon an heir, and you will rule Storm's End until your son is ready," Tywin's tone had raised, and even Cersei dared not challenge him when his wrath was up.

Not yet and not right here. Cersei's eyes darted around the room, looking for allies. She had none in this room. Not even her twin, who studiously avoided her gaze. If she was going to be made to suffer, so should her siblings. And when her father couldn't marry her hideous little brother off, she would use that leverage to release herself from her hellish engagement.

"And what of my dear brothers? Surely, they are required to marry as well. To produce heirs, to carry on the precious Lannister name," Cersei spat.

Tywin nodded. "Yes. While time is needed to secure the proper marriage for Jaime, you are correct."

Cersei's eyes widened at his agreement. Who on earth could her father have possibly found to marry her grotesque little brother?

Staring straight at Cersei, Tywin stated for the room, "I am pleased to announce the betrothal of Lord Tyrion of House Lannister to Lady Margaery of House Tyrell."

If Tyrion had valued his lifeless, he would have howled in laughed at his dear sister's expression. She darted her eyes between him and the Rose of Highgarden, eyes wide and large in her face.

"Surely you jest, Father," disgust and shock on her face.

Tywin arched one of his eyebrows at her. Everyone knew that Tywin Lannister did not jape.

Cersei cackled out a laughed, then snorted. "You can't be serious. Lady Margaery, you've agreed to this farce? You were set to become a Queen! Now you have to marry my monstrous little brother. Almost a Queen to...." Cersei pointed to Tyrion, "that."

Lady Margaery sat straighter in her seat and then shot a stunning smile to Tyrion. "While I am no longer set to be Queen, Lady Cersei, I am set to wed a man who will be kind and true to me." Margaery paused. Then added, "And who will treat me like a queen even if I am not one in title, unlike my previous betrothed."

"Your ungrateful little whore," Cersei spat at the woman, unhinged that she would dare speak against Joffrey when he was barely even gone. Margaery shrugged her shoulders before Tywin banged his hand on the table.

"Enough, Cersei. You will shut your mouth or remove yourself from this meeting, daughter," he glowered at her, enraged by her behaviour. She sent daggers his way, her eyes narrow and dangerous looking. Cersei could not help herself. She was in a mood, and nothing could slow her tongue.

"Tell me, father, where is your precious second son set to live? You've made it more than clear to everyone that he will never inherit the Rock." Cersei sent a triumphant smile to the Rose of Highgarden, convinced her brother's poor standing would wipe that ridiculous expression off the young woman's face.

"Cersei, enough," Jaime said, his voice low and pleading. She sent him a look filled with vitriol. She might have loved her twin once, but since he'd returned to her, nothing had been the same. It seemed that Jaime had lost more than just his hand in the Riverlands. He'd lost his way and had turned from her. These days it was easier to see him as the enemy than as the one true love of her life.

Just before she could respond, Tywin stood and leaned over the table, glaring at her, and she snapped her mouth shut. “Harrenhal is without a Lord and Lady if I’m not mistaken, daughter.” Cersei’s face blanched at that thought, and Tywin grimaced at how far she had fallen. There had been a time when her mind had been sharp and clear; now she was addled with wine, grief and rage and it was sad and unbecoming on her.

Tywin turned from the table and paced for a moment before turning back to those that had gathered. He needed to get Cersei married and out of King’s Landing as soon as possible. She was fast becoming unbalanced and an embarrassment to House Lannister.

Shaking off his thoughts of his disappointing daughter, Tywin examined the faces before him. Some were family, some were trusted, some would become family, and some merely served a purpose for the realm. But by in large, Tywin believed that those seated around the table would work to see his reign prosper or else he had them in a position where they benefitted more from being his ally than his enemy.

Everyone in the room had a stake in ensuring that the Lannister's and especially Tywin was successful; all their fortunes were now tied to his. He had found that to be the most successful tool in keeping his alliances in line. No one could touch him in military superiority, he was married to the sister of the man who held the largest kingdom, and soon his son would be married to the most plentiful kingdom. Tywin himself held the title for the wealthiest kingdom, and he had the assurances of both Lady Stark and Edmure Tully that the Riverlands had accepted his reign. He had his wife to thank for that. With Cersei's marriage, he would secure a firmer grasp on the Stormlands. And he had the common people thanks to Sansa and her work in Flea Bottom. By all measures, he was in a truly enviable position.

The glaring hole was the position of the hand of the king. Tywin sighed and looked to his wife, who met his gaze. She arched an eyebrow as if to say it is your choice; it will always be your choice. She was, indeed a spectacular asset to him. At once, smart and cunning, then caring and supportive. Taking a deep breath, Tywin addressed the room.

"The last business before the small council today is the matter of the Hand of the King. I have served two kings, and this is a powerful and important position. This person is the single most trusted advisor to the King."

Everyone shifted in their seats. Most knew that it was a mere formality. There were no doubts that Tywin Lannister would name his brother Kevan to the position. The two of them had been inseparable for years, and no one was more loyal to Tywin than him.

This is why when Tywin laid the pin on the table and met Tyrion's eyes; the dwarf sat there immobilized. Surely his father was japing with him. But no, his father was not a ruler like Joffrey. He would not taunt and ridicule those he ruled. Tyrion's brain couldn't understand that given a choice of any man in the seven kingdoms for Hand of the King that his father would choose him.

Tyrion snuck a look to Jaime and saw his brother with a small satisfied smile on his face, having realized what his father was doing. When Tyrion looked at Sansa, he saw her eyes crinkle in joy at him, and he knew then that it was true.

He swallowed hard and heard his father say, "Tyrion Lannister, I name you Hand of the King."

Tyrion had to physically stop himself from letting the tears gather in his eyes. When years ago, his father had sent him back to Kings Landing to be acting hand for Joffrey it had been because there had been no other reasonable option. He'd been Hand to a deprived king with no support and a sister who actively worked to undermine him.

This was an entirely different matter. Tywin had a whole realm of people to choose from, and some of his most loyal followers were in the room today. There was no scenario in which Tyrion had ever conceived that his father would willingly put him in this position again. He glanced a look to his beloved, and saw her happiness and support, and then looked beside her to Olenna. The old Highgarden matriarch raised an eyebrow and slight nod in Tywin's direction, acknowledging the move for what it was. The Reach had lost out on the chance to have their Queen on the throne, but this was a more than an adequate second prize.

Tyrion hopped down off his seat and walked around the table and approached his father. Tywin stood tall and majestic but bent when Tyrion approached and handed his son the pin. "I trust you will carry out the duties of this position with the utmost attention to detail and loyalty to your King and Queen," Tywin said gravely.

Tyrion swallowed hard and then said clearly, "I will, Your Grace. Thank you for this honour." Then his hand clasped on the pin he'd worn briefly and felt something flare in him he'd never felt before. Total acceptance from his father. More than mere acceptance it seemed; acknowledgement of his usefulness to his father.

On his way back to his seat, Lady Margaery couldn't help herself, and she bounded from her seat to hug him, finally able to express what she felt for him openly and without fear of discovery. Mace gasped at her and Olenna chuckled, before roaring, "A wise choice, Your Grace. The Reach approves."

Tywin snorted. Of course, The Reach approved.

Suddenly a burst of crackling laughter rang throughout the room. All eyes had turned to Cersei, who was gasping for air she was laughing so hard. "You're a fool." Her face was contorted, and her once beautiful features were harsh and ugly. "No one will take you seriously with him as your hand. This reign is already a joke, Father."

Sansa bristled at Cersei's words. Tywin's daughter had been rude and insolent the entire meeting, and her husband refused to do anything to curb her vicious tongue. And the fact that she had yet to address her husband with the title he was due was Sansa's breaking point.

"I believe you mean, Your Grace, daughter."

Cersei's head whipped around at the source of the rebuke until her eyes landed on Sansa.

"Oh, little dove, do not involve yourself in matters that are of no concern to you," Cersei said, eyes narrowing before she dismissed her.

"Your Grace," Sansa said again, more forcefully this time. The entire room had stopped, and eyes darted between the two women. "You will address King Tywin as Your Grace, Lady Baratheon. As well as myself."

Cersei snorted, and Sansa's eyebrow shot up. "Oh Sansa, dear, do not attempt to play these games with me for surely lose you will lose. Remember when you play the game of thrones, you either win, or you die. And you are sure to lose. No one here thinks you are more than just a pretty face my father likes to fuck."

Sansa could feel Tywin tense beside her, but before her husband could intervene, she spoke.

"Jerrod, please arrest Cersei Baratheon for threats against the Queen. I'm sure all the witnesses present will attest to the threat. I believe some time in the black cells would help Lady Baratheon remember how to address the King and Queen in the future. And what happens to those who threaten their monarch."

Jerrod looked to Tywin who nodded slightly. He was in a rage at both his daughter and his wife that this had happened, but he would not openly disagree with his wife in front of members of the small council by contradicting her orders. They must appear as a united front. Only in private could they disagree, argue and debate the merits of such actions. Here in front of others, they must always appear in accord. Jerrod moved with purpose and grasped Cersei by the arm, prepared to carry out Sansa's orders.

Cersei's eyes flew around the room, first to her father and then to her brother. "You would dare allow her to do this to me?"

Tywin would have never dealt with her the way Sansa had decided too, but it was true he was sick of Cersei's rudeness and disrespect. He feared that there was no way to control her, and while this would only enrage her further, perhaps it was what was required to make her see just what tenuous ground she now occupied. Tywin shot Jaime a look that said You are not to interfere.

Jaime swallowed hard and bit back a retort. He knew that Cersei deserved at least this much for all she had done against Sansa. And to threaten Sansa openly in front of the council was suicide.

Sansa cocked her head at Cersei. "Perhaps instead we should bring you before court tomorrow. You could be stripped and beaten. Humiliated." Sansa's voice was pure ice and venom. This was the woman who had been the architect of her father's death as well as King Joffrey's cruelties against her. She had tried to murder her child, and she had shown no respect for the new King and Queen. Sansa was done playing games with Cersei.

Cersei's eyes narrowed into slits, as she struggled against Jerrod who was trying to pull her out of the room without hurting her.

"Father!" she shrieked, and Sansa once again said, "You will address the King as Your Grace in a setting such as this, Lady Baratheon. He is the King, and you are at a small council meeting. Not a family dinner."

Sansa rose and walked towards the struggling woman. Coming closer she leaned in to whisper to the former Queen, "I will ensure that you will never see the light of day again, including attending your son's funeral if one more word comes from your mouth. I advise that you use this time wisely, daughter, to think about how you will address me in the future. I must thank you for your many lessons. The one I have not forgotten is when you tried to murder my child — the future heir to the seven kingdoms. You know how fierce a mother's love is. I wonder what you think I would do to the person who tried to harm my child. I am a lioness, after all. And a wolf." Then Sansa smiled, cold and calculating and Cersei's eyes widened, and her face paled, and for the first time, she felt pure fear.

She searched the room again and spotted her father, who held her gaze. She would find no quarter from him. It was his child she'd tried to murder as well. Still unable to comprehend how this had come about, Jerrod finally dragged the hysterical woman from the room. Sansa watched her go and then turned back to the rest of the small council.

"I do not see myself as an unreasonable person, but let it be known that anyone who disrespects or threatens House Lannister and the Crown will be dealt with accordingly."

Every single person in the room had no doubts then that they were witnessing the coming of age of the Queen. Sansa Lannister would allow no one to threaten her family. Including the former Queen Regent. Sansa curtseyed slightly to Tywin and then turned and left the room, her rage at Tywin's daughter threatening to consumer her. She had been tormented by that woman for years, and she would not spend a single moment as Queen allowing her to continue to threaten her or her family. Tywin might not see it, but Cersei was beyond redemption. The sooner she was dead, the safer their reign would be.

She made her way back to their apartments and quickly went to their bedroom. Sansa was shaking as she wondered what Tywin's reaction would be. They hadn't discussed anything of this nature before she had acted, and she would not be surprised if he were in a rage. But she had a wave of cold anger inside her as well, and Sansa felt the wolf in her stir. She would do anything to protect her child; even if her husband was unwilling to. For the first time since she'd met Tywin, she felt out of step with him, and she was apprehensive about what type of effect it would have on her marriage. She sat on the padded bench in front of the fire, cold and lost in her thoughts.

Tywin had dismissed the rest of the small council after the spectacle that had just taken place. He was a man that rarely miscalculated, but he realized he had done so in this case and it frustrated him. His wife should not have to defend herself from his daughter. That was his duty, and he had failed. He knew that Cersei had tormented Sansa for years, and her unhinged display today only further served to demonstrate that she would never accept Sansa as her Queen. Tywin had repeatedly told Cersei that he would move against her if she threatened his wife, but time and again she had ridiculed and mocked Sansa, and he had done nothing more than raise his voice to her. Sansa was correct that if anyone else had addressed him in such a disrespectful manner, he never would have allowed it. Was he truly that blind to Cersei's true nature simply because she was his daughter? It was an extraordinarily uncomfortable thought for Tywin.

Lost in his musings, he made his way back to his chambers. He knew his wife would retreat to their bedchamber, and this matter must be addressed immediately. He had watched the concerned look pass over Jaime's face, and he was worried his son might do something should Cersei be held for any lengthy amount of time to rescue her. That would only make a bad situation, worse if his firstborn son tried to do something heroic.

Tywin found Sansa sitting still as a stone in front of the grand fireplace in the bedroom, and he went and stood in front of her. At that moment, he was as frustrated with her as he was with himself and Cersei. Even though he knew that Cersei was a threat to her, Sansa had acted outside her purview and without his consent or direction in front of the entire small council. It wasn’t that she was wrong, she had simply undermined his position, and as much as Tywin loved her, and wanted to rule with her, she could not do that without his knowledge. It would make them appear divided. And Tywin was not a man that was willing to be manipulated by anyone- even his wife that he loved.

"Lady Sansa," he said, his voice tight and low. "while I understand your dislike for my daughter, you will never act in such a way again without my permission."

"Yes, your Grace," she said in a sickly-sweet voice that grated on his every nerve. This was not the Sansa he knew. This was not his wife. Tywin held his temper and tried again.

"Need I remind you that I am the King, not you. I will decide what happens to my family. The choice is not yours to make."

Sansa rolled her eyes at that statement and kept silent. Tywin ground his teeth together, frustrated beyond measure at the entire situation.

"She is a Lannister, and she will be afforded the respect that name deserves," Tywin fumed to Sansa. He wanted Sansa to let him deal with his daughter as he saw fit. It was his role as the Head of House Lannister as well as the King.

She raised her eyes to him then, and he saw endless pools of pain and betrayal. Tywin felt his stomach drop. His wife had never looked at him with such animosity.

"When she kills me, and she will kill me, Your Grace, please ensure my body is returned to Winterfell to be buried in the family crypts. It will be the very least you can do for failing to protect me from your own family," Sansa replied her voice ice cold.

Temper hot that she would act so childishly, for surely Cersei would never actually harm Sansa, Tywin knew he was in dangerous territory, and that he had somehow lost the conversation and his control.

"I do not have time for your dramatics, My Lady. If you cannot behave in a way that is becoming of your station you will not attend small council meetings. I cannot have my authority challenged. Not even by you, Sansa."

Sansa felt overcome with such a rage that she had never felt before. Not when Joffrey beat her, not when Cersei declared Ned Stark a traitor, not even when she had been humiliated in front of the entire court. She sprung to her feet and slapped Tywin hard across the face. His head whipped back to hers, and he reached up to stay her hand lest she try that again. Tywin felt his control slip, and it shook him to his core.

"You dare!" she spat at him. He glared at her, outraged that she struck him. Before he could speak her words came tumbling out, hot and putrid like snakes in a pit.

"Your daughter, Your Grace, has abused me, tormented me, and mocked me since I met her. She allowed her vile son to beat me and to humiliate me. She tried to kill my child, and she wants me dead. Even as Queen, she is insolent and disrespectful towards me. And you say nothing to her. You allow her to whore and drink and fuck her way through King’s Landing, sending spies into our home. Everything she touches turns to ash, Tywin. Robert. Joffrey. If you're lucky, Jaime will extricate himself from her before you lose him too."

Sansa was shaking, her rage at Cersei and Tywin consuming her.

"You talk to me about respect for her, for what she is due. She is due nothing, and if I had the power and the strength to end her life myself, I would do it this instant. And the realm would be safer for it. It is you who is blinded by your blood and your single-minded devotion to those born under the Lannister banner. I have been loyal to only you. I have done everything to earn your love and your trust and your respect."

Sansa stood there, chest heaving, face red, and so much rage that she was quivering. Tywin was stunned by the depth of hatred and fear she felt for Cersei.

For the first time, Tywin questioned his judgement. Was his wife correct? Had he allowed the fact that Cersei was his daughter to blind him to her genuine threat to them? He had promised his wife that the moment the time was correct he would deal with Cersei, but Tywin wondered if he had ever genuinely planned on doing anything more than marrying her off and sending her back to Storm's End.

He looked at his pregnant wife, the woman he loved, who was carrying his heir, the next prince or princess of the realm. He knew that she had given everything to him, including the legacy he so desperately craved and the ability to finally build his dynasty. And yet, the biggest threat to her remained, and he had been blinded by the fact that the risk came in the form of his daughter.

"Sansa," he said, his voice raw. He reached for her, desperate to salvage something from this horrible conversation.

"No," she said to him, her face a cold and hard mask, and stepped back from him, putting distance between them for the first time in their marriage. "I have asked so little from you Tywin, and this, today, this beyond what I can take. You are beyond what I can handle. Leave me." She stood there, his beautiful wife, cold and remote, anger and hatred pouring from her.

Tywin felt his heart seize and fear stole through his body. At that moment, he realized that Cersei's real power lay in her ability to manipulate those around her, to destroy relationships and to drive people apart. He would respect Sansa's wishes in this, unsure of when he might be allowed to attempt to make amends. His face closed into a hard and remote mask which matched hers, the hurt he felt at her rejection forcing himself to turn within himself.

"As you wish, My Lady," he ground out, and he turned and strode from his bedroom without a backward glance.

Sansa collapsed onto the bed and felt an ache from her midsection. She was wrung dry, alone and lost once again in the vicious world of politics and death. And the worst feeling was that the one man whom she loved more than anything couldn't even see the threat before his very eyes and refused to support her. Instead, he scolded her as if she were some silly child and not the one person he could trust above all others. Tywin had promised they were partners, that they would rule together. But he'd proven today that those were only pretty words. Curled into a tiny ball, Sansa wept bitterly. Cersei always won.

Tywin was in a rage as he made his way into his solar, where he found the nearest jug of wine and poured himself a healthy portion before collapsing into his chair. Mere moments later, Kevan and Genna entered, and he grunted at them. An uncomfortable silence stretched in the room.

"Is my wife right about Cersei?" he ground out to his siblings, finally asking the one question he needed a true answer to.

Kevan had filled Genna in on what had happened in the small council meeting. Both were deeply concerned.

Kevan looked at Tywin, wondering if he were prepared for the truth. Taking a risk, Kevan said simply, "Yes, Your Grace."

Tywin's eyes darted to Genna. She nodded. "You've seen the scars on her body, Your Grace. You've felt them. Cersei allowed that to happen. And then she tried to kill your child. Who else could have possibly done such things and lived, Ty?"

"Fuck," Tywin whispered, realizing at that moment just how monumentally he had messed up. He clenched his fists, a feeling a dread stealing over him. Tywin felt his defences collapse. He was willing to kill men for looking at his wife the wrong way. He wanted to beat Brienne of Tarth with her sword for failing to protect Sansa when her mother had held her. He'd murdered a King to secure her safety and would glad draw the knife across Littlefinger's neck if required to keep her from that man.

And Cersei had done more than all of them, save Joffrey, and he'd done nothing. She'd received no punishments, no humiliation. She'd been allowed to carry on, spreading her lies and disrespect. He thought about her behaviour critically in the small council chambers mere moments ago. Even here, without witnesses, Kevan and Genna gave him the respect his new position was due. But not Cersei. Never Cersei. She mocked and ridiculed and questioned. Every decision, every discussion, every plan. She added nothing. She always chose violence and force.

Tywin realized in that instant that his wife had been correct. Cersei was the most significant threat not only to her and his heir but to his reign. She would destroy the Lannister family if she were allowed to live. Her hatred of Tyrion was well-founded, she was still able to manipulate Jaime to an extent, and clearly, even he was blinded to the threat she posed to him. She hated Sansa with a single-mindedness that only matched her hatred for Tyrion, and he knew she would never give his Queen the respect she was due.

Only Sansa, his wolf, his lioness,_his wife _had been able to see his daughter's true intentions toward their House. And she had tried to warn him, to protect him. Even today in the small council meeting had Cersei given Sansa and him the respect they were due; nothing would have escalated. Sansa had been entirely correct in asserting her power and authority over his daughter. She was the Queen now, not Cersei. And he had attacked her for it. He had chosen Cersei over her. Just like she had felt he had done when he wouldn't eliminate Cersei after the moontea incident. Gods, he was a fool. Sansa was everything to him, his love, the mother of his child. And he had allowed a threat to her to remain, to fester and grow, to mock her and humiliate her. He had failed her on so many levels.

He ran a hand down his face and sighed raggedly.

Genna took pity on him. "Ty, she's pregnant and emotional on the best days. These past few days have been extremely taxing. She might be mad at you right now, but that woman loves you. More than I've ever seen anyone love someone."

Tywin nodded at his sister then rose. He hoped Sansa's capacity to forgive Lannister men hadn't deserted her.

He knew what he needed to do. Words would not be enough. This required action. He left his apartments and searched for the Grand Maester. The man was loyal only to him and had been for twenty years. Upon entering the Maester's chambers, the King looked at him and said, "I need sweet sleep." Maester Pycelle knew not to question Tywin Lannister and moved slowly to pick up a small vial.

"Ensure the wine is sweet, and it will be undetectable. Ten drops should be more than sufficient."

Tywin nodded curtly and left the Maester's chambers and made his way to his solar again where he summoned Ser Marbrand and Jerrod. When the men arrived, he spoke low and fast.

"My daughter is to be guarded at all times. No one is allowed access to her. Not even her brothers. No one. Is that clear?" Both men nodded, and Tywin knew that Cersei would spend an uncomfortable night alone in the cells. Tywin was worried about what Jaime might do. His son was too heroic by any measuring stick, and Tywin knew his love for his sister still ran deep. He couldn't afford to lose his son now.

Then he sighed and made his way into his bedchambers, wondering and worried about the reception he would receive. Sansa was curled up on their large bed, but instead of in the middle, as was her custom, she had hunched herself off to one side. Tywin noted the tear tracks that had dried on her face and that while sleeping her breathing was ragged and short as if she were distressed even when she was supposed to be resting. He briefly wondered if he should have brought the Maester to examine her but dismissed the idea. He needed to set things right, his wife, and he needed no interruptions.

Tywin settled down in a chair to watch her, having removed his doublet and his boots. He was dressed in a tunic and breeches and had a goblet of wine in his hand. He would not leave this room for anything short of war, and he would be waiting for her when she awoke, however long that took. Salvaging something from the wreckage of today was more important than anything else. The realm needed the King and Queen they had crowned yesterday, not the mess that was their marriage at this moment.

Tywin was unsure how long he sat there, watching Sansa sleep, but eventually, she stirred, and he watched as the first thing she did was search for him, her hand reaching out across the bed. His heart clenched. He needed to fix this, and he needed to fix this now. His reign would only be successful with her by his side, and for once, he was terrified that his miscalculation would cost him something important and that the damage between them would be irreparable.

Sansa sat up and saw her husband sitting in a chair, his eyes pinned on her. Everything that had happened rushed back to her, and she felt her rage begin anew.

Tywin saw the emotion come back into her face, saw the anger light her eyes, and held up a hand. "I will say this only once. You were correct. The greatest threat to you, to us, to our heir, is my daughter." Tywin's jaw tightened. "She is my daughter, Sansa," and he couldn't help but how ragged his voice sounded at that statement. Sansa felt a part of her heart that felt like ice, thaw. She knew her husband was in an impossible situation. She wanted him to kill his flesh and blood.

"I am sorry, Sansa," Tywin ground out, his voice low and intense. "For not dealing with her. For what I allowed her to continue to do. To you. To us." Sansa couldn't help it; she knew she was correct in her anger, but she saw her husband struggling. She loved this man too much not to offer him comfort when he needed it.

Pushing back the covers, she left their bed and came to him. As soon as she was close, he dragged her onto his lap, and buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent and her warmth. His arms snaked around her, pinning her still slender body to his. Tywin's arms felt like steel bands that held her so tight she could hardly breathe.

"It never should have been left to you to do what you had to do today." He relaxed his grip slightly as he talked and Sansa adjusted herself on his lap.

Sansa curled into him. "Tywin," she said softly as she stroked his forearms that still held her cradled to him.

He opened his hand and showed her a small vial. "Sweet sleep," was all he said, and Sansa knew then that he was had taken the threat to her seriously, that he had finally seen the danger that Cersei was. "I only ask we do it in a way that hurts Jaime the least."

"Tywin," Sansa said and cupped his face to bring his eyes to meet hers. "Husband." She leaned down and kissed him, soft and gentle, then he felt the tears on her cheeks.

"Hush, Sansa," he said, his tone gentle. But she would not. She was overcome with emotion, first, from her interaction with Cersei and then with their disagreement.

"The worst was that you didn't support me that you didn't listen to me."

Tywin felt shame that he had doubted Sansa, that he had taken his anger out on her, that she had borne the brunt of his legendary temper. His wife had only been loyal to him. She loved him deeply and true, and he knew this. She put him above all others, and he owed her the same respect.

"I was a fool, blinded by her, and the fact that she is my daughter. And what this will do to Jaime. I just got him back. He will hate me, Sansa," and Tywin's breath was ragged. She knew how much his son meant to him, and she buried her fingers through his whiskers.

"I know Tywin. I know I ask you the impossible. It is not fair of me, but I fear her. I fear what she will do to you, to me. To our child." Tywin sighed and pressed his forehead to his wife's. Everything she said was correct, but it still made the situation no better.

Sansa pulled back and looked in her husband's eyes. "After the funeral, I will visit her. I will give her the poisoned wine. It will simply look like she was unable to handle everything that has happened. You will be with Jaime and Tyrion, and he will never suspect me, Tywin." He sighed deeply at his wife's plan, knowing that she would do this for him, that she would take this burden onto her shoulders and relieve him of it.

"I cannot ask you to take a life, Sansa," he whispered.

"You are not asking, and I am volunteering. Besides, I am Queen. The day will come when I will have to order men to battle, order men to war. Their lives will also be on my head. Let me do this for us, Tywin. It is me she has harmed greatest."

Then Sansa gently reached into his clasped hand and grabbed the poison.

"Ten drops in sweet wine and she won't be able to detect anything," Tywin said with finality. The choice had been made.

Tywin had never felt such love for any other person than the moment Sansa took the poison from him. He wanted to feel shame that his wife would perform this task, but instead, all he felt was pride. She would need to learn to make brutal decisions. She also knew that if he were the one to kill his daughter, a small piece of him would die too. No matter what Cersei was, what she had become, the harm she had inflicted on others, she was still his blood, always his daughter.

Sansa knew this. She knew he would do this task if required, but she also knew that she was capable of it as well and that the burden would be far less for her than him.

Tywin was unable to stop himself from claiming her lips in a brutal kiss, nipping at her until he drew the tiniest bead of blood. Sansa moaned and squirmed on him, making him harden. He needed to be in his wife's heat, to lose himself in her body until all the ugliness of the day was chased away. Only Sansa had to ability to cleanse him.

Tywin snaked a hand up her loose gown and found her ready. He rubbed at her nub as she writhed on him. It was hard and fast, as he worked his wife expertly until she was coming on his fingers before he picked her up and put her on the bed.

"Take it all off Sansa," he said roughly, and she complied quickly, her desired barely quenched. When she was naked, she looked at her husband, who stood tall and majestic before her, hard as he stroked himself. When she was naked she lay on the bed, a look of love and desire on her face. Tywin leaned down and captured her lips.

“I love you,” he said, his voice almost pained. She stroked his whiskers. “And I love you, Tywin.”

He leaned down and then placed a kiss on her neck, before whispering in her ear, "I am going to take you now wife, hard and deep." Before she knew what he was doing, she felt him at her entrance and then he surged into her, claiming her. Tywin thrust into her again and again, relentless in his pace. Sansa pushed back against him, loving how he felt being so close to her.

"Gods, Sansa," Tywin groaned. Finally, he felt himself near his peak, and he bent down to gently bite at her neck while he rubbed at her.

"That's it, my little lion," and he felt her scream as she peaked, tightening unbelievably to squeeze him. When he felt those muscles contract around him, he was done, and he thrust into her once more before he finished. Careful not to collapse on her, Tywin pulled her into his arms.

"I love you, Sansa," he said quietly again, willing to admit just how deeply their fight today had affected him.

He felt her squeeze him back and murmured, "I love you, husband. You are mine, Tywin. Always."

Tywin grunted at that; grateful his wife had such a forgiving nature. Cersei would not destroy them. Their feelings for each other were too strong to let his bitter daughter ruin their marriage. The woman in his arms was his salvation and his future. The one in the black cells was his past, where pain and disappointment lay littered like bones in an old graveyard.

_ Tyrion _

After Cersei had been dragged from the room, and Tywin had dismissed the rest of the small council, Tyrion found himself with a handful of Lady Margaery. He smirked as she laughed and ran her hands over the pin he'd just been given. An honour that he could scarcely believe was his. A few short months ago, his father had barely been able to conceal his disgust with him. Now with an entire realm of possibilities, he had chosen Tyrion.

Suddenly the dwarf found himself surrounded by family. Jaime, though worried about Cersei, still had a grin on his face.

"A marriage and a new job, all in one morning. Well done, little brother!" Jaime's smile was broad and genuine. In truth, he was extremely happy for Tyrion. He knew that his brother was by far the most intelligent Lannister and the fact that their father had finally come to see that was a testament to Sansa and her influence on their family. Tyrion would serve Tywin well, and Jaime knew that when he eventually left the Capital, and he would be leaving Kings Landing to deal with Stannis, that Tywin and Sansa would not be betrayed by their hand.

As for his brother's betrothal, well, Jaime had felt shame since the day he had lied to Tyrion about his first wife and the role he had played. All Tyrion had ever wanted it seemed was the respect of their father and the love of a woman. And now he had both.

Jaime was still much too raw and confused about Cersei to even consider taking a wife or what that might mean. For now, it was enough that he had Tommen back. He would let things cool down then approach his father about what Sansa meant for Cersei. He was genuinely concerned for his sister. She continued to undermine and challenge the King, and no good could come from that path. With one last clasp on his brother's should, Jaime took his leave, eager to find Tommen and train to keep his mind occupied.

Once his brother had gone, Tyrion was approached by Lord Varys who bowed to both Tyrion and Margaery. "Congratulations are in order My Lord, for both your betrothal and your appointment as Hand of the King." Tyrion tipped his head to the eunuch. He generally got along well with Varys, and since the Master of Whispers had begun to help Lady Sansa, the two had become closer. Tyrion nodded to Lord Varys before the man took his leave as well, which left Tyrion's soon to be good parents.

"Quite a feat," Lady Olenna said and dipped her head to Tyrion. She was quite glad about how things had turned out. While she would have preferred that Margaery was Queen, she knew that with Cersei still in power, her granddaughter's life would have been in grave danger. This was an elegant solution for both families and would keep Margaery close to the Iron Throne. When Margaery had decided upon Tyrion as a husband, Olenna was afraid they would be shipped off to some nowhere castle or lesser keep.

Mace, who had initially struggled with such a match for his beautiful daughter, was now wholly placated with Tyrion's appointment as Hand. He approached the two of them and smirked at his daughter. How such a beautiful woman had fallen for such an ugly little man was beyond his comprehension. But fall she had, and he had never seen his daughter happier. In the end, that mattered much to Mace Tyrell, who quite frankly didn't have the stomach or the intelligence to be a real player in the Game of Thrones.

When they had both departed, Tyrion and Margaery were left alone in the small council chambers. Tyrion was still stunned by the turn of events that had taken place. He looked at Margaery and wondered how she felt about this. Olenna had made Tywin promise to give them a large castle or keep, and this was not a castle or a keep.

"Are you disappointed, My Lady?" he asked quietly. He'd had his every wish fulfilled, but he was concerned about her.

Margaery's brow furrowed. Disappointed? She was overjoyed. The day might come when she would want to run her castle, but that was not now. Her soon to be husband had just become the second most powerful man in the realm. Her closest friend was Queen. She had a wedding to plan to the man she had somehow against all the odds fallen in love with. No, Lady Margaery was well pleased currently.

"No Tyrion," said and smiled at him to show the truth in her words.

Tyrion swallowed hard. "I never imagined such an appointment, Margery." They had briefly discussed Tyrion's complicated and painful history with Tywin.

"It is well deserved, Tyrion." Margaery cocked her head. "Are you disappointed?"

Tyrion shook his head; then he broke out into a grin. "Although I must confess, I do not look forward to climbing all those stairs." She laughed.

It was hard to imagine that the monstrous second son, the imp, the reject, was on the cusp of everything he'd ever wanted while his two golden siblings were faltering. At least Jaime's future looked brighter than before.

His thoughts turned briefly to his sister. She would be trouble, he knew. He had seen the rage and madness in her eyes. Tyrion fully supported Lady Sansa for standing up to Cersei, but he feared genuinely what the consequences of such actions would be. He wondered if he would be able to convince his father that the threat to Sansa was great enough to arrange for something to happen to Cersei finally.

Then he pushed thoughts of his dear sister aside, as his soon to be wife leaned down to kiss him sweetly on the lips. Tyrion Lannister had everything in the world to live for, while Cersei plotted and raged in a cell deep within the dungeons of the Red Keep.


	19. Chapter 19

_ Meeting with Tyrion  _

The morning after the disastrous small council meeting, everyone that usually partook in breakfast in the Hand's dining hall was particularly relieved to watch the King and Queen enter the room arm in arm. Tyrion had been mainly worried that his father and Sansa were fighting, and he knew that the realm needed them united. It was their greatest asset; Tywin's cold and calculating logic, tempered by Sansa's caring and gracious nature. It had been too long since the seven kingdoms had experienced such rulers, and Tyrion would be damned if his sister would ruin his father's reign before it even started.

Catelyn had barely spoken to Sansa yesterday, but Genna had let it slip that they had a huge fight. She was relieved for her daughter that all appeared well with her husband. She was still in shock that she was the mother of the Queen.

Jaime was subdued. He'd brought Tommen with him, and he needed to talk with his father today after he'd been dismissed from the Kingsguard. He was deeply worried about Cersei and very confused. He knew that she was out of control, and even he could see the danger she posed. He knew that it would devastate her to be married off again, and to such a strong and brutal man such as Balon Swann. No his dear sister desperately loved to be in control in all her relationships, and he couldn't see that man treating her well should she disobey him. It also shamed him that he was jealous of Ser Swann. Even though Cersei and Jaime hadn't been together like that since before he'd left Kings Landing, in Jaime's mind, she was always his. It didn't matter that she was his sister; she was simply the woman he loved. Even if he disliked her right now, he wondered if Sansa realized what an enemy she had made when she'd had Cersei arrested. He knew that his sister would never stop trying to exact her revenge on Sansa, and that meant that his sister was in a dangerous situation. Tywin would never allow any harm to come to his beloved wife. If it came down to Cersei or Sansa, Tywin would always choose Sansa. He had to talk to his sister, to try and make her see reason.

After they had broken their fast, Tywin indicated that Tyrion was needed, as Hand of the King in the solar. The dwarf straightened at that somewhat unexpected summons. He'd assumed they would have no official conversations until he was sworn in before the entire court, but his father had something on his mind. It was also a bit jarring to realize he wasn't being summoned to be yelled at or ridiculed but because his advice was wanted and needed. And it was now his job.

When the three of them settled into the solar Tywin pierces Tyrion with a look. "Conversations between the Hand and the King and the Queen will always remain between the three of us. Do I make myself clear?" Tyrion nodded. "Additionally, I expect you will serve Lady Sansa in the same capacity you would me. She has been your biggest advocate these past few months. You owe her an enormous debt."

Tyrion cocked his head as his pretty mother. He knew that Sansa was the only reason he sat here today, in his father's good graces. He would die for her before he would ever betray her. She had earned his loyalty a thousand times over.

"I will never do anything to betray you or the Queen, Your Grace," Tyrion said. Tywin nodded at him.

"There are a few issues we need to address. First, the situation with your sister," Tywin said, his voice tight. "She cannot be allowed to live, Tyrion." Tywin watched his son for his reaction. He was pleased to see only acceptance and perhaps even a slight bit of relief in the dwarf's eyes.

"And how do we propose to eliminate her?" Tyrion asked, unfazed. Cersei had hated him since the day he was born, and he had seen her true nature. He knew that she would never accept Tywin and Sansa, and would most likely be the reason for their demise if she were allowed to live.

"I have secured the poison sweet sleep from the Grand Maester. A few drops in her wine and she will be no wiser," Lady Sansa said. "I will visit her after Joffrey's funeral. You must be with Tywin and Jaime, Tyrion. No one can suspect the king. It must appear accidental."

Tyrion's eyes widened as he realized what the Queen was willing to do. He saw Sansa's hand reach out and stroke Tywin's arm. His father was tense, and his face was tight.

Sansa worried her lip. "Once she is dead, I need you and Jaime to find her, Tyrion. Summon the Maester. He will confirm that she has approached him before for the poison. It will be assumed she was overcome with grief and madness from Joffrey's death and her stay in the black cells."

Tyrion's eyes widened. "And has she? Approached the Grand Maester for the potion before?" Sansa nodded her head. Tywin had confirmed this with Grand Maester Pycelle.

"Are you sure Your Grace, that you want to do this? I could be the one to do such a task," Tyrion offered, but Sansa shook her head.

"No, it is best if you are with Jaime and Tywin. I know this will devastate Jaime and if he can even try to believe that this was an accident, it will be best for everyone." Tyrion nodded.

"First, we need to get through the King's funeral. It will be in two days, and you need to coordinate it," Tywin stated. "I will go and visit Cersei in the black cells today, and let her know her fate. Once we have moved past the funeral, we can get on with Littlefinger's trial.

"What about Cersei's testimony, Your Grace?" Tyrion asked.

Tywin sighed. "I believe there is enough evidence against Lord Baelish to proceed. I also wonder if he may call for a trial by combat, knowing that he has Lord Royce stationed outside the Red Keep's walls, and we are without some of our best swordsmen at the moment." Tywin grimaced. He would feel much better if either one of the Cleganes' were closer to King's Landing if such an occasion arose.

"Wouldn't it be better for an accident to befall him, Your Grace?" Tyrion asked.

"I had contemplated such an action, but I fear it will never be enough to win the Knights of the Vale to our side. They need to know that Petyr Baelish murdered both their Lord and their Lady. Once they know that we will never have to worry about them again, this trial can win us another loyal Kingdom."

"And what of Dorne?" Tyrion asked again, needing to know where his father's head was at.

Tywin sighed. Everyone suspected it was him that had ordered Ser Gregor to kill Elia Martell and her two children with Prince Rhaegar. Dorne had never forgiven that, nor should they. But they had also agreed to a marriage between the Prince Trystane and Myrcella which gave Tywin hope that they saw his position of power and would agree to support him.

"What does Oberyn Martell want?" Tywin asked his Hand.

"A place in the game, and a chance at revenge against the man who murdered his sister." Before Tywin could react, Tyrion held up his hand. "I believe he would be satisfied with Ser Gregor, not you. A chance at combat with the man. He indeed has no love for Lannister's or our gold, but he does want influence and power."

"Offer him a seat at the small council table," Sansa said. They both looked at her. She shrugged. "Everyone knows the King makes the final decisions. But you've got every other kingdom represented there, and if you don't offer the Vale and Dorne the same courtesy, well..." Sansa trailed off. Tywin's eyes never left hers. It was true that with five of the seven kingdoms with representatives at the small council they all felt they had a voice to the King. Was it that simple? Tywin thought to unite Westeros. Sansa watched the two lions struggle with the concept.

She sighed. "Let me speak bluntly. I am from the North. Even though you are in an alliance with the North, married to a northern princess, you are not of the North, husband. You never will be. When you die, your bones will be buried in your family crypts, in the Westerlands. And I know there are days when your home calls to you. No matter how solid your alliances, you cannot know what it feels like to be from each Kingdom, Tywin. You can rule them, and rule them all well and justly, my love, but you will always be from the West. If they are on your small council, they speak for their people. And they know the King hears those pleas directly."

"Are you unhappy here in King's LandingSansa?" Tywin asked, curious more than anything else.

She shook her head. "Not now that the King is dead, and we are in power. But it is not my home. I do not feel this place in my bones. It is too hot some days, too dry others, too windy on occasion. I long to see snow again. I was never cold in the North, and even though I was young when I left, it calls to me." She looked at her husband. "You cannot tell me you don't feel the same way."

Tywin nodded his head, knowing she was right. He would rule in King's Landing until he died, but he wondered if he would ever see his beloved Casterly Rock again. Some days he sincerely doubted it. And even if he never did step foot there again, the Rock would always be Tywin Lannister's home. Sansa was right. At his heart, he would still be of the West.

"So you are saying to offer each kingdom a seat on the small council, in addition to the positions already created? It is a novel idea Your Grace," Tyrion said, impressed with Sansa's thinking.

"It would be a ridiculously large small council," Tywin muttered, but she could tell he was mulling the idea over.

"There would be any number of ways we could implement such a practice. Perhaps each Kingdom appoints someone to serve for a year," Tyrion offered, warming to the idea. If King Tywin's small council consisted of members from each Kingdom, no one could ever accuse him of not listening to all the people of the seven kingdoms. Instead of seven kingdoms united in fear, they would be joined in governance. Of course, everyone knew that the King was the real power. All others were merely advisors. Still, the idea looked brilliant in its perception. And perception mattered when you were ruling. It was something to think about. Tywin would not be making any decisions at that moment.

"The last thing we need to discuss is the coronation," Tywin said. While details were worked out between the three of them, the most pressing issue was making the crowns that would be worn by Tywin and Sansa. Tywin heartily rejected the awful monstrosity that had sat upon Joffrey's head. He would work with the royal Jeweller to ensure that the Lions were present, as well as adornments of rubies for Sansa's; they would be elegant and beautiful and would showcase the wealth of the Lannister's. Tywin had also consented to her house sigil, the direwolf being incorporated into its design.

The next issue was who needed to be invited. Tyrion cleared his throat and looked at the King and Queen. "It would send a strong message to all the seven kingdoms if your brother were to come, Lady Sansa. He was, after all, crowned a King himself, and to see him pledge allegiance to the new King would be truly beneficial to your reign," Tyrion stated.

Sansa knew he wasn't wrong, but there was no way Robb would leave Winterfell. "He won't leave the North. Perhaps not ever again, Tyrion. He might trust me, and we might have an alliance, but now that Robb Stark is back at Winterfell nothing would make him leave. Not even to see his sister crowned as Queen," Sansa sighed. "Plus his wife is pregnant and cannot travel. The last time the Stark's left Winterfell undefended, we almost lost our home."

Tyrion nodded, knowing that was all true. "What about your sister?" Sansa cocked her head at him and failed to notice her husband tense. She thought about that. She'd exchanged many ravens with Arya, and she could tell her sister was going crazy being trapped back at home. Those were the words she had used. But would Robb let her come?

"It's a possibility, but I'm unsure Robb would let her leave. Even knowing that mother and I are here. Plus there's her self-appointed bodyguard who isn't allowed below Moat Cailin. She doesn't go anywhere without him," Sansa said and sent a look to Tywin.

She knew from both Robb and Arya that she and the Hound were practically inseparable. They spared together, fought together, rode the outer defences together. It seemed that the Hound had taken his pledge to keep her sister safe seriously.

Tywin cleared his throat. He had just wished he'd had a Clegane back in Kings Landing, and he'd been thinking for some time that the best shield for his wife was Sandor Clegane. And then there was the issue of Arya Stark herself. He'd never told Sansa the story of them together at Harrenhal.

"If your brother is agreeable, I'd like to propose that Sandor Clegane be made your new shield, Sansa," Tywin said. She turned her shocked face to him. She remembered another fight they had, and how it had all been initiated by his jealousy towards the scarred man. And now he wanted to propose that same man become her shield? That he would be with her day and night?

She looked to Tyrion and said softly, "Can we have a moment?" The dwarf nodded, knowing that there was something intensely personal happening between the King and Queen.

Once the room was theirs, Sansa looked at Tywin. "Why?"

He sighed deeply and rubbed at his whiskers. Today he felt his age, and he looked at his wife, carrying his heir. He had grossly miscalculated with Cersei. Because of that, he had thought long and hard about who in the realm was capable of protecting his wife. From anything or anyone. The only answer was Sandor Clegane. Gregor was absolutely out of the question; the man was barely controllable. But the Hound had proven his loyalty and devotion to the Stark sisters again and again. And Tywin would stake Sansa's life on it, that he would either repel any threat to her or die trying.

Thinking about when he was dead, Tywin knew that his heir would require only the most loyal and trusted people by his side. It was why Tywin had ultimately named Tyrion Hand. His devotion to Sansa was well established and would continue to their child. It was the same with Clegane. He'd hated Joffrey and still protected the King. The Battle of the Blackwater had been a miscalculation and had Tywin been in the Keep that night, Clegane's desertion may have been avoided. Sandor Clegane's benefits far outweighed his one moment of weakness.

"He is one of the only men in the entire realm that I know for certain that can and will protect you from anyone or anything Sansa. His loyalty to you and your family seems unshakable," Tywin said, an almost a worried look on his face. He tried to hide how he would feel to have the man around his wife night and day and ruthlessly tapped down any feelings of jealousy. Sansa's life was more important that his insecurities.

Sansa cocked her head at him. "He's sworn himself to my sister. What makes you think he would consent to your plan?"

Tywin snorted. "You are the Queen."

"Perhaps," she said. She looked pensive for a moment. "Do you agree with Tyrion that it is important for my family to be here for the coronation?" The last time the Stark sisters had come south, their father had lost his head, King Joffrey had tormented Sansa, and her sister had disappeared into the wilds of Westeros. While things had drastically changed, Sansa knew her brother would be extremely wary of sending Arya away from him and back to the place where so many horrible things had happened to their family. Even with Rickon finally home.

"Having your mother and your sister here would send a strong message about our alliance with the North. The Reach will have representatives, and I will send a raven to Riverrun to ask for your uncle's attendance as well."

Sansa sighed, thinking about the raven she would have to compose. She'd only recently sent one telling Robb that their mother was alive, and now she would be asking him to send Arya away from Winterfell. But if Robb did consent, it would also reunite her mother with her other daughter, and Sansa knew that was something special.

"Alright, I will send a raven asking for Robb to allow the two of them to come to King's Landing for the coronation ceremony," Sansa said. She saw Tywin squirm ever so slightly when she said those words, and her eyes narrowed. To anyone else, they would not be able to detect his uncomfortableness. But Sansa knew her husband well.

"What is it Tywin?" she asked pointedly. When he sighed and rubbed his jaw and Sansa had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"When I arrived at Harrenhal, the management of the keep was in total disarray. There was and still is an enormous amount of work to do there, and the idiots in charge were executing anyone they could get their hands on. There was one prisoner that they were trying to catch." Tywin paused. "It was a woman dressed as a man. When I asked why she told me smarter to travel, she was smart, well-spoken, brave and competent. I made her my cupbearer." He watched his wife's face during his tale and saw when recognition lit her eyes.

"Arya," she breathed. Tywin nodded. He held up a hand before she could ask more questions.

"I didn't know who she was at the time. But I enjoyed talking with her. She was good at her job and cheeky. At one point, I gave her a lecture on how to speak like a low born," Tywin said, and chuckled, recalling Arya's reaction. "I should have known then. She convinced me her father was a stonemason, and that her Lady mother taught her to speak properly." He shook his head.

"What happened to her?" Sansa asked.

"When we heard that Stannis was attacking Kings Landing, Kevan and I left Harrenhal. She was left behind. I have no idea how she escaped. When I came back to Kings Landing, I sent a raven to Harrenhal to ask her to be sent here. That's when I learned she was no longer there. I honestly believed her to be dead."

"And when did you realize who she was?" Sansa asked quietly.

Tywin met her eyes. "Our first dinner." He saw the shock and then the anger light her eyes. Even though he hated it was once again directed at him, she was beautiful when the fire in her eyes matched her hair. He spoke again before she could let loose her temper on him.

"I decided not to tell you because I didn't know if she was alive or not. I only knew at that moment that I had the other Stark sister in my possession and had let her escape. As soon as I knew, I sent riders looking for her," Tywin stated.

"Possession?" Sansa said, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, Sansa, possession. At that point, your family was in open rebellion against the crown. No alliance had been secured. Had I known who she was at Harrenhal I would have used her to get my son back; before your mother let him go, and he fell into the hands of those butchers," Tywin ground out, hating that she questioned him.

Sansa took a deep breath. She knew who and what her husband was. She had come into this marriage with eyes wide open. It made sense that if he'd known he'd had Arya, he would have traded her for Jaime. If she'd been in his position, she'd have done the same thing. Then her eyes narrowed.

"And after? If you had found her after we had secured our alliance, made our marriage pact; if your riders had found her, then, what would you have done?" she asked him.

Tywin sighed and looked straight at his wife. "I would have brought her back to Kings Landing. And most likely have arranged a marriage for her, to strengthen my position." He would not lie to her. He watched as his wife sat back in her seat and contemplated his answers. Then he saw her nod.

"I understand. The worst is that you didn't tell me she was alive. I had no idea until I received Robb's raven that she wasn't dead. You could have spared me a few months of pain," she told him, her eyes bruised pools of blue.

"I could have. Or she could have died the moment she left Harrenhal, and I would have given you false hope. I choose to keep quiet until I had confirmation." He paused. "We weren't close then, Sansa. Not like we are now." His voice was low and intense.

She tilted her head. "And if she comes here now? Will you still marry her off to some lord of your choosing, Your Grace?" Sansa knew he was the most powerful man in the realm. If Arya came here and he wanted her married, she would be married.

Tywin kept her gaze. "I will not say that the thought hasn't crossed my mind." He paused. "But no, I give you my word, wife, that I will not marry her off, nor will she be kept here as a hostage. She will be treated like family, and will be allowed to leave Kings Landing, unharmed and not betrothed."

Sansa sometimes forgot just how much Tywin Lannister loved her. To anyone else, his words may seem cold and calculating, but she knew what a sacrifice it was for him not to wield his considerable influence to further their reign by marrying her sister to a man of his choosing. And she knew he did it for her. Only her. Because she would object if Arya were forced into a marriage against her will.

Sansa rose from her seat and came around his desk, where she settled on his lap when he opened his arms to her. She curled into him and ran her hands through his whiskers.

"Perhaps if she sees how happy I am, she might become more agreeable to marriage," Sansa said softly, acknowledging her husband's sacrifice. He grunted, then turned his lips, so they captured hers. He had already made love with her once this morning, something driving him to reaffirm their commitment to one another, but even now he still had such a need for her. He reached down and laid a hand across her growing stomach. It seemed that daily she was more abundant. They both looked at where his hand rested, and Sansa nuzzled into him, whispering how much she loved him.

Tywin eventually moved his hand away from her stomach, knowing they had a full-court session to attend today. He pulled his wife to her feet and drew her to him. He was still unsettled from their argument the previous day and having Sansa close to him at all times today was imperative to him.

He hadn't told her, but he had secured a second chair to be placed next to the Iron Throne. The entire court would see that she would rule alongside him. Today he would publicly name Tyrion as his hand and remove Jaime from his duty to the Kingsguard. He would gain his heir back, righting a slight to his family that had happened over twenty years ago. Whether Jaime was ready to be his heir to Casterly Rock remained to be seen, but Tywin needed that option to be available if Sansa's child was to take the Iron Throne. He brushed his lips against hers and held her tightly as she snaked her arms around him. They stood like that for a moment, before they left their apartments to hold their first court session as the King and Queen.

* * *

Tyrion wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was extremely nervous. Before he'd left this father's solar this morning, he'd handed back the Hand of the King pin. The King required it to bestow upon him in front of the entire court, and until it was placed back on his breast, he would worry that it had all been an elaborate hoax. Tyrion would be devastated and humiliated if his father took back his appointment.

Jaime was standing beside him in the Great Hall as they awaited the King and Queen. The court was packed, not a single member absent it seemed, except for Cersei. Tyrion was fidgeting, trying to keep his fears at bay, when Jaime said, "Stop little brother." He laid his hand on his brother's shoulder in a show of support.

Tyrion grunted. It was different for his brother. He was being relieved of a duty that he'd had for twenty years, but that had almost destroyed him. And his father wasn't even forcing his eldest son into a marriage. Jaime would get to go and play his war games with his son at his side. Tyrion knew he was never happier than when he was leading the Lannister Army. He also suspected that Jaime needed to put time and distance between him and Cersei.

Suddenly a hush fell over the assembled crowd, and Tyrion and Jaime heard the announcement of the King and Queen. As they walked down the parted aisle to the throne, Sansa saw the smaller chair that had been placed next to the throne. She shot her husband a look, and he gave her the tiniest of smirks. She had to work to keep her face composed. It was a clear sign about the type of ruler Tywin planned on being and the importance of the new Queen.

When they reached the throne, Tywin escorted Sansa to her seat and then turned to address the court as he sat on the Throne. Tywin occupied that chair well. There were those in the room that remembered the Mad King and how he's fidgeted and squirmed as if snakes crawled below his skin. And fat King Robert soon grew uncomfortable in the chair, his bulk unable to allow him ever correctly to settle in. Robert was a man who only cared for whoring, drinking and hunting. Joffrey just looked ridiculous whenever he tried to sit there, always moving about, never knowing where to place his hands or body.

But not Tywin Lannister. No the Golden Lion of House Lannister looked as if that awful chair had been carved for him. When the crowd had quieted, his voice was loud and clear. First, he called the current white cloaks forward, all except Jaime and dismissed them from their service. Some looked shocked, but most were unsurprised, knowing how much Tywin hated Joffrey and the things that they had done. There were even one or two left who had beaten the current Queen on the previous king's orders. They were glad to escape with their lives.

Then Tywin called Jaime forward, and thanked him for his exemplary service to three Kings, before relieving him from his duties to become the Commander of the Lannister Army. Jaime bowed and unhooked the white cloak that had adorned his back for twenty years and let it fall to the ground. It felt like a weight had been removed from his shoulders, and he suppressed a grin. For the first time in his adult life, Jaime was a free man, beholden only to his House and his family, but sworn to no vows. It would no longer fall to him to make impossible decisions about mad kings and desperate rulers. Jaime thanked the King for the honour of serving, before turning and walking down the steps to stand beside his son and his brother.

A page brought Tywin Lannister a pillow that held the pin for the Hand of the King. Rumours had run rampant through King's Landing that the old lion planned to give this honour to his dwarf son, but few believed it.

"It pleases me greatly to announce the betrothal of Tyrion of House Lannister, to Margaery of House Tyrell," Tywin's voice rang through the hall. A stunned audience looked between the two of them, unsure if this was some elaborate jape. The last time they had seen Lady Margaery, she'd been engaged to the King. Tyrion bowed to the King and Lady Margaery curtsied.

"For his unwavering service to House Lannister, and his bravery and willing defence of the Queen, I name Tyrion Lannister as Hand of the King."

Tyrion swallowed hard as he heard the stunned silence that followed his father's announcement. Bolstered by a slap on the back by Jaime, and Tommen's enthusiastic clapping, Tyrion made his way up the stairs to stand before the King, who pinned the golden hand to his son's doublet. Suddenly a cheer rang the hall, and Tyrion blinked back the sheen of tears that had come to his eyes. He looked down to see Lady Margaery, and she had a wide grin on her face. It was official. Tyrion Lannister was Hand of the King and an engaged man.

* * *

_ Apartments of the Hand  _

Jaime had asked for a meeting with Tywin after the ceremonies in the throne room were complete. Tywin agreed and knew exactly what his son had on his mind. When they were both settled back in the solar, Tywin sat back and waited for Jaime to proceed.

Jaime paced the room. He knew he could not ask his father to act against his wife, and that he would not be successful in getting Cersei released. But he wondered if he could convince Tywin to marry her somehow off quicker and get her settled in the Stormlands. Surely, she could do little damage there. It made Jaime's heartache at the thought of another man touching her, but he could see no way out. Their relationship was done, no matter how much it pained him.

"Is there any way to expedite her marriage?" Jaime asked.

Tywin cocked his head. He knew that Jaime still had feelings for his twin, but it seemed like he was willing to forgo his happiness for hers. No matter how long she lived, Cersei would never deserve the love of a Lannister man, Tywin thought. She had taken it and twisted it and warped it. Tywin wondered what would have happened had King Aerys not stolen his heir, making him a Kingsguard. Even though Tywin knew the relationship had begun before then, he thought that if he had perhaps gotten Jaime away from her and King's Landing earlier, his son would have been able to salvage a marriage with an appropriate woman. Tywin sighed at the path Jaime's life had taken.

"She will be released the morning of Joffrey's funeral, which is in two days, and not before," Tywin stated. "As for her marriage, we will see."

Jaime stopped pacing and looked at his father. He saw the truth in his eyes. He threw himself into his seat.

"I know she is a danger to your reign, Father," Jaime began before Tywin stopped him by holding up his hand. It would do neither of them any good to discuss her further. Tywin had to trust that Sansa and Tyrion would be able to execute their plan and eliminate her. He only needed to ensure that Jaime thought she was safe so he wouldn't do anything stupid.

"One thing at a time, Jaime," Tywin said. "I was planning on visiting her later this afternoon. I want you to accompany me." Jaime's eyes widened before he nodded quickly. Tywin knew that it would appease his son, and throw any suspicion from him after the funeral.

"What else did you want to discuss?" Tywin asked, knowing there was something else on Jaime's mind.

"Tommen, father. I want him to become my squire. Permanently."

Tywin nodded. It posed a problem for securing the Stormlands, especially as Cersei would not be married to Ser Swann. But Tywin could hardly tell Jaime that. And, if he were honest, Tommen posed more problems than he solved making him heir to the Baratheon lands. He was not a Baratheon, and Stannis still had a living child with a much better claim. Besides, the boy had a passion for following his father into battle, and Tywin had heard rumours about Stannis gathering forces. He still hadn't left Dragonstone, but Tywin knew it was only a matter of time before the Lannister forces were required to ride to war again.

"I see no issues with that. Is it true that Cersei told the boy about you?" Tywin asked, having been informed of this by Tyrion.

Jaime nodded and swallowed. "In her defence, she had just come from seeing Joffrey. She was out of her mind."

"A common occurrence these days, Jaime," Tywin stated and saw his son's face tighten.

"I also wanted to ask about Lady Brienne," Jaime said, changing the subject. He coughed. "She's always been loyal to me father, and I know she froze when defending Lady Sansa, but she's a good person," Jaime finished lamely.

Tywin pinned Jaime with a look. It was true that he and Sansa had not discussed the large woman, but Sansa had indicated how close she was to his son. And with Joffrey's death, funeral and the hopefully successful elimination of Cersei, Jaime would need all the support he could get. Additionally, Tywin had seen the woman train. She was a sight to behold, and Tommen learned as much from her as Jaime.

"I'll allow it, but if you leave with Lannister forces, she is to go with you," Tywin stated. Jaime swallowed and nodded. "Be back here in the afternoon if you wish to visit your sister, Jaime." He saw his son nod and leave the apartments.

Tywin watched as Jaime left his solar and Sansa entered. He took an excessive amount of pride to see the swell of her stomach. It grew larger daily. Where she had barely shown up until a few days ago, Sansa had started to complain daily that her gowns were uncomfortable. He snorted at her this morning when they had been dressing, and she had glared at him.

"Are you mocking me, husband?"

"Sansa I am the richest man in Westeros and the king of the seven kingdoms. You are the Queen. I'm sure any number of dressmakers would throw themselves at your feet to make you new gowns," Tywin said in an amused voice. No one would ever accuse Sansa of marrying him for his gold.

When Sansa had complained about how large she was getting to her mother, she had just laughed at her and told her that it only got more cumbersome from here. It had made Sansa happy to have her mother here to discuss such things with. She was proud of how Catelyn Stark had started to adapt to Kings Landing. Lady Genna and Lady Stark had become quite close, and Sansa swore she had never seen so much of Ser Marbrand since the man guarded her mother the other night even more so then when he was helping her with the project in Flea Bottom.

The knight seemed always to have a reason to stop by the Tower of the Hand these days, and she'd caught him speaking with her mother on more than one occasion. More and more Sansa hoped she could convince both her mother and Tywin to allow Catelyn to stay in King's Landing until after her child was born. She wanted her mother there for the birth, and she got the distinct sense that Cat did not want to go home. At least not yet.

Which is what she was here to discuss with her husband. She sat in her standard seat across from him and gauged his mood. It seemed her lion was in a good mood.

"I wish to speak with you about my mother," Sansa stated. Tywin arched an eyebrow at her. It had only been a short time that Lady Stark had been with them, but she had blended into their household seamlessly. And Tywin knew how much it meant to Sansa that she had her mother back with her.

"I want her to stay in King's Landing for at least the coronation, and the birth of our child," Sansa stated.

Tywin jolted. He hadn't expected that. Then his mind immediately went to the last time a wife of his had given birth and the horror that had brought forward. He locked his eyes on Sansa.

"Will it make things easier for you, Sansa?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, and he saw the tears gather in her eyes. "It would mean everything to have her here, Tywin."

He nodded. Then he looked at Sansa and saw she was still upset. "Come here," he commanded gently. Sansa left her chair to come and sit in his lap, feeling his arms band around her. "What is your concern, Sansa?" Tywin himself was terrified of losing her in childbirth, even though the realm required an heir from them.

"I want to ask you something, but I know that it is not proper," she whispered. He waited her out until she turned to him and could look into his eyes.

"What if you were there as well, Tywin?" she said so quietly he almost didn't hear her. He startled a bit; the thought had never crossed his mind. He knew his son had been in the room when Cersei had birthed their children. He wondered if it would be better or worse to watch her struggle and be in pain, to labour to bring their child forth. But if he was there, he could lend her strength, perhaps control things, and he would ensure that she survived. No matter what, she needed to survive.

He cupped her cheek and leaned his head against hers. "I would be honoured to be there Sansa," Tywin said, and he felt her tense body sag in relief. He rested his hand on her stomach, and she put her hands over it as well.

"It feels more real every day," she said softly and smiled. Tywin loved to watch her experience this pregnancy.

He then filled Sansa in on his conversation with Jaime, as well as his plan to visit Cersei in the black cells later. Sansa didn't even react; she trusted Tywin to do what was necessary. They sat for a while until Sansa rose and kissed him softly on the cheek. "Thank you, Tywin," and he kissed her, feeling that finally, they were in perfect accord again.

Soon enough Jaime was back, and Sansa left to find Tyrion to work on planning Joffrey's funeral. It was an oddly pleasurable task, knowing that he could never harm her again. His body was lying in the great sept, but Sansa hadn't yet paid her respects. She assumed that at some point Tywin might say she had to go, but so far he'd spared her that duty.

Jaime and Tywin made their way to the black cells. Only the worst criminals of the realm were held here. Tywin knew exactly why Sansa had ordered Cersei here. It was where her father had been kept. Now there were only three prisoners; Cersei, Baelish and a commoner. Cersei and Petyr were at opposite ends of the dungeon, so they were unable to communicate at all. It was a grim place and stank from the prisoners' urine and feces. When Tywin approached Cersei's cell, he saw that his daughter had it better than most. There was a bed and a bucket for waste. And food. When Tywin questioned the gaoler, Rugen, the man muttered about the Queen's orders. Tywin grunted. His little lioness. Even sending Cersei here she still couldn't commit to making it as awful as it was designed to be.

When Jaime approached the cell, Cersei flung herself against the small window, tears tracking down her face. She saw her father there, and even though her anger with him threatened to consume her, she banked it down. She appeared pitiful and troubled, even though she had been here a single day.

Tywin let her carry on for a few moments, before interrupting. "You will be released on the day of your son's funeral." Tywin heard Cersei, curse, clearly hoping to convince them to let her leave today.

"The Queen and I have decided to give you one more chance, daughter. In seven days, you will marry Ser Balon Swann in the Great Sept and immediately return to Storm's End where you will rule in place of your son until he reaches his majority," Tywin decreed.

"Father, no, I beg you, I cannot be made to bear another brutal marriage to an uncouth man. Please father, do not make me do this," Cersei begged, and Tywin could see Jaime's resolve softening.

"Enough," Tywin snapped. "This is your only chance Cersei. I suggest you take the next two days to think about what actions might save you from my wrath."

"Jaime, please, please Jaime, please, don't make him do this," Cersei begged, but Jaime met his father's eyes. He'd asked his father to reconsider her punishment and move up her wedding date. His father had held to his word. And Jaime would honour his.

"I am sorry sister, but this is the best way. The only way." Then he stepped back from the door to the cell. Tywin hesitated but a second, and sure Jaime was still near enough to see and hear, reached out and handed Cersei a small vial.

"Sweet sleep, daughter. A few drops and you will sleep easier, and this will be over. The Grand Maester said that you had needed to use it in the past," Tywin said quietly.

Jaime's eyes widened. He knew that Cersei had used it in the past; he'd seen the vials in her chambers from time to time, but he never thought he'd see his father offer her this escape. He knew that Lady Sansa would be livid if she found out about this.

Tywin felt terrible about deceiving his son, but he needed to establish the pattern that Cersei used such a poison on occasion if they planned to be successful. He knew that if Jaime ever found out what himself, Sansa and Tyrion had plotted, there would be hell to pay. But they were trying to save him the grief of either openly rebelling against the King to save his sister or the agony of knowing about her death but being unable to prevent it. It would be best for all involved if it merely looked like an accident. The less Jaime knew, the better for everyone.

Cersei wasted no time snatching the vial, and thanked Tywin, a small look of gratitude on her face. She knew that her father would not let her suffer. She had to play the game until they could find a way to remove Sansa. Cersei realized that was who was responsible for all her problems. And once Sansa was dead, then Tywin would rule alone, and he would require the advice and counsel of his dear daughter. And it would be easy enough to arrange for a perfectly innocent accident to befall her new husband. Clutching the small vial, Cersei settled onto the bed and dreamed mad dreams of sitting on the Iron Throne.

* * *

_ Winterfell  _

King Joffrey's once former loyal dog seemed to collect wolves like some men collected ladies' favours. Since returning Rickon Stark home a week ago, neither the little prince nor the wolf bitch would give him a moment's peace. Sandor was used to Arya, so that wasn't such a big deal. They mostly trained, and sometimes talked about her list. But Rickon was his ever-present shadow, and no amount of growling could dissuade the boy from following him around. Robb just laughed when Sandor complained.

The restoration of Winterfell seemed to happen at an unholy pace, and days earlier where a wall hadn't been, Sandor would find a new one. He would never say that Northener's were joyful people. Indeed they were dark and rarely cracked a smile, but they were honest and hard working. And loyal to a fault once you were accepted. And Sandor Clegane had been accepted. Robb had sent word through the seven kingdoms praising the return of Rickon Stark and the bravery of Sandor Clegane. Everyone from Castle Black to Dorne now knew that the Hound was part of the wolves of Winterfell. It was subtle, but Sandor felt it everywhere he went; in the keep when people nodded to him, or bowed slightly, in the great hall where Robb insisted that he eat at the great table with the Stark family, even in Wintertown when merchants or shopkeepers would press food or trinkets into his hand.

Arya teased him relentlessly about it, and Sandor had no come back for her. He'd never experienced anything like this in his entire life. Rickon was wild, but the more time he spent with Arya and Sandor the calmer he became. The two huge direwolves, Shaggydog and Greywind were never far from their sides, so when Sandor did go somewhere, he was often in the company of the princess and prince of the North and two massive wolves. The wolves loved Sandor, and more than once, he'd been caught feeding them scraps from the table or rubbing them down. They turned into puppies under Sandor's large hands. Robb smiled whenever he caught sight of the five of them; the huge man, his wild siblings and the two massive wolves. He knew his family had never been safer, and he thanked the gods each day that he'd put his trust in Clegane.

Sandor and Robb had spent time interrogating Ramsey Snow. After one session, Sandor walked out, shaking his head. "He's a sick fucker, My Lord." The bastard had a cruel streak deep and true. He delighted in telling them the outrageous stories of torture. When he spoke about cutting women before sending them running into the woods so his dogs could hunt, Sandor had to physically hold Robb back from destroying the man then and there.

Robb needed to know where Theon Greyjoy was. The last anyone could remember seeing that traitor was here at Winterfell before the Bolton's attacked. Robb sighed, knowing if there were any chance of Theon being alive, it would be at the Dreadfort. He also knew that now Roose Bolton was dead and Ramsey in his dungeons, that the castle was unguarded and unprotected. Robb had been in contact with Tywin in the capital. They knew that Stannis was still at Dragonstone, but not where the Greyjoy fleet was.

Robb had also yet to hear from his brother Jon at the Wall. He'd sent more than one raven that way and had no word from Jon. A week after having Ramsey in their possession, Robb and Sandor had retreated to the family solar after dinner. Arya joined them, with Rickon following behind.

"I hate to ask this of you," Robb began, and Sandor barked out a laugh.

"You don't ask, you order, Robb. You're Lord Stark," Sandor corrected him. Robb had to learn to be firm with all his instructions and orders. Robb nodded at the lesson.

"Once you've reached the Dreadfort I will need word on the state of the castle. We will handle it with men loyal to House Stark. I can't have such a structure remain unguarded in case Stannis comes North. He could take that castle and settle in for years." Sandor grunted in agreement.

"Am I to stay there, then? Defend the Dreadfort?" he asked.

Robb shook his head. "No, no matter how much I might not want to lose that castle, I need you here."

Sandor nodded. He decided he would take a hundred men with him this time and leave them there to defend that castle.

"I want to go with Sandor," Arya exclaimed.

Robb laughed. "Absolutely not."

"Why not? I train every day, and Sandor won't let anything happen to me. And I should know the North. Know the castles and the keeps that are our bannermen," she stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You and I both know that's not the reason, Arya," Robb said in what he hoped was a reasonable voice. He shot a look at Sandor and saw the big man sigh. He narrowed his eyes. He wouldn't consider letting her come along, would he?

"What do you think, Clegane?" Robb asked.

"Fucking hell," Sandor muttered and shot a look at the wolf bitch. He could see her smirk.

"She can kill as well as any squire, My Lord. And she's smart. When she fucking listens." Sandor paused. "And if you say no, she'll sneak away anyway. Better she's with me than trailing behind, out of my sight unable to defend her."

Robb sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He and Sandor had discussed his sister. She was wild, and not just from her experiences in Kings Landing. Arya had always been like this. Robb remembered her always wanting to keep up with him and his brothers. She had been so angry that Bran had been so bad at archery and she wasn't, but just because she was a girl, she was denied such training. Sandor respected her desire to train and her skill. It wasn't something many men would do for a highborn lady, and she'd become a woman that could defend herself now against almost any man.

Robb knew that Sandor was correct. Sending Arya with him would at least ensure he most loyal man was keeping an eye on her.

They rode out the first light. Dreadfort was closer than Last Hearth, but whereas there they had been riding to a friendly keep, here no one knew what they would find. Being back out in the wilds reminded Sandor of those first few weeks he'd spent with Arya Stark. Gods, they'd hated each other after escaping from the Brotherhood.

He watched now as she rode with the men, camped with them, sharpened her blade with them. She indeed was happiest in and amongst the knights and soldiers.

Soon enough, the men approached the Dreadfort. They'd heard tales along the way, tales of horror and torture and animal attacks. The pit of dread grew in Sandor's stomach. He wasn't a superstitious man, but the ground itself felt wrong and evil the closer he got. He was glad that he was to return to Winterfell. It would take some work to make such a place hospitable. The castle itself was an intimidating place, with strong high walls and triangular merlons that looked like sharp stone teeth. The thick stone walls would have been impenetrable if there had been any men to man them, but as it was, the men approached the fortress without any resistance. Sullen and scared eyes looked at them, but upon spotting the direwolf sigil, many had looks of relief.

Sandor had never been in such a grim place, and he'd seen the black cells in the Red Keep. The great hall was dim and smoky, and the torches that lined the walls jutted out from skeletal human hands. As he moved through the keep, he found the torture chambers and the room where the Bolton's hung the flayed skins of their enemies. It was a gruesome and depressing keep, filled with beaten-down women, sickly children and elderly. Robb had sent a raven to Hornwood for him to supply men, as well as Lord Manderley in White Harbor. It would be a joint northern effort to restore this castle and make it a stronghold once again that was loyal to House Stark.

Deep in the darkest dungeon is where Sandor came across the most peculiar sight. He was sure the person he found was a man, but he was so skeletal he looked like a living corpse. His hair was shockingly white, and he shook whenever approached. He kept repeating over and over again, "My name is Reek, Reek, Reek, it rhymes with weak." Sandor shook his head at the man. He was an utterly broken creature. When they finally managed to get him to the great hall, Arya launched herself at him.

"That's Theon fucking Greyjoy," she cried, beating at Sandor as he held her back. "Let me go. He killed my brothers; he betrayed the North."

Sandor shook her and rasped, "Look at him. That's no fucking man. I've never seen a person tortured so badly and still live to tell the tale. And your brothers are alive."

Arya stopped and looked closer. Theon had always been the cockiest of the boys, always on the edge of proper behaviour and outright defiance while at Winterfell. The man shuddering in the corner was not the same Theon from her memories.

"What did they do to him?" she asked Sandor quietly.

He grimaced. Nothing good. He's seen through the rags on the man, and he'd felt sick to his stomach when he saw how he'd been mutilated. Of course, there was no Maester at the Dreadfort, but an old crone from the nearby village appeared later that afternoon. The man only known as Reek was bathed and fed and tended too, although he was still as weak as a babe. It wasn't Sandor's place to judge whether Theon Greyjoy would die. He arranged for a litter to be constructed. He would take the man back to Robb Stark. It was the Warden of the North that passed judgment, but Sandor had a feeling that Robb would be unable to execute such a poor excuse for a human being.

Soon enough others arrived, and when Arya and Sandor left the Dreadfort, three hundred knights from White Harbour, Hornwood and Winterfell occupied the castle.

The trip back to Winterfell was slow and tedious and made worse by the fact that Sandor worried they were going to kill their hostage before they even arrived home.

Arya was the only one who could even get him to listen to her, and there were moments when Sandor thought he might have seen recognition light in Reek's eyes before it skittered away. Once they realized he would listen to her, Arya ordered him to eat, to shit, to piss, to sleep and Reek, program to respond, did as he was told. Sandor caught the little wolf vomiting one afternoon, and her shoulders were shaking. He said nothing but handed her a skin of wine which she took a swig of, before handing it back.

"Revenge against those who hurt my family is all that's sustained me for so long," she murmured, talking as much to herself as him. He knew how she felt. He still felt the pull somedays to ride away from the North and find his cunt brother.

She gestured to Reek. "There's nothing there to get revenge from." Then she righted her shoulders and went back to camp. They never spoke of it again, but Sandor watched as Arya gentled her tone with Reek, until eventually, he would respond to her voice and not the command. He shook his head at her, this wild princess of the North. She was an asset to her brother beyond anything he thought Robb Stark might imagine her to be.

When they arrived back at Winterfell, Reek became more and more subdued, as if he knew this was the place where everything had gone wrong for him. Sandor had sent Arya ahead to warn Robb, and to ensure no crowd gathered. When he rode through the gates, the yard was clear, and only Robb, Arya and Rickon waited.

Robb nodded this thanks to Clegane, for yet another successful mission. The man was invaluable to them. When they had been away, he'd received a raven from Sansa stating that their mother was alive and in King's Landing with Sansa and protected by her husband. She would eventually be heading north. When Robb had told his wife her smile had dimmed, and he secretly wondered if he could somehow convince Sansa to keep her with her for a time.

Robb approached the man in the litter and was shocked by the changes in Theon. He hardly recognized the man who was as close to him as any of his brothers. He knew Theon had betrayed them, been responsible for the deaths of hundreds in Winterfell, including Maester Luwin, but it was like Arya had stated; the man before him was a shell of a human being. Robb sighed. He called for the Maester that had arrived recently and ordered only the best care for the man. He would be secured in a room, but not kept in the dungeons. Robb felt his stomach twist at the man who currently occupied that cell. Ramsey Bolton. There was no doubt in Robb's mind that he was behind this.

Two days later, Robb had just met with the Maester who informed him that the prisoner had recovered sufficiently to be able to talk with Robb. Arya had insisted on coming with him, and when they entered the chambers of Theon Greyjoy, they both startled. He was still much too thin, weak-looking and skittish, but he was clean. He'd been attended to so open wounds, and sores were healed, and he was dressed in warm winter clothing that looked soft on his battered body. And he wasn't muttering into his hands. He was seated on the bed, weighed down by furs.

"I warn you, My Lord, his mind is gone. What was done to him was horrific. Never seen torture so awful," the Maester said. He sighed. "I'm not sure you can trust anything that comes from his mouth. And I'm not sure it wouldn't be kinder to put him out of his misery. But I suppose he's stayed alive this long. That has to count for something." Then the Maester took his leave but not before pointing out a potion he had left in case the man became agitated again.

Robb and Arya approached Theon who eyed them warily. What followed was the single most frustrating hour of Robb's life. Each time he tried to talk with Theon, the man would mutter, "I am Reek, Reek is meek, I am Reek. Reek is weak." Eventually, Theon became so agitated that when Arya commanded him to drink the potion, he instantly obeyed.

"Gods, Arya, what am I supposed to," Robb said to her, baffled at how to handle this and gesturing the Theon. Was the Maester correct? Should he put Theon out of his misery and be done with him? He was well within his rights as Lord Stark and Warden of the North. The man had betrayed House Stark. But his punishment for doing so was already so severe. Nothing Robb could do to him at this point would ever compare to the torture he had been through. And it hurt Robb to see him like this. The pain of putting Theon to death would be fleeting but being confronted with this broken shell of a man was infinitely worse.

"Give it time," Arya said, for once showing maturity. Her anger at Theon was gone. She'd seen what Ramsey had done to him. She'd heard the Bolton bastard brag about what he had turned Theon Greyjoy into. All she had left for Theon was compassion.

Just as the Stark siblings went to leave the room, a ragged sound emerged from the bed. When they turned back the saw that Theon was slumping down, just about to find some relief in sleep, but not before his voice whispered a haunting name. "Robb."

Robb Stark stood there stunned, looking at the man who had been his brother at one point. If there was any chance that man still existed, he owed it to their memories together to give that man a chance. He watched as his old friend drifted off to sleep.

Then a rage, unlike any he had felt consumed him. He had not even been this angry when he'd learned of the Frey's and Bolton's betrayed in the south. Theon had deserved to either be pardoned for his crimes against the North or beheaded. Not tortured, maimed and stripped of his identity.

As Robb stormed out of the room, he yelled, "Bring me, Ramsay Snow."

Sandor heard the commotion and knew the young lord had made up his mind. About fucking time, The Hound thought. The longer that bastard was alive, the less safe everyone was. Sandor had met men who were truly evil, and when he did, they made an impression for life. His brother Gregor was one such man. So was Meryn Trant. And Joffrey Baratheon. And now Ramsey Snow. Sandor made his way to the yard to ensure there was an appropriate block prepared. Robb had explained his father's way; the man that passed the sentence delivered the punishment.

These Starks were too honourable by half. Good thing the wolf bitch had more cunning in her than her brother. Robb would need that to be successful, or he'd end up like his father, Sandor thought.

Soon enough both Ramsey Snow and Robb Stark stood face to face.

Robb's voice was loud and clear. "Ramsey Snow, I find you guilty for crimes against House Stark. For attempting to kidnap Prince Rickon, and for rising against a house you swore allegiance too. I find you guilty of rape and murder and torture. I hereby sentence you to death."

The jailer brought Ramsey forward and bent his head. His blue eyes looked up into Robb Stark's face. "I take it you found my greatest accomplishment. You should be thanking me. Theon Greyjoy was a traitor to House Stark. He only got what he deserved. And he will always be mine. He will always be Reek." Ramsey's grin was pure evil.

Robb felt nothing but satisfaction as he unsheathed Ice and swung his father's sword, Ramsey's head sliced cleanly from his body. He gestured to the body, and said, "Let the wolves eat well tonight. And tell anyone in the North, when you cross House Stark, this will be your fate. My wolves will grow even larger off the traitorous men and women that think to cross us." Then he turned and left the yard. His reputation grew with his display here today.

Many in the North were happy to hear the new Lord Stark was unforgiving in his punishment of traitors. Many had suffered when those disloyal to House Stark had tried to take the North when the Young Wolf had marched south. Now he was back, and his family was whole, and the legends of the wolves that walked beside Lord Stark grew in scale and scope.

Days later a new raven arrived from King's Landing announcing the death of the King and the coronation of the new one. Robb could scarce believe what he was reading. That evening he summoned a small council meeting with his family, his wife, Sandor and some of his most trusted knights and the Maester.

"The King is dead," he announced to the group. Shocked gasps rang from the room. "It says here that Petyr Baelish has been arrested on charges of regicide."

"King Tommen?" Sandor grunted and watched Robb shake his head.

"Tywin Lannister, first of his name, and his northern wife, Queen Sansa has taken the throne," Robb said and couldn't help but grin. He didn't fully trust Tywin, yet, but he did trust his sister. And now Robb's daughter would marry a prince of the realm.

"Sansa also wrote that Mother has decided to stay in King's Landing and give testimony against Baelish. She also requests the presence of her sister, Lady Arya Stark and the non-ser Sandor Clegane for their coronation in one month in Kings Landing."

"Are you serious Robb?" Arya asked. The thought of seeing her mother and her sister again was tempting. And she still had names on her list; names that were in the capital. She shot a look to Sandor and saw he had a stunned look on her face. Robb dismissed everyone else until only the three of them remained.

"Sansa promises both of your safety. But she also writes she understands if I do not allow it." He held up a hand before either could speak and turned directly to look Sandor in the eyes. "

"There's more. She asks if you would be willing to be the head of her Queensguard, Clegane. She's requested one man from each of the Northern houses that are loyal to us. Umber, Karstark, Hornwood, Manderley, Mormont, Glover and Crewyn will be the other members of her guard. King Tywin approves." Robb paused.

"I won't make either of you go. And Sansa says you don't have to decide on the Queensguard yet. She insists that if Arya does go south that you accompany her. She says she trusts only you with her sister."

Sandor swallowed. His little bird was now a Queen. The Queen. Gods, he wondered at her trust in him. He'd never faced a harder decision. He longed to see her again, to see if she would rule the way he thought she might be capable of. But he'd never had the respect and trust of people in the south the way he had been in the North. And he considered Robb Stark a friend.

"I made my pledge to Arya, it's true," his rough voice said, "but you've earned my loyalty Robb Stark. I won't abandon you, no matter who the Queen is. If you need my service here, I will stay. And if you want me to go, I will go."

Robb wondered if he'd ever had a man as loyal to him as the Hound. He had single-handedly done as much to restore House Stark as anyone, and Robb would miss him fiercely. But he needed the eyes of someone he trusted above all else in Kings Landing. He had loyal swords at his back here in the North. But no one he trusted completely had laid eyes on his sister. All he had were ravens sent from a place he'd never been.

"I know it's asking too much, risking too much to send you back there, Clegane. But you're the only one I trust. You and Arya can tell me if things are what Sansa claims. If Tywin is good to her and if he will be a just King. I cannot bend the knee to him until I know if Sansa speaks the truth," Robb spoke urgently to the both of them.

Clegane nodded, then held his hand out for Robb, where they shook on it before Robb pulled him into a hug. Sandor startled. "When you ride south, you ride as my bannerman. You will fly the Stark sigil, and you will wear the Stark colours. You are not without friends and resources, Clegane, do not forget that." Sandor swallowed hard, overcome by emotion.

"Aye," he grunted out. "Best send those ravens. Remind them to send second or third sons. Being a Queensguard is for life."

"Arya?" Robb asked. "Are you ok with this?" He looked at his sister. She nodded. She was nervous, but she was pleased that Robb trusted her with this task. And if she could find a way to get to Cersei when she was there, well, that would be another name off her list. She smiled, and thought about her sweet, pretty sister, as Queen of the seven kingdoms. Arya shook her head at that thought and prepared to leave Winterfell with the Hound, once again bound for Kings Landing, hoping this time it didn't all go to shit.

_ Joffrey's funeral _

Sansa woke up to the feeling of Tywin loving her. Her eyes flew open, and she looked down, over the swell of her stomach, to see her husband settled between her legs. Within moments of waking, Sansa felt herself peak, and she moaned out his name into their room. But Tywin wanted more, and he barely let her come down from her first peak before he brought her up again, until she was shaking. He had a driving need to be with her, and as he sunk into her warmth, he leaned down to nip at her, muttering over and over again that she was his.

"I want you to wear both the lion torque necklace today as well the ruby, Sansa," he said between kisses.

"Alright," she said and leaned to run her lips along his neck, biting at flesh where she could find it. Sansa also began to tighten until she felt him moan.

He reached up and grasped her hair, tugging at it, so her eyes met his. They were glazed with love, and he knew he'd accomplished his mission. He knew his wife was capable of her task today, but if she were in her head too much, her worries would make her nervous. She had to be every inch the Queen today, and he would leave her feeling loved so that she thought of him throughout the day.

The thought of her in danger drove Tywin crazy, and he grunted as he made love his wife in their bed, relieved to feel her clenching around him until she called out his name for the third time that morning and he emptied inside her. Ragged breathing filled the room as they came back to reality.

Sansa leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips, recognition for what this coupling was meant to do clear in her eyes. "Thank you, Tywin."

He kissed her back and tugged on her hair. "Your safety is the most important thing today, Sansa. Above all else. If the opportunity is not perfect, you leave."

Sansa nodded. They would have no other chance to talk privately. The funeral was mere hours away, and then Sansa planned to visit Cersei right afterwards.

The funeral was held in the Great Sept, and Sansa and Tyrion had outdone themselves. Had you not know that they hated the King, anyone who attended would have thought that a most beloved monarch had passed. Cersei smiled serenely through the ceremony, choosing to wear a severe black dress that somehow managed to highlight her beauty despite its sombre colour. She clung to her brother, and silently wept for her son, and those that witnessed the spectacle knew her grief to be true and sincere. As they were leaving the Sept, Sansa on the arm of Tywin, she caught a look from Cersei, hatred and rage shining from her eyes. Sansa's spine straightened, and she knew that her task today was critical to her safety. It was an odd feeling to finally be in a position to do something to one of her tormentors.

Jaime escorted Cersei back to her chambers, where Red Cloaks stood guard. Once inside she clung to him, breaking into shuddering sobs. He held her until she had exhausted herself, and then she pushed him away as if she still blamed him for their current situation.

"Leave, go back to our traitorous family, Jaime," she hissed at him.

"Cersei doesn't do this sister," Jaime ran his hands through his hair. Gods, she was frustrating. Hot, then cold, angry than loving. She made his head spin, and not in a good way. It spun in the way that he didn't know if he were coming or going. He thought about time spent with Brienne and how diametrically opposite the women were. "Father went against his wife to release you from the black cells. You will be married in less than a week, and then safe at Storm's End. It's for the best."

"Best? Whose best? My best? Why is it always me that must let rough men have me as if that is all I am worth," she spat at him and saw him cringe.

"Does that make you uncomfortable, Jaime, to think of some other man in me," she taunted him.

He grabbed her and shook her, sickened by the image, unable to stop the feelings of jealousy that coursed through him.

"Of course it makes me sick, Cersei. You know what I've done for you sister. You know my love has always and only been for you. Unlike you. Who knows how many men you've slept with in King's Landing while I was away, defending the realm. And now you taunt me with the image of your new husband. This is the best option for you — the only option. Father has never been more powerful. Why can't you understand that?" Jaime ragged at her, his emotions running the gamut from love to anger to disgust to jealousy. No one could make him feel the way that Cersei did. It was additive always to be so close to the edge of madness and brilliance.

Cersei clutched at Jaime, digging her nails into his one hand, "We only need to get rid of the Queen. Once Sansa is gone, Father will only have his family. His true family. Lannisters. He will need me again, Jaime. It is all about Sansa," she whispered.

Jaime looked at her and saw the truth in her eyes. She wanted to kill the Queen. She would kill the Queen, he knew then. Perhaps not today, or tomorrow. But at some point, she would succeed. And the child Sansa was carrying would never be allowed to live. He stepped back from his twin then, the love of his life, and he shook his head.

"No Cersei, Sansa is not the problem." He walked to the door to take his leave before turning back to her and whispered, "Goodbye." When he left her room, he heard a loud wail and then glass smashing, but he closed his eyes and forced his feet to take him to his father's apartments. He would not revisit her before her wedding. His time with his sister had closed, and Jaime needed to focus on Tommen.

His entire family had gathered around his father's table, except for Lady Sansa. When he inquired about her whereabouts, Tywin said she was with the Grand Maester and that the past few days had taken their toll on her. Jaime could well imagine. Then he let the warmth of his family settle over him. Tommen had taken a liking to Lady Stark, and Jaime watched as Sansa's mother, who had someone become a part of their household, listened aptly to Tommen's tales. Then he smirked when she gently reminded his son that he would also be required to continue his lessons. Tommen was not one that liked to spend any time with the Maester's learning, but Catelyn made him see he needed to know his enemies and some of that knowledge came from books. Tywin and Tyrion were deep in conversation, and Jaime smiled a bit at that scene as well. It was so unusual. Kevan approached him then and thankfully dragged Jaime into a discussion on war strategy and battle. He too was worried about Stannis and the Greyjoys and their allies in the North.

Unknown to everyone but Tywin and Tyrion, Sansa had left the Tower of the Hand once Jaime had arrived. She brought with her only Jerrod as she moved quickly to Cersei's rooms. She had a small vial of poison in her hand, and her nerves were calm. The look in the former Queen Regent's face today had been enough to reassure Sansa on this course of action. She waited until Jerrod had relieved the two guards and then approached the door. Taking one deep breath, she entered Cersei's chambers with Jerrod behind her. Tywin's most loyal guard nodded at her, and she knew he would never let anything happen to her.

Cersei was sitting in a chair staring unseeingly towards Blackwater Bay, trapped in thoughts of betrayal and death. She had assumed that Jaime had come back to try and make amends, so she didn't even turn to look at her visitor until she heard a small feminine cough when she saw the new Queen, her face soured.

"Ahhh Little Dove, to what do I owe the pleasure of such a visit? Have you come to brag about how all the Lions are in love with you? Tell me, Lady Sansa, do you fuck all the Lannister men or just my father?" Cersei sneered at the woman who had caused her to lose everything.

Sansa cocked her head at the former Queen, then said, "Your father asked that I come and try to make amends. I thought we might share a glass of wine. We are, after all, going to be forced to put up with each other," Sansa said, using the tone and voice she'd used in front of Cersei and Joffrey for years to hide her true nature.

Cersei snorted but moved to the table to sit, snatching the goblet of wine Sansa had poured her. At least the girl knew her place when they were alone. Cersei would never bow to this Queen.

"I must congratulate you, Lady Sansa. It seemed I underestimated your determination to be a Queen," Cersei said mockingly and saluted her with her wine glass.

"My Lady, you know that was never my intention," Sansa said back, needing the conversation to continue, watching as Cersei gulped her wine. She let the slight about being addressed as My Lady instead of Your Grace slide. All she needed was for Cersei to drink her wine like water. Sansa could endure anything to let that to happen.

"Tell me little dove, does my father call out my dead mother's name when he's in you?" Cersei asked.

Sansa pretended to be shocked, "No, My Lady, not ever."

"Pity," Cersei muttered, taking another drink. "Robert use to you know, call out another name. Lyanna." Cersei pinned Sansa with a look. "It seems your family is always at the root of the Lannister problems. They made my entire life hell. First, it was your aunt whom Robert loved. And Rhaegar. I had been promised to the Prince," Cersei paused, lost in the memory. Then her face turned angry.

"Then, there was your father. The honourable Ned Stark. Did you know he threatened me?" Cersei laughed. "He threatened to reveal the true nature of my children's parentage. Can you imagine what he was thinking? I mean, who would believe him that Jaime and II put Lions on the throne instead of Stags."

Cersei shot Sansa a triumphant look, pleased that she had managed to shock her father's perfect little wife. Let her know exactly what real lions were willing to do. She had no idea.

Taking another large gulp of wine, she continued, "But we all know how that ended, don't we little Dove. There was no way I would allow Ned Stark to jeopardize my children. Tell me, Lady Sansa, do you believe that my father can protect you? There are so many threats. Even in places you might not know to look." Cersei shoved her glass to Sansa again, wanting more.

Sansa quickly grabbed the goblet and refilled it, emptying the last of the poison into the tumbler. She handed the glass back to Cersei.

"I do believe he can, My Lady," Sansa said demurely, watching the wine slide down Cersei's throat. "He is, after all, the most powerful man in the realm."

When she was convinced the poison was on its way, Sansa felt a sigh of relief. She didn't know how quickly it would work; only that she would be the only Queen leaving this room tonight.

Cersei barked out a laugh, as she continued to drink. "Even powerful men have weaknesses." Cersei assessed Sansa again.

"How on earth did you fool my father into marrying you?" She wondered out loud.

Sansa stood and begun to wander the room. "I suppose I have you to thank for that, Cersei," Sansa said, and her tone and words changed. Gone was the simpering foolish woman Cersei believed her to be, and instead stood a proud Queen, strong and fierce, both a lion and a wolf. Cersei did not know what had changed, but this was not the same woman she was conversing with.

"Your lessons were invaluable. What did you tell me? When you play the game of thrones, you either win, or you die. I took that lesson to heart, you see. I began to watch. And to read. And to listen. It didn't take me long to figure out who Joffrey's birth father was. I used that knowledge to blackmail your father into marrying me. Did you know he wanted me to marry Tyrion at first? What a fool." Sansa took satisfaction in Cersei's shocked face.

"You always told me that a woman had more to offer than just a maidenhood. I traded my maidenhood and my noble blood for marriage to the most powerful man in the seven kingdoms. And now I've won. Because I knew that as long as you were alive, you would always be a threat to me, to my child and my husband," Sansa said and pinned Cersei with a look.

"What have you done?" Cersei screeched, horrified, knowing Sansa had her loyal guard with her and he would strike her down before she could reach her.

Sansa put her hands on her stomach and stared at Cersei. "I married the richest and most powerful man in Westeros. I united the North and the South. I removed a King. Stark blood, the blood of the North and the first men will run through the throne. I've helped your father establish a dynasty that will last for thousands of years. Once this child is born, I will bear Tywin Lannister more heirs. And our children will rule the seven kingdoms. I carry the next Kings and Queens of Westeros, in my womb, My Lady. And it was all thanks to your advice," Sansa told Cersei, watching the other woman's face contorted in rage.

"My father will never forgive you for murdering me," Cersei sneered at her, grasping at anything at this point.

Sansa shrugged. "Who do you think got me the poison? Do you honestly believe I would do anything without my husband's consent?"

It was a cruel blow to an already dead woman. Sansa needn't have said it. But this was the person who was responsible for the death of her father and had gloried in her humiliation and torture. Sansa was beyond caring about Cersei Lannister's feelings.

"No, he wouldn't," Cersei whispered. "He loves his family. It's his greatest strength and his biggest weakness."

"He does love his family. And that is me, Cersei. I am his, and he is mine. We are family." Sansa paused. "You don't believe me, but I love your father. I love him enough to kill his daughter for him so that his reign and his throne is secure. I love him enough to protect him from his own family that would destroy him," Sansa told Cersei and saw when Cersei had realized that every word that had come from Sansa's mouth was true.

Sansa then watched as Cersei's eyelids drooped, and the goblet fell from her hand onto the floor. Jerrod moved fast and gathered her in his arms before he laid her on the bed. Sansa brought the goblet that still contained a bit of the poisoned wine to the side of the bed. There was one last hate-filled glance from those green eyes that had haunted Sansa for three years, and then they closed. Within moments, Cersei Lannister took her last breath. Jerrod nodded to Sansa when it was done, and they exited the chambers. On schedule, two new Red Cloaks arrived to guard her door, and Sansa walked with Jerrod back to the Tower of the Hand.

Sansa bypassed the primary solar, where she heard the murmur of voices and went directly to their bedroom. She was ripping at the stays on her dress, needing to get air into her lungs, her breathing short and wheezing, when she felt Tywin's hands come around her. She fell back into him, so his arms wrapped around the front of her and he cradled her against his chest.

"Shhhh love, shhh I've got you," he crooned to her and begged her to slow her breathing normal. He reached up to brush back her hair and kept whispering into her ear until he felt her catch her breath and slow to normal.

"I need out of this dress Tywin, and someone needs to burn it. I feel dirty," she whimpered. He gathered her up and brought her to the bathing rooms, where he barked out orders for the largest bath to be filled immediately. Soon enough, the smell of lavender and lemons and steam filled the air, and they were alone. Tywin gently undressed Sansa and then lowered her into the water before following quickly where she buried herself in his arms and sobbed silently. He stroked her back, cursing that he let her do this. It should have been him, regardless of the consequences. He wondered if she hated him right now.

Eventually, she calmed, and wet Tully blue eyes met his. She swallowed hard before asking raggedly, "Do you hate me for what I have done?"

Tywin gaped at her, beyond shocked. Hate her? How could he ever hate her? She had taken on a task that was so distasteful many men would have hesitated, and all to save him from the pain of doing it himself.

"Gods, Sansa, no, I could never hate you," he told her, desperately hoping she believed him. "Are you sure?"

He carded his hands through her wet hair and dragged his lips against hers. "I am yours, Sansa, and you are mine. For all of our days. I love you, wife, now and always," he pledged to her again. Her eyes shone with tears again, but he saw that she believed him.

"I love you Tywin," she pressed a kiss to his lips and then whispered, "Make me forget," and wiggled on his lap, seeking contact from him.

He understood her to be close after such an experience. Men experienced it all the time on the battlefield. Today had been about death, and Sansa needed to feel alive.

Tywin wasted no time as he dragged her out of the bath and into their adjacent bedchamber.

Sansa crawled up the bed and laid down, and Tywin let his hands trace her body; the swell of her stomach, her long legs. Everything so familiar and precious to him. He stroked her until she was moaning and then sunk into her, drawing out both their pleasure until she sobbed his name and he emptied in her. She clutched at him, needing him to be close to her.

Tywin placed a soft kiss against her forehead. "You are everything Sansa, never forget that," he murmured to her and felt her kiss his neck once more before her eyes closed and she was asleep. Tywin watched her for a long time, wondering how it was possible that she had become so vital to him.

He pushed thoughts of Cersei and the effect her death would have on Jaime away and concentrated instead on his future, his wife and his child who were now safer than they had been yesterday. Tywin knew at that moment that the realm would be in good hands when he died. His wife was more than capable of ruling the seven kingdoms, and he knew his sons would grow up to be Kings for the ages. He thanked the gods once again for her, for it was as if she had been designed for him alone. Sansa had proven herself every bit as worthy as him today to be the ruler of the seven kingdoms. 


	20. Chapter 20

_ Kings Landing  _

Tyrion was meeting with his father in his solar; the chambers for the King and Queen had still not been completed, and Tywin indicated he needed to be close to Sansa today. Tyrion had yet to see the Queen, and he was worried about her knowing the gruesome task she had performed yesterday.

The coronation for Tywin and Sansa was a month away, and ravens had been sent to all of the seven kingdoms. Edmure Tully and his wife Roslin would come to represent the Riverlands, along with Arya Stark and Sandor Clegane for the North. Sansa had been correct when she had said that Robb would not leave Winterfell; nor would he allow Rickon to come south either. Tyrion watched as his father’s face tightened at the mention of Sandor Clegane, even though he’d asked for the man by name. Sansa shot him a look, and he’d huffed and muttered under his breath. It was fascinating to watch them interact, and Tyrion never tired of it. He knew she had all the qualities of a truly amazing Queen, and she somehow made the Great Lion come to heel. He’d never seen anything quite like it and was confident he never would again.

Tywin still needed to meet with Oberyn Martell to determine precisely what Dorne required to support his reign. They had just discussed securing a meeting with the Dornish Prince when Jerrod entered the chambers and nodded at the two men. Both sagged slightly, realizing that Jaime must have found Cersei.

When Tywin and Tyrion approached Cersei’s rooms, they could hear a great keening noise. Tywin straightened his shoulders and pushed forward into the chambers to see Jaime cradling her body, bent over her where she was cold and lifeless on the bed. If Tywin was completely honest, the scene shook him. Though there was much less blood, it reminded him of when Joanna had died. He looked to Tyrion and knew his smallest son was also thinking of his dead love. All three Lannister men had now lost a woman they had loved above all others.

“Jaime,” Tywin said and saw his son’s anguished eyes track to meet his.

“She’s been murdered Father,” Jaime stated, unwilling to let go of her body.

“How brother?” Tyrion asked, his tone gentle. “Was she not guarded all afternoon and evening?”

Jaime shook his head, confused. Tyrion approached them and picked up the goblet and sniffed. “Sweet sleep, if I’m not mistaken.” He frowned. “Jaime did Cersei ever...” he let his sentence trail off. “Perhaps we should call for the Maester?”

“Why? She’d dead, Tyrion. Someone murdered her,” Jaime shouted at his brother.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps she had an accident Jaime,” Tyrion said softly to his brother. No matter how vicious his sister was, he knew his brother loved her well and deep.

Tywin had already asked one of the guards to fetch Jerrod and Pycelle, and soon both men appeared. The Grand Maester tutted when he took in the scene. He approached Jaime and asked if he could lie her back down on the bed. He picked up the cup and confirmed Tyrion’s suspicions and then met Jaime’s eyes.

“She had started to use it more and more, My Lord,” the Grand Maester explained. “A drop or two in her wine in the evening and it helped her sleep. I warned her. Anything more than a few drops would be lethal. She told me she was well aware of its effects. You knew what she was like when she wanted something...” Pycelle let his voice trail off. Everyone in the room was well aware of how well Cersei took advice.

Jaime shot his eyes to Jerrod, his father’s most trusted Red Cloak. “And where were her guards, Ser Jerrod?” Jaime seethed, still convinced this had to be murder. Jerrod straightened and looked Jaime directly in his eyes.

“I relieved two Red Cloaks from duty after the funeral Ser Jaime. Within an hour her new guards were here. During that time, no one entered Lady Baratheon’s chambers.” Jaime locked eyes with the man. Jaime could detect no lie. His eyes swung to his father, rage and grief consuming him.

“Lady Sansa, then Father, surely she had something to do with this,” Jaime said, grasping at anything now gesturing to Cersei’s lifeless form. He knew how much the two women hated each other.

Tywin’s eyes narrowed. His son was in perilous territory. “Careful, Jaime. My wife has been ill in our bedchamber since after the funeral. The Grand Maester saw to her yesterday. She is still abed today, overcome with fatigue from the events over the past few days and the growing child in her belly.”

Jaime seethed. He knew his sister. There was no way she would do this to herself. _Was there_? _Was it possible that it was an accident like Tyrion said_?

Jaime knew she had an abundance of enemies both in the Red Keep and throughout Westeros. Cersei’s time in power had not been without conflict. Suddenly the full impact hit Jaime, and he felt his legs weaken. His twin, his other half and the woman he’d loved his entire life, was dead. Tywin moved immediately to support his son.

“What am I going to tell Tommen, Father?” Jaime asked, his voice full of anguish and grief. Tywin genuinely felt for his son, even though he knew his entire family and his reign was safer with his daughter dead.

“Find your son, Jaime and bring him to our apartments. He will be with family. Leave her now, and let us deal with the situation,” Tywin told him quietly. He saw Jaime nod, and then in a daze, and with one more look at his twin, he left her chambers for the final time.

The only ones who remained were Tyrion, Pycelle and Jerrod, and the King looked at them all. “I want her body to lie in the great sept. Tyrion you will make arrangements for the funeral. It will not be delayed.”

Tywin paused and then met each man’s gaze. They had each in their own way had a part in this death, and Tywin knew he had their loyalty and their discretion. No one in the seven kingdoms would question this death too closely. Even those who might believe it to be foul play would not mourn the former Queen. Cersei had not been beloved by either the commoners or the nobles so the official account of her death, by accidental overdose, would be widely accepted because no one would be sorry to see her dead.

Tywin left than to make sure he was in his apartments when Tommen arrived with Jaime. He knew Tyrion was more than capable of handling any arrangements for his sister.

Jaime was in a daze when he left Cersei’s chambers. He knew he would never be able to prove it, but he couldn’t imagine her being so careless; it had to be murder. But then he thought back to the spiral she had been in; the wine she had been indulging in, the rages she flew into. Cersei had been teetering on the edge of madness since he had returned, and she was not without her indulgences. He had to concede that it was possible that after the funeral, she had been so distraught that she had added too many drops of the sweet sleep to her wine. Even knowing it was possible, even likely, Jaime still didn’t know what to believe; he just knew that his life had irrevocably changed.

He found Tommen in the yard, training with Brienne again. He’d been overjoyed when the lady knight showed up in the yard this morning, and they quickly established a routine, which consisted mostly of Brienne running him through his paces.

When Jaime had sought out Brienne after the funeral, she had looked shocked at what he had negotiated. He felt a warm flush through his body at her heartfelt gratitude. It was so different from Cersei’s rage and bitterness towards him. When he’d explained that Tommen knew he was his father, and that he was now his squire, Brienne had been genuinely happy for him and congratulated him. For once, Jaime actually felt pride in something that he had done. Being around Brienne did that.

Now, as he approached them, he was even more grateful for the large woman’s existence in his life. For some reason, she made him want to be a better man, a better knight. He lost his patented smirk and jeering when in her presence; everything about him softened because she demanded it of him. When he had found her yesterday to let her know that his father had consented to allow her to train with him and Tommen again, she had lost all sense of dignity and hugged him, before she realized what she’d done and let him go. But for one moment, Jaime remembered what it was like to be touched by someone that didn’t have an ulterior motive. Someone who cared for him. After he’d explained his father’s terms, and that she must leave Kings Landing if he took the Lannister forces to war, he apologized for tying their futures together. But Brienne had hushed him.

“You would trust me? In battle?” she asked with a guarded tone.

“Of course,” Jaime said, somewhat bewildered. “With my life.” At this point, Brienne was a better fighter than him.

“In front of men, as the commander of the Lannister army, you would have me ride by your side, in front of everyone to see such a sight?” she demanded.

He nodded. “Yes, Brienne. When I leave for war, I will leave with you and Tommen at my side.” He saw the truth of his words finally sink in, and a sheen of tears on Brienne’s eyes before she turned away to compose herself.

Jaime just grinned, imaging such a site. She was a fearsome creature to behold; it was true.

Shaking himself from his memories of their talk, Jaime watched them spar for a moment, noting how far Tommen had come. If his son were serious about this path in his life, he would be a force to be reckoned with one day; and Jaime would see that he only trained with the best knights. Finally, Brienne called a halt to the training. She must have seen something in Jaime’s eyes, as she sent Tommen to the other group of squires in the yard.

“What happened?” she asked quietly when she came to stand beside him. “Cersei is dead,” he said solemnly. He watched as Brienne jerked back. “How?”

Jaime shrugged. “My family swears it was an accident. Sweep sleep in her wine. According to the guards I was the last person to be in her rooms. When I left her, she was alive, raging and throwing things at my head. When I went back this morning, she was dead.”

“And you don’t believe them?” Brienne inquired.

Jaime sighed raggedly. “I don’t know what to believe. My sister had enemies far and wide. And her greatest enemy at the moment is the Queen.”

Brienne let out a stunned gasp. “Jaime, no. I have guarded Lady Sansa; she would never.”

Jaime shrugged again. “I know. It is a ridiculous notion. If anyone could do it, my Father could. But I was with him all evening before he retired to his chambers. And all the guards swear no one entered Cersei’s chambers after I left.” He looked over to his son. “Whatever her faults, Brienne, she was Tommen’s mother.”

If Brienne were truthful, she was glad the hateful woman was dead. The former Queen was a bitter, spiteful person, and Brienne had often feared for Lady Sansa’s safety. But she knew what the pain was like to be unable to save the one you loved. She hadn’t been able to save Renly, and now Jaime would feel the same grief. Brienne knew in time the pain would lessen and she needed to ensure he didn’t do something stupid in the meantime like anger the King with accusations about Tywin Lannister’s beloved wife.

Everyone in the seven kingdoms knew just how much the Great Lion loved his northern wife. They were talked about by the commoners and nobility incessantly. The fact that the King had placed a smaller throne next to his for his wife was all the proof most needed that they had a real love match. And no one sent a shiver down Brienne’s spine like the cold green eyes of Tywin Lannister. Jaime was on thin ice if he attempted to indicate Sansa in any wrongdoing.

“Tommen will take the news hard, as any boy would. But your family is strong and tight Jaime. He will be well-loved. I will go and get him for you,” she said and took her leave. She knew the next weeks would be the hardest for him as he grappled with his emotions.

Tommen was curious as to why he’d been called out of training early, and one look at his father’s face and he knew it wasn’t good news. When he asked, Jaime mumbled something and kept walking, until Tommen caught up and stayed his arm. “Father, whatever news you have, I can handle it.” Jaime looked at his son, who was maturing so fast. He was hardly the same boy that had come to stay with Tywin and Sansa weeks ago.

“It’s your mother,” Jaime said, his eyes filling with tears. "She is dead."

Tommen held his own tears back. He knew that his parents had a secret and scandalous relationship; one that no one in the realm approved of. But he’d spent time talking about it with his father and he knew his father had loved his mother deeply. Tommen loved his mother as well, but her focus had always been on Joffrey which meant he had often been neglected. In truth, it worked out well for him as there were so few expectations put on him. But it also meant that they weren’t close. In fact, the one person Tommen longed to see right now was his grandmother. He had become particularly close with Lady Sansa.

“I’m sorry, Father,” Tommen said, and embraced Jaime, who clung to him. “I know how much she meant to you.”

When both had recovered, they entered the Hand’s apartments. Their entire family save for Tyrion was there, and Sansa held open her arms and Tommen buried himself in them. She was warmth and comfort, and she crooned to him as he felt the sobs wrack his body. Jaime watched his father’s wife and knew at that moment that she had nothing to do with Cersei’s death. There was simply no way a woman that is caring and compassionate could do something so cold and calculating.

Jaime had an epiphany; even if someone had managed to poison Cersei’s wine, what did it matter now? She was dead, and whoever had pulled it off had been clever, if indeed it had been murder.

Jaime knew his focus needed to be on his family, and he knew the lions were most influential when they were together. He let go of his suspicions and embraced the people who had gathered, unwilling to acknowledge even to himself that there was a small sense of relief coursing through his body now that Cersei was gone.

Jaime Lannister was, for the first time in his entire adult life, free. Free from the oaths of the Kingsguard, free from his twin and her manipulations, free from his guilt that he was never enough for her and the fear of what would happen if they were ever discovered. And if he were entirely truthful, which he wasn’t quite yet ready to be, he felt younger and more alive than ever before. For the first time, Jaime was looking forward to the future and the type of man he might become.

He met his father’s eyes and nodded, and then approached Lady Sansa and Tommen. Sansa met his eyes and he saw tears in them before she embraced him and gave her apologies. While Jaime knew she wouldn’t mourn Cersei’s death, the woman had enough love and compassion to care how it would affect her family. Jaime sunk into her embrace, grateful his father had married such a woman, and wondering what it might be like if he could find someone like the Queen, to be his wife and give him legitimate heirs. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant thought.

* * *

Sansa invited her mother to join her in Flea Bottom the next day. She hadn’t had a chance to go back to some of the new orphanages and houses they were building since her mother had attacked her there and wanted to check on the progress being made. She heard daily that things were changing in Flea Bottom, but she had to see it for herself. For this trip Sansa had arranged for Ser Marbrand to escort them with some of his trusted men from the City Watch. When she told Jerrod, he gave her a look, and she huffed at him.

“They seemed to find each other interesting and since the night he guarded my mother he has been around more and more,” she muttered, and Jerrod let out a small laugh at the Queen. Sansa would never stop trying to make people as happy as she was. Jerrod thought back to the first time he’d met her; when he’d stopped Joffrey’s guards from beating her and delivered her to Tywin. He had no idea what had gone on in that meeting between the Old Lion and the northern woman, but he was infinity glad something had. He would die for his Queen, and there was no one more loyal to her in the entire seven kingdoms save perhaps her husband.

Sansa shot him a look. “Tell me truthfully Jerrod, is he a good man? My father was a very good man, and my mother deserves the chance with another one.”

Ser Marbrand was a handsome man, younger than Tywin by quite a few years, closer to Jaime's age. He was well known for his daring and as a highly respected commander in the Lannister army. When her mother stood with him, they made a striking couple; both tall and slim with copper-coloured hair. Sansa knew that Ser Marbrand was set to inherit his father’s seat at Ashemark in the Westerlands. And he was fiercely loyal to her husband, being one of his chief knights when the Lannister army rode to war. It was odd since Lord Marbrand had commanded forces against Robb Stark, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter to either her mother or him.

“He is a true and loyal man to House Lannister, Your Grace,” Jerrod said. “And I’ve never heard a single word against him when it comes to violence or anger towards women.” Sansa thanked him, knowing that Jerrod would always tell her the truth.

Seated in the carriage for their trip, Sansa watched as her mother stole glances at the handsome older man who rode out in front. Sansa determined she needed to speak with her mother soon. If she was willing, she was sure that Tywin would secure a new marriage for her mother between the two of them. All Sansa wanted was for her mother to be happy again. She knew Catelyn would always love her first husband, but her mother was much too young to be alone for the rest of her days. And Sansa knew what it was like to be swept away by a man from the West. Everywhere she looked, her family and friends were enamoured with them. Tywin had told her that Jaime had brought Brienne back to the training yard, and Sansa was glad for her friend. She knew that the large woman would help Jaime with the death of Cersei and she knew what her friend felt for him.

When they arrived at one of the orphanages, Catelyn grasped Sansa’s hand. She was so proud of her daughter. She had married extremely well and yet she still was humble and wanting to help those who needed it. It had hurt Cat’s heart slightly to realize just how much Sansa knew about the unsavoury world of King’s Landing. She still found herself forgetting that her daughter was now a Queen.

When they entered the building, Sansa was swarmed by widows and children. Everyone knew the Queen was behind this second chance that these people were being given. The headmistress soon gathered everyone into the main solar, where they were able to give their thanks personally to the Queen. Sansa had tears in her eyes when she received such heartfelt gratitude from them, and she met Jerrod’s eyes who nodded. Sansa had won the loyalty of the common people and broken Varys hold on them.

When one of the youngest girls approached Sansa, she was surprised at how pretty she was. She had bright blue eyes and long brown hair and had been scrubbed clean.

“And what is your name?” Sansa asked.

“Alyce, m’ lady,” the girl said proudly. “I’m eleven.” Sansa’s heart clenched. Eleven!

The Queen reached out and stroked the girl's cheek. “And where did you come from, my dear?” Sansa was meaning what part of Westeros, but the girl surprised her when she said, “Lord Baelish’s place, m’lady.”

Sansa gave a horrified gasp.

“No m’ lady, you misunderstand. I was his personal servant. Fetched his food, poured his wine and helped him with his letters.” Sansa thought it was good that Petyr was locked up in the black cells. 

“I’m glad that you were able to come to be with us, Alyce,” Sansa said gently.

“I left the moment I heard the King was dead. I knew no good would come if I stayed there.” Her small body shuddered, and she leaned in to whisper to Sansa, “I’m sure glad that the bad man didn’t get you, m’lady.”

Sansa cocked her head at the girl. She lowered her voice and whispered back. “What do you mean, my sweet?”

Sansa watched as Alyce looked around then leaned in to whisper directly into Sansa’s ear, “The bad Queen and Littlefinger met. She wanted you dead or kidnaped, m’lady. And after the bad Queen left, my master muttered over and over to himself that you would be his.” The girl pulled back slightly and looked at Sansa. “I’m glad you have your lion to protect you.”

Sansa swallowed. Here was a witness! An actual witness to Cersei’s treachery and further proof that Lord Baelish had something sinister in mind for her all along. Sansa rubbed the girl’s arms and asked quietly, “Would you like to come back with me to the castle so you can tell the great lion all about what you know? He will be very pleased with you.”

“You promise I’ll be safe?”

Sansa nodded. Yesterday when Cersei had been alive, most likely not. Today, Sansa was confident she could protect her. Then she grinned ruefully at the girl; she couldn’t wait to see her husband’s face when she arrived home with another street urchin. Only this one had valuable information for the King.

* * *

Sansa, Catelyn, Ser Marbrand and Jerrod entered the dining room to find Tywin, Jaime and Tyrion there, taking a late mid-day meal and sharing wine. When they saw the orphan at Sansa’s side, Tyrion and Jaime burst out laughing and Tywin looked ready to murder her. She sent Tywin’s sons a glare and then held up her hand.

“It is NOT what you think, husband,” when she saw his lips thin. “She was in the employment of Littlefinger. She heard his conversation with Cersei, and she read the notes he wrote. She knows things Tywin.” Sansa watched her husband’s face change and he sent her a small satisfied smile that shot heat straight through her body. She loved it when he looked at her that way.

The girl was brought before the Lannister men, and because Tyrion was much more her size and much less intimidating than either Tywin or Jaime, she latched on to the dwarf, who had a look of astonishment on his face at her trust in him.

She had more secrets to spill than just what she had told Sansa. She was an extraordinarily intelligent child, and Tyrion coaxed tale after tale out of her. Sansa came and settled in her husband’s lap as the interrogation continued, and he wrapped his arms around her. At one point, he whispered to her, “This is astonishing, Sansa,” and she smirked at him. She knew he should never doubt her; she only ever had what was best for them in mind. Moreover, Tywin knew that he was looking at the fruits of building the orphanages in Flea Bottom and a chink in Varys’ network of spies. For the first time ever, the King and Queen had a direct link to secrets that the common people knew.

When Alyce told them about Cersei’s visit, Sansa couldn’t help but dart her eyes to Jaime’s. She saw his jaw tighten, and when the girl spoke of their plans for Sansa, death or kidnapping, Jaime scoffed.

“How do we know anything she says is true?” Jaime sneered. “Cersei is not here to defend herself. Easy enough to win the favour of the new Queen with such tales.”

“It’s true,” a small shameful voice said into the room and everyone turned to look at Lady Stark. She coughed and met their eyes. “It’s all true. Petyr had planned before even coming back to Kings Landing. His most ambitious one was to kill Joffrey and Tywin and marry Sansa. He believed that with marriage to Sansa he would secure enough support to take the throne from Tommen and Cersei.”

Tywin had relentlessly questioned Lady Stark about all of this, so none of this was new information. But it was the first time Jaime was hearing everything since Cersei had died and it angered Jaime that Cersei could not defend herself from these accusations.

Catelyn met Sansa’s eyes. “My plan was always to get you away from here. I swear, daughter, that was my sole focus. I wanted to save you from the abuses I was sure your husband was heaping upon you.”

Sansa nodded, knowing the next few weeks would be difficult for her mother when she had to tell the court these tales.

She watched as Jaime turned and pinned her mother with a look of disgust. “And why isn’t she in the black cells? Why were Cersei’s crimes so much greater than Lady Starks’?”

“Enough,” Tywin said, his low voice projecting power and control.

“No, Father, I want to know. She held a knife to the Queen’s throat. She threatened to kill her. Why is she allowed to be free?” Jaime had worked himself into a rage and moved towards Lady Stark. Which is when Ser Marbrand came and stood in front of her.

“Jaime, we’ve been friends since childhood. But I will not stand by and allow you to hurt Lady Stark,” Ser Marbrand said, his voice and tone serious.

Jaime startled and looked between one of his oldest and most trusted friends and Lady Stark. He took a good look at Sansa’s mother again. In just a short time the woman had regained much of her beauty and when she looked at the knight standing in front of her, Jaime saw genuine emotion there. _When had this happened_? Jaime thought. He’d been consumed with Cersei, Joffrey and Tommen for weeks now, and he realized he’d missed much that was going on around him.

“Jaime, you know that Lady Stark has admitted to all her wrongdoings. She has kept no secrets from us,” Tywin said and rose to stand with Sansa, keeping her hand in his. "And she truly did not mean to harm Sansa. You know this Jaime."

Jaime spun, his heart and his head hurt. “I can’t do this now,” and he turned and left the room.

“I’m sorry,” Catelyn Stark said into the room and started to cry. Sansa went to her mother. She couldn’t wait until Baelish’s trial was over. She gathered her mother in her arms, and shushed her.

“We need to secure somewhere safe for little Alyce, Your Grace,” Tyrion stated and pointed to the girl. Between her and Lady Stark’s testimony, Petyr Baelish’s days were numbered.

“Find Genna, Tyrion, she will see to the child,” Tywin commanded, and then gently drew his wife away from her mother. He saw the look in his knight’s eyes and knew Addam Marbrand would do a better job than anyone at comforting Lady Stark. Tywin wondered how Sansa would feel if he proposed marriage between the two.

Suddenly, Tywin Lannister’s steward announced that Prince Oberyn and his paramour Ellaria Sand had arrived. Tywin nodded and asked that they were shown to his solar. Tywin wanted both Sansa and Tyrion with him for this meeting. Of all the Kingdoms, Dorne would be the trickiest. They still called their lords Princes in defiance to whichever ruler sat on the Iron Throne. Oberyn and Doran Martell also had full control of Myrcella, and Tywin hoped nothing bad would happen to the girl. The biggest issue was the simple fact that Tywin Lannister had set Ser Gregor free to kill Elia Martell and her two children with Prince Rhaegar. The fact that the man raped her before killing her was a further insult to the southernmost kingdom.

Tywin strode into the room, commanding most of the attention as normal, but Oberyn Martell was not to be outdone. He was an extraordinarily handsome man and wore elegant and flashy robes to draw as much attention to his dark good looks as possible. His wife in all but name, Ellaria Sand was a beautiful woman, clad in a very daring dress. Sansa almost felt frumpy next to the beautiful woman. Tywin had explained to her that Ellaria was the mother to four of Oberyn’s eight illegitimate daughters and that the Dornish had a much less rigid view on sexuality as the rest of Westeros. Everyone viewed Ellaria as Oberyn’s wife even though they were not wed. In any other part of Westeros, such an arrangement would never stand; in Dorne, hardly anyone cared.

As expected, the moment Oberyn laid eyes on the Queen, he turned on the charm. The man was a master at manipulating both sexes to do whatever he wanted through sweet words alone. But Sansa was not charmed by him. She was used to her husband’s more severe countenance, and there was something inherently fake about the Dornish Prince. Either way, she simply wasn’t swayed by his overly flirtatious manner and Tywin smirked as he watched his Queen stunned the cocky Prince by not reacting to him. Sansa didn’t even blink when he introduced Ellaria as his paramour and not his wife.

“Tywin Lannister,” the Prince said and took a seat opposite from the Great Lion. “And your second son. Who is the hand of the King. Quite a feat. I wonder what your dear sister would have to say about that. I’ve never seen such hatred between siblings. Such a pity we will never know.” He shook his head and looked towards the lions to see if they would react. They did not.

“Prince Oberyn, welcome to King’s Landing. I apologize for not making time before to meet. You came for a wedding, and instead witnessed a funeral and a coronation,” Tywin stated. He saw the Prince’s eyes flash at that statement.

“Yes, indeed, unexpected. No one could have foreseen such an unfortunate set of events taking place,” Oberyn agreed. “And to think, you already have five of the seven kingdoms backing you,” the Prince said, shaking his head. “Amazing. I’d always heard the stories about you, Lion of Lannister, but truly to see you in action, marvellous.”

Tywin grunted. He was not swayed by pretty words and silly gestures.

“Although, perhaps it is premature to assume that you have five. The Stormlands are at best in question, wouldn't you say, Your Grace,” and Oberyn laughed.

Tyrion coughed and intervened, “They are not, I can assure you. Regardless, that is not your concern. What is before us today, is what will it take for Dorne to support the reign of Tywin Lannister.”

Oberyn simply looked at the Great Lion. Dorne might be able to maintain its independence if all of Westeros were to attack, and it might not. Either way, his brother, Doran was a cautious man. Oberyn had been sent to the Capitol to obtain a seat on the small council. That was his official mission. But his own need for vengeance required that he attempt to right the wrong done to his family so many years ago. He wasn’t dumb enough to attack the Great Lion himself; at this point, Tywin Lannister was too difficult to get to. And Oberyn thought he might actually make a good King. The realm hadn’t had a good king in decades. No, Oberyn wanted a chance with the man who had actually murdered his sister and his niece and nephew.

“A place on the small council, a chance against the Mountain, and a seat as a judge on Lord Baelish’s trial,” Oberyn responded, smug that they would not grant him any of his three requests.

Tywin and Tyrion exchanged glances, before Tywin simply said, “Done.”

He had been loath to give up Gregor Clegane, but Tyrion had convinced him it was worth it for the loyalty from Dorne. _What is one man compared to an entire Kingdom, Your Grace? Men like Gregor Clegane are nothing special. Monsters are born every day. _Tywin conceded that Tyrion was correct. He could afford to lose one man if it meant securing an entire kingdom to his side.

“And how would you have him delivered to you, Prince Oberyn?” Tyrion asked seizing upon the Dornish man’s incredulity that he had been granted what he asked for and pressing their advantage.

Oberyn shot looks between all three lions, then his eyes narrowed. “Why have you agreed so readily, Your Grace?” the Prince asked, still suspicious.

Tywin sighed. “I want to unite the seven kingdoms. My granddaughter is set to marry the heir to Dorne. Westeros is stronger when it is together than when it is torn apart by war.”

Oberyn nodded. “And what of Lord Baelish? Is it true it was him that killed the king?”

Tyrion shrugged. “He was the only one still supplying the former King with women. She was the only one in his room. We have witnesses that he planned for more than just the murder of the King.”

Oberyn thought about this. It was true he had no love of the Vale man. Where he was from sex was treated much more casually, but even Lord Baelish made his skin crawl as he catered to the truly depraved sexual appetites in Kings Landing. All of Oberyn Martell’s partners came to his and Ellaria’s bed willingly. It would be no hardship to sit in judgement of the man.

“And what if he asks for a trial by combat? I’ve heard that the Knights of the Vale still await word about him in the Kingswood,” Oberyn asked, showing he was extremely well informed about matters happening in the capitol.

“There will be no trial by combat,” Tywin announced, and everyone looked a bit stunned. “I have not captured the King’s murderer only to see him go free on a technically. Trials by combat will be outlawed in the seven kingdoms by Royal Decree within days and before Lord Baelish’s trial begins.”

Tyrion looked at his father, a bit startled, but then thought about it. It made sense if you controlled the outcome of a trial, and Tywin Lannister would never allow a trial to take place unless he could dictate the outcome. Still, it made him almost nostalgic to think that he would most likely have died in the Eyrie had he not called for his own trial by combat.

“And the Mountain?” Oberyn asked, still in disbelief that he had been granted his requests.

Tyrion looked at him.

“He will be delivered to wherever you request, Prince Oberyn.” The Prince nodded.

Tywin pinned the man with a look. “Are you sure?”

Oberyn scoffed before the King held up his hand.

“The man is a mindless killing machine. He is by far the strongest, fastest and deadliest warrior in the seven kingdoms. And you want him. I will not have it said that he was delivered to you and have you, or your family seek revenge on me if he manages to kill you.”

Tywin looked at Ellaria Sand then. “Are we very clear, My Lady?”

Ellaria nodded. She wished Oberyn would give up this useless quest for vengeance. His sister was long dead and gone, and she was fearful of the man. But her lover would not be swayed from this path. And there would be no recourse for Dorne if the Mountain were successful and killed the Prince. Tywin Lannister had made them all witnesses to the Prince’s request. He truly was a brilliant tactician.

“Small council meetings are weekly, held here in the Hand’s lower chamber, until the King’s rooms are readied,” Tyrion announced and hopped off his chair to show their Dornish guests out. The Queen had said nothing during the entire exchange, instead simply bearing witness to the entire proceedings, learning and observing.

Once their three guests had left, Tywin turned to her and asked for her thoughts.

“He’s stupid for being unable to let go of the past. It is quite possible the Mountain will kill him. But at least his paramour knows the truth,” Sansa said. “Also, he has no love for Littlefinger and was quite pleased to be asked to be a judge. He sees it as an elevation above other members of the small council.”

“Anything else?” Tywin probed and watched as Sansa furrowed her brow.

“I don’t think he truly wants the throne or has any real interest in the game. He’s happy to have a seat and seeks only revenge. That was his own mission, and not what he was sent here for,” Sansa finished.

“Good job wife,” Tywin murmured to her, and she felt her cheeks flush. He gave her a heated look, and Sansa came to him, where she leaned down to kiss him softly. Tywin was about to pull her onto his lap to kiss her longer when a small cough interrupted them. Sansa turned to see Tyrion at the door. She blushed again and stepped away from the King, and Tywin had a scowl on his face from being denied his wife.

Tyrion simply smirked. He sometimes wondered how his father was able to get any work done at all. The man was completely gone over for his Queen, and no one in the seven kingdoms could deny how much the Great Lion truly loved his wife. It was such a stark contrast to Robert and Cersei’s reign and inspired confidence in their rule as well as the utter devotion of the people. Tyrion knew that songs and sonnets were being composed of them.

“All in all, a good meeting with our Dornish friend,” Tyrion quipped, “Although I was a bit surprised to hear about the abolishment of trials by combat, Your Grace.”

Tywin shrugged. “Too many men can use this loophole. If you are guilty of the crime, a trial is a much better way to determine guilt or innocence.” And everyone knew, anyone could be bought and paid for at a trial. Trials by combat were a roll of the dice.

“Yohn Royce?” Tywin inquired, knowing the last piece of the puzzle was the Vale.

“A runner has been sent Your Grace, and we await word on his acceptance for a meeting.” Tyrion paused. “He is an extremely loyal bannerman to House Arryn and House Stark. It would be beneficial to have both the Queen and Lady Stark present when we talk with him.”

Tywin grunted his agreement. To his knowledge, the man had never liked Littlefinger, which is why it surprised Tywin so much that he had ridden to Kings Landing in his defence. To be fair, Lord Royce hated him with a passion as well. Tywin and Jon Arryn had never gotten along and for years Tywin had sat at Casterly Rock, waiting for his time to come again. Still, if they could secure Lord Royce’s allegiance, it would make this whole trial against Baelish that much easier.

“Give him until this evening to respond. If not, send Ser Marbrand and a contingent from the City Command. We cannot allow this to fester for too much longer. Tell me, how is Jaime today?”

Tyrion sighed. His brother had been deep in his cups since leaving their father’s apartments yesterday afternoon. Tyrion finally had to find Lady Brienne who had dumped an entire pitcher of ice-cold water on his head and kicked his ass outside to the training yard.

“As well as can be expected Father,” Tyrion said. “All funerals arrangements have been made. In two days’ time, we will bid farewell to the former Queen Regent.” Tywin sighed and thanked Tyrion.

He looked to his son and his wife. “And what would either one of you have to say if I proposed a marriage alliance between House Stark and House Marbrand?” He watched his wife mostly and saw her eyes twinkle.

“I wonder about your power sometimes, husband,” she said, and her voice was low and sultry. “I had the same thought.”

Tyrion nodded, but then cautioned about announcing it before the trial and the winning of the Knights of the Vale to their side. Tywin nodded his agreement, but he was distracted by his very pretty wife, and Tyrion quickly excused himself. He had become close to his father, but he had no wish to witness the intimacies between the two of them. Besides, Tyrion himself had a very pretty and very daring lady of his own waiting for him.

Once they were alone, Tywin asked his wife quietly, “Tell me, my Queen, what do you have on underneath that dress?”

She giggled, and simply said, “Nothing,” before she rose and left the solar, but not before shooting a lust-filled look to him over her shoulder. Tywin groaned, and then left his seat. It seemed he would be in a pleasant mood for court after all.

Tywin was extremely relieved to see her back in such a playful mood. When she had returned from murdering Cersei, Sansa had been distraught. Tywin hadn’t lied to Jaime yesterday when he said that the Queen had spent the better part of the day and evening in their bedchambers. He knew it would take time for her to reconcile what she had done, but it seemed to find the girl who worked for Littlefinger helped assuage the last of her guilt. It was more evidence that Cersei had been actively plotting against her.

Tywin was surprised at how little his daughter’s death affected him until he realized that he had let her influence so many decisions he made. He hadn’t even realized it at the time, but Cersei’s power over him had been vast, and now that she was gone, he felt he had the freedom to rule as he saw fit without worrying about the consequences of upsetting her. He was so grateful that Sansa had made him see reason when it had come to his daughter, loath to think what might have happened had she not been taken care of. For now, Tywin pushed those thoughts out of his head, content to spend this time with his wife, whom he loved above all others. He leaned down and drew her into his arms, kissing her softly and whispering how much he loved her. 

* * *

Tyrion had received word late that night that Lord Royce was willing to meet with the King. Ser Marbrand escorted the Lord from the Vale into the solar and turned to take a position by the door. He knew that Tywin had requested the presence of Lady Stark, and Ser Marbrand was concerned that when Lord Royce heard her role in the plots he would react aggressively towards her. Addam Marbrand was prepared to ensure that no harm came to her.

Ser Marbrand was baffled at how he had come to feel so much for Catelyn Stark in such a short period of time. But he knew he loved the woman, deep and true, and was sure she returned some of his feelings. It was odd since he had ridden to war against her and her son, but since she’d been in Kings Landing, that seemed not to matter. She had been shockingly open with him the night that he came to the apartments to protect her. She had held nothing back, and he had sensed that night she needed an impartial judged to confess her sins too. At the end of her story, with tears in her eyes, she had looked to him and expected to see judgment and condemnation. Instead, he simply thought of her as a warrior and a survivor. Perhaps that’s the moment he fell for her. She had been used and manipulated by her good friend her entire life, and her beloved husband was dead because of it. He could imagine no worse fate for a highborn lady. He was also suspicious of how exactly Ned Stark had been captured. He knew that he had been arrested by the Golden Cloaks, and when he questioned some of the older men in the guard, they confirmed it was on Petyr Baelish’s orders. The very next day Ser Marbrand had presented that evidence to the King, who smiled tightly at the revelations.

Ser Marbrand had been overjoyed when he’d heard that the Queen had requested that her mother remained in Kings Landing until at least the birth of their child. It would give him more time with her.

Addam Marbrand needed to speak with the King, and soon. He would request permission from his liege lord to marry Lady Stark. His position currently as Lord Commander of the City Watch would allow both of them to stay in Kings Landing for a time, and he knew that Lady Stark had no great desire to go back to Winterfell. When he’d asked her about returning home, she shrugged and said, “Perhaps to visit. But it is no longer my home. It belongs to my son and his wife.” That had solidified things for the knight; he would ask the King after the meeting with the Vale.

Tywin watched as Lord Royce was escorted into his solar. He had Tyrion, Sansa and Catelyn here with him today. This would be the most difficult negotiation. Lord Royce was fiercely loyal to the Stark’s and Arryn’s and both Ned and Jon had been murdered because of plans put in place by the current protector of the Vale.

Lord Royce scanned the room and saw both Stark women present, although Sansa was seated beside the King. Upon taking his seat, the King spoke.

“Lord Royce, we have never been friends, and I suspect we are both too old and set in our ways to become friends now,” Tywin stated. “But we have a common enemy.”

Royce snorted. “You’ve arrested the Lord Protector of the Vale under false charges of regicide, Your Grace. I see no way to move forward unless Petyr Baelish is released immediately.”

Tywin simply stared the man down. “It is not just the murder of King Joffrey. He has also been arrested for the murder of Lord and Lady Arryn.”

Royce gasped. “Surely you lie!” He knew that Tywin Lannister would do anything to retain power. The man was legendary in the lengths he would go. Everyone knew what he had done to Houses Reyne and Tarbeck.

“Are you interested in hearing the evidence? Or do you want to be at war with the Crown?” Tywin asked pointedly.

Royce huffed and folded his arms. “Very well, Your Grace, convince me,” he sneered.

“Lord Baelish persuaded Lady Lysa to poison Jon Arryn with Tears of Lys. Upon his death, he promised he would wed the Vale widow.” Royce shot a look to Catelyn Stark who simply nodded at the truth of the statement.

“He told me himself, My Lord.”

“Upon securing a position on the small council as the Master of Coin, Baelish befriended Ned and Catelyn Stark when Robert appointed Lord Stark as his hand. When Ned confided in Petyr that he had discovered why Jon had been murdered, Petyr Baelish assured Ned Stark he would have the backing of the Gold Cloaks when he confronted the Queen after King Robert’s death. It was then that Baelish double-crossed Ned Stark and the Gold Cloaks led by Janos Slynt had Ned Stark arrested on charges of treason. You know what happened to Ned Stark after that,” Tywin stated in a flat tone.

“Impossible! You’re telling me he’s responsible for the murder of not one but two hands?” Royce said, incredulously.

Ser Marbrand stepped forward. He was ashamed of how corrupt the City Watch had been under its previous commanders, and he took great pride in weeding out the drunkards and whoremongers from his guard. It was an honour to be chosen to serve in the guard, and for too long men had abused their position. But not under Ser Marbrand and Tywin Lannister.

“Tis true, My Lord. As the Lord Commander of the City Watch currently, many of the men who served previously are willing to testify to Slynt’s and Baelish’s role in Ned Stark’s arrest,” Ser Marbrand told the Vale Knight.

Royce eyed the Westernman. He didn’t trust Lannister’s or their bannermen, but even he knew of Ser Marbrand’s sterling reputation. The man was incorruptible. Royce grunted. He had fostered Ned Stark, trained him to hunt and fight and spar. The boy had been like another son to him.

“That’s not all Lord Royce,” the Queen said. Tywin had thought he might take the news better coming from a Stark than a Lannister.

“Lord Baelish falsely accused Lord Tyrion of my brother’s accident at Winterfell, leading my mother to falsely arrest Lord Tyrion at the Inn of the Crossroads, setting in motion the war between Houses

Stark and Lannister. When my husband and I brokered peace between our houses and an end to the war with our marriage, my mother fled to the Eyrie, unable to accept such a turn of events.”

All eyes had turned to Catelyn. She swallowed hard and spoke quietly. “Upon my arrival in the Eyrie, I knew my dear sister had descended into madness, and I was soon locked away, a virtual prisoner in a pretty room. It was only the arrival of Petyr that secured my freedom, and only after he had married Lysa.” Catelyn took a deep breath, before resuming her tale. “I am ashamed of my role in the next set of events, My Lord,” and Royce saw her eyes fill with tears and her hands start to shake. Ser Marbrand wanted to comfort her, but a simple shake of the head from the King and he held his ground. Lady Stark would have to do this part on her own.

“The more time I spent with Petyr, the more convinced I became that the Lannister’s were behind every awful thing that had happened to my family; Ned’s death, Bran’s fall, Sansa’s marriage. And Lysa grew more jealous, the more time we with each other. That day, when she died, she attacked me, Lord Royce. She attempted to throw me from the moon door. It was Petyr that saved my life.”

Royce huffed out a breath. “We questioned you, My Lady. We took your word as a Stark and a Tully that it was not murder. And now you claim it was?”

Catelyn met the man’s eyes. “I do not know for sure if it was murder or if it were planned that way. It is possible Petyr simply seized on the opportunity. I do know he was the one who convinced Lysa to poison Jon. And no matter what happened, I know he had no plans to stay married to Lysa for long.”

“This is outrageous,” Royce snarled, but he knew the story rang of truth. He hated that little whoremonger and money-grubber. He had never trusted Lord Baelish, and it galled him when the man married Lysa Arryn. And to think that the man had planned the murder of his Liege Lord Jon Arryn was outrageous.

“There is more, My Lord,” Catelyn said, bravely. “When we received an invitation to King Joffrey’s wedding, Petyr was making plans. Plans to dispose of King Joffrey and Tywin Lannister and marry Sansa for himself. He thought with that marriage he would have three of the seven kingdoms and Cersei would be unable to move against him quick enough before he could bring Dorne and the Reach to his side. It is why he brought the Knights of the Vale here; to take out the City Watch and seize Kings Landing in the chaos of their deaths.”

Royce looked horrified, but it all made a sick type of sense.

“We have confirmation that Cersei Baratheon and Petyr Baelish conspired to, at the very least kidnap Lady Sansa. Cersei secured a deal with Petyr; he would provide the whores for King Joffrey and she would give him access to the Queen. On the night of his murder, the only other person in the King’s chambers was a whore from Littlefinger.” Tywin then flicked the small falcon scrap to Lord Royce. “This was found next to the King’s body.”

Lord Royce looked around the room. Two lions and their loyal bannerman, and two Stark women that were above reproach. Royce had known Catelyn Stark since she’d been married to Ned. She had been a true and noble wife to her husband. And he knew as well as anybody at the table how mad Lysa Arryn was, especially near the end. _Was it actually possible this tale was true? Could Petyr Baelish be responsible for such destruction? _

“What do you want from me?” he asked, perplexed.

“For the Vale to bend the knee to King Tywin,” Tyrion said. He held up a hand before Royce could protest. “The Vale will be given a seat at the small council, like all other Kingdoms that have pledged their allegiance. We also ask that you, Lord Royce, are the third judge at Petyr Baelish’s trial, along with the King and Prince Oberyn. You know the man better than anyone, and if he were to be found guilty of all charges, it must not appear that we have influenced the trial in any way.”

Royce was stunned. He had not expected such generous terms from the Great Lion. Royce knew if the Knights retreated to behind the walls of the Eyrie they could not be taken. But they were not at the Eyrie. And the Vale would suffer.

“You are truly offering seats around the small council table to each kingdom?” he asked Tywin, still unsure if he could believe the man.

He watched the King sigh, and then look at his wife. His northern wife. Whom from all accounts, he loved dearly. Then Lord Royce watched as the King simply picked up his wife’s hand and squeezed it, holding it as he turned back to him. “My wife has reminded me, that as much as I might rule all seven kingdoms, I cannot know what it is like to be from each kingdom. She has made me realize the benefits of receiving council from all respective regions.”

Lord Royce thought his jaw might fall off he was so stunned. He’d never heard of a King giving his wife such open and honest praise. And never in front of a potential rival. He looked to Lady Sansa. He remembered Ned Stark’s pride when his first daughter had been born, and how he’d talked about who she might marry someday. He wondered what his old friend would think of the marriage she had secured for herself.

“Your Grace,” Royce said addressing her then, “What would you advise me to do? You are the one person in this room whose opinion I trust unequivocally.”

“My Lord, all of us here have been fooled by the tricks and games Littlefinger has played. He once told me chaos was a ladder, and when he created chaos was the best time to seize power.” Sansa paused. “A man such as Littlefinger is dangerous to the entire realm. He seeks to destabilize it. We do not need more war, My Lord. We need a united Westeros, that is able to prosper and feed its people. Agree to our terms, and upon the completion of Lord Baelish’s trial, return to the Eyrie and train my dear cousin Robin to become a worthy Lord Protector of the Vale, like his father.”

Royce nodded at the Queen, believing both her words and her tone. She was Ned Stark’s daughter through and through. He looked to the King and caught his look of love at his young wife, and that solidified his decision. Sansa Stark was a power in Kings Landing and would temper the more cruel and ambitious traits of her husband. And her heir, the next ruler of the Iron Throne, would have northern blood, Stark blood. And that was something Lord Royce could agree too.

“Very well, Your Grace, you have my word that the Vale will bend the knee, along with securing a position on the small council and myself as a judge at the trial of Lord Baelish. I simply ask that the Knights be allowed to remain until after the trial concludes,” Royce stated, and saw Tywin nod.

After Lord Royce had left, first congratulating the Queen on both her pregnancy and marriage, Tywin asked Ser Marbrand and Lady Stark to stay. Tyrion and Sansa shot each other amused looks. At one point, they thought Ser Marbrand might challenge Lord Royce to a dual over his lady’s honour.

Tywin cleared his throat and looked at the two of them. “It has come to my attention, that the two of you wish to be married. Is this correct?”

Lady Stark blushed, unable to believe that she could feel something for another man, convinced that she would never love another the way she had loved Ned. But with Ser Marbrand it had happened so fast and so quick. Something good and true and sweet after so much heartache. And if she were

honest, Catelyn Stark was at a loss. She knew that Robb would prefer if she didn’t come home to Winterfell, and even though Sansa wanted her here for the birth of her child, eventually, Catelyn wanted her own keep to run again. It was what she had been born to do. She never thought she would have fallen for a man from the West, but Addam would one day inherit his father’s seat at Ashemark. And Catelyn thought that perhaps she wasn’t too old to bear at least one more child. After all, she and Cersei were only a few years apart. Even if she couldn’t, Ser Marbrand had indicated that it did not matter to him.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Catelyn said softly and smiled at the knight.

“Your Grace, I had plans to approach you today to ask for Lady Stark’s hand,” Ser Marbrand said, looking straight at Tywin.

“Very well, permission granted,” Tywin held up his hand and continued, “However it cannot be announced until after the trial.” Both nodded and then grinned at each other, as Ser Marbrand drew Lady Stark into his arms.

Sansa smiled at the happy couple and squeezed Tywin’s hand. She knew her mother had been very lonely since her father died, and perhaps if she’d had someone like Ser Marbrand to look out for her, Petyr would not have been able to take advantage of her. Plus it was yet another link forged in making their alliance stronger.

Soon the happy couple had departed along with Tyrion and only Sansa remained. She stood up to come to Tywin who gathered her in his arms as she sat on his lap.

“Another Stark wooed by someone from the West,” Tywin japed at her, and Sansa laughed. It was true that all three of the eldest Starks would soon have spouses from the Westerlands.

“Your ego is large and healthy, Your Grace, but it seems those from the West love those from the North just as much,” Sansa said to him as she felt him lay his hands on her belly. They loved to sit like this for a few moments, with both of them in awe of the life growing inside her.

“That is true, wife,” Tywin murmured to her.

“I can’t wait for our baby to come, Tywin,” Sansa said reverently.

Tywin agreed and brushed his lips against her forehead. Each day he was grateful that he made the realm more secure for his family. Sansa had given him everything he had ever dreamed of. He was unsure if he would have ever convinced the Vale Lord to his side without her as his Queen. He saw the man’s devotion to her and knew that from this day forward, Sansa would always be able to count on the Vale for support. Overcome by a rare need to express just how much he loved her, Tywin tilted her head towards his and simply said, “I love you, Sansa,” and watched as her eyes teared and she crushed her lips to his.

In two days’ time, they would begin the trial of Petyr Baelish, and Tywin was anxious to have the man declared guilty. Laying out the man’s crimes, it was a wonder he hadn’t destroyed the entire realm with his machinations. Tywin was willing to do almost anything for power, but he was also a just and fair ruler. He looked forward to the day when the threat from Littlefinger was eliminated from their lives, permanently. Loath to leave their private solar, but knowing they had court to attend, Tywin pressed one last kiss to Sansa’s mouth before they left to attend court in the great throne room, where Tywin would sit on the Iron Throne and Sansa would rule by his side.


	21. Chapter 21

_ Kings Landing  _

They got through Cersei’s funeral, and that was awful as Sansa thought it would be. Sansa swore she would never step foot in the Great Sept again after the back to back funerals of Cersei and the King. But with Tyrion and Margaery’s wedding upcoming, she knew that to be a lie. The reality was, it was difficult to stand and observe a body that you had directly been responsible for killing, and Sansa was more grateful than ever for her husband. Tywin never left her side the entire day. When she thought she should show sadness for Cersei as that was expected of her, she imagined her father’s death and the tears came willingly. It was a consummate performance, and she knew she was on stage before the lords and the ladies attending the funeral. Tywin had told her that Jaime had initially raised suspicions about her involvement with Cersei’s untimely passing, so Sansa ensured that today she acted every inch the bereaved Queen.

Her heart did ache for Jaime and Tommen. Each in their way had loved Cersei, Jaime especially. Truthfully, Sansa thought the entire Lannister family was better off with her gone, but she would never openly say that. She had a role to play, and she would. No matter what Cersei had been to her, to the lions that Sansa loved, she had been a daughter, a sister, a mother and a lover. Sansa knew all too well the jarring reality of death and did not envy Jaime’s path. She was happy to see that Lady Brienne attended the funeral, and watched as Jaime shot the large woman a grateful look now and then.

Ser Marbrand had also come as a loyal bannerman to House Lannister, and even though they had not announced their betrothal, Sansa smiled slightly when she saw the Lord Commander of the City Watch never leave her mother’s side. Sansa and Catelyn had both sent ravens to Robb earlier informing him of their mother’s new arrangements, and both had wondered if they would ever see the North again. For Catelyn, it felt like a fresh start, and one she was deeply grateful for.

That evening in their bedchambers, Tywin had been slow and gentle with their lovemaking, drawing her pleasure out, making her peak again and again until she was so exhausted that when he finally sunk into her, she simply wrapped her legs around him and nuzzled into his chest, letting him take them both back over again. He held her close that night, his hand never leaving her stomach. Even though Sansa knew the realm needed a male to be the next King, she hoped that someday she could give him another daughter. Maybe one with red hair and green eyes, who might erase some of the hurt and disappointment that Cersei had brought him.

Sansa knew that Tywin would never openly grieve for his daughter, but she was one more link to his previous wife that had been severed, and that cut deep. Still, his main concern was Sansa, and he catered to her, seeing to her needs and desires, as she did to him. They had made their choices, and each had a very personal hand in how they had ended up in the position they were. Sansa often wondered how many married couples could say that they had each murdered a member of their own prominent family to ensure the safety of an entire realm. For that is what Sansa truly believed; that they had done what was necessary to secure a safe future for everyone in Westeros. Their actions bound them together like nothing else possibly could. There would never be another person in her entire life that Sansa was as close to as her husband. Tywin was everything to her; her lover, her best friend, her confidant, her mate. They were fiercely possessive of each other and fell deeper in love by the day. Sansa couldn’t imagine sharing her life with anyone else, and as they prepared for Lord Baelish’s trial, she was excited to put this chapter behind them.

Tywin had indeed made good on his promise to outlaw trials by combat for all but Knights in Westeros. His reasoning was simple; no highborn person accused of a crime would be denied a trial, but too many highborn lords and ladies had used trials by combat to have someone else fight for their innocence or guilt. It was too great a loophole that had been ruthlessly exploited for years. It was why he left the option open to Knights; they would be required to fight their own trial if ever accused of a crime.

Tywin had not outlawed a trial by seven though. If an accused could find six men to stand beside him, then seven champions would fight for each side. The accused would be declared innocent if his champions defeated the accusers' side. But if someone called for a trial of seven and could not find six champions to fight by their side, he would be declared guilty immediately. Tywin was confident that Petyr Baelish would not find six men, plus himself that could defeat seven men of Tywin Lannister’s choosing. Sansa had worried slightly, knowing how manipulative Littlefinger could be, but when Tywin explained he himself would have to be one of the ones fighting, she relaxed. Petyr Baelish was not was a fighter and there was no way Tywin would lose to him.

The only other loophole that Baelish might exploit would be to beg for mercy, declare his guilt and take the black and join the Night’s Watch. If he chose to do this, all his crimes would be forgiven, and he would be exiled to the wall; forced to sever all ties to his previous life. It was not an option that Tywin wanted to see Littlefinger choose, but he knew the man wouldn’t last but a moment with the type of men that made up the Night’s Watch.

Tywin had tried to prepare both Sansa and Catelyn Stark for what would happen during the trial. Petyr would be brought into the great throne room, and presented to the three judges. A Septon would lead them in prayer and then the accused and the witnesses would be sworn to honesty before testimony would begin. Petyr would hear the testimony of the witness and have a chance to defend himself. When all testimony had been heard, the judges would pass their sentence.

When Sansa entered the Throne Room with her husband, she saw that it had been set up for the trial, with a box where Petyr would sit and another one where the witnesses would speak. They had several people who were willing to speak out against Petyr Baelish, but by far the most important ones would be her mother, Tyrion and Jaime, little Alyce and Ser Marbrand. They would all work to build the case against Petyr Baelish. Tywin had decided to charge him with the murder of Lord Arryn and King Joffrey Baratheon, but not with that of Lysa Arryn. It was too circumstantial and if he were found guilty of either the former hand’s murder or the King’s he would be sentenced to death.

Seeing Lord Royce already in the throne room, Sansa moved quickly towards the man. She had gotten a warm feeling from him, and when he spoke of her father there was true affection in his voice. It had been a long time since Sansa had someone to converse with about Ned Stark who didn’t view her father as a traitor. The Vale Lord’s face lit up when he spotted the Queen, and he grasped her tightly and pressed a light kiss to her cheek. Tywin simply shook his head at the man’s singular devotion to his wife and marvelled at the bottomless grace she had shown through these difficult weeks. Sansa had a loyal kingdom at her side with Lord Royce now in control of the Vale, and Tywin felt even more secure with his legacy and his reign with Sansa as his Queen.

Not to be outdone, Prince Oberyn had also spotted the Queen and went to speak with her as well. Tywin was pleased to see her reception to the Dorne man was much less warm. It gave him a secret thrill to think that she was immune to the Prince’s legendary charms. Sansa smiled politely, but never gave the Prince anything close to the warm reception she did Lord Royce. When Tywin came to talk to his fellow judges, the Prince muttered to him, “It is baffling how you have completely bewitched your wife, Your Grace.”

Tywin smirked at the cocky man from Dorne. He’d heard the stories from Tyrion about the numerous visitors Oberyn and Ellaria entertained in their chambers. It seemed he did not mind which sex his partner was, and neither did his paramour. Tywin would never understand such tastes. He could barely handle when any man talked to Sansa, let alone stomach the thought of anyone else even touching her. He took a moment to think about how much comfort she had offered him yesterday in light of Cersei’s funeral, and was infinitely glad she was by his side.

Eventually, everyone took their places, and Sansa settled in beside her mother and Jaime, along with Margaery, Jaime, Tyrion, Kevan and Genna. It was a starling display of Lannister strength. Their house was extremely powerful at this point in time.

Sansa tried not to gasp when Petyr was finally brought into the throne room. She hadn’t seen him since before he’d been accused of Joffrey’s murder and sent to the black cells. He was gaunt and pale looking; almost fragile. He shuffled forward and Sansa did not make eye contact with him, instead of focusing on the judges. She saw Lord Royce’s face tighten when he saw the man who had orchestrated the murder of Lord Arryn and Oberyn had an almost bored look on his face, although if you looked at his eyes you could see his keen interest.

As soon as the Septon had led them all in prayer, the King rose and asked Lord Baelish if he was guilty of the crimes he was accused of.

“No, Your Grace, I am not,” the Lord Protector of the Vale answered.

The first witness was called. It was Ser Marbrand, who explained at length what he had discovered when he had taken over as the Commander of the City Watch. Like many in the room, everyone knew the man’s reputation proceeded him. For many years the City Watch had been a foul and corrupt organization but since Ser Marbrand was in charge, the Gold Cloaks were finally acting within the scope of their duties.

Even though Petyr was not on trial for the murder of Ned Stark, Ser Marbrand painted a picture of Littlefinger’s influence over the City Watch and the corruption that could be traced back to him. He also told how the Gold Cloaks were told to arrest Ned Stark after Petyr had sworn to Ned Stark, they would be loyal to the man from the North. Ser Marbrand was an extremely believable witness.

Petyr claimed that Ser Marbrand was lying and was a thousand leagues away, trying to kill Ned Stark’s son on the field of battle. He then stated to the court that everyone knew that Ned Stark was a traitor and that he killed King Robert. Petyr had him arrested as he was trying to prevent the rightful king, Joffrey, from taking the throne.

“Why would I kill a King I helped crown?” he asked the court. That might have been more powerful if there were those present who loved King Joffrey. But his reign had been marked by cruelty and terror, and the realms’ newest beloved Queen was a Stark.

The next witness was Alyce and Sansa’s heart almost broke for the child. Still, she was very brave as she clearly explained each and everything she had witnessed while working at Petyr’s whorehouse. Shocked gasps rang through the hall when the girl described some very prominent Lords and their sexual preferences. Not a single person in the entire room doubted the girl's testimony after that; although quite a few ladies had very angry looks on their faces.

“I only provide what is requested of me,” Petyr stated, unashamed. “I do not create the sexual appetites that men have. I offer a service that is in high demand.”

Petyr kept glaring at the child, but as he was shackled and guarded by Ser Marbrand’s loyal men he was no real threat to the girl. When Alyce described the meeting between Littlefinger and the Queen Regent, shocked gasps rang through the room. Alyce confirmed that the only person still willing to provide King Joffrey with his nightly whores was Littlefinger and in exchange, the Queen Regent would have given Lord Baelish access Lady Sansa to kidnap her and take her to the Vale where Lord Tywin would not have been able to get her back.

“The Queen Regent and I did discuss providing entertainment for the King. That was all. I am a dear friend of Lady Sansa and would never wish her harm,” Littlefinger rebutted. “The child is a liar, a bastard and low born.”

Sansa looked at Jaime and saw his face tighten, and she reached and grabbed his hand, which he squeezed tightly, grateful for her support. Still, no one in the room was that shocked by such revelations about the former Queen.

The most startling bit of information came when little Alyce described Baelish’s plans to murder King Joffrey and Lord Tywin Lannister. She spoke from memory about how he tended to mutter to himself when he was alone, and as she was there to be his servant, he almost always forgot that she was there. Prince Oberyn pushed her hard on this point, and she looked him straight in the eyes and repeated almost exactly the words that she had heard Petyr say. No one doubted her testimony after that.

“Lies!” Petyr shouted, spittle flying from his mouth, trying to undo the damage that Alyce had done until Tywin roared from him to be quiet and the court settled back down.

When she hopped down from her chair, she ran to Tyrion and Margaery and buried herself in their arms. Sansa wondered if they were going to try and foster the little girl. She couldn’t imagine them giving her up, and surely, they would try to find a place for her in their new household. Tyrion had formed an especially tight bond with the little girl who looked at him like he was her hero. But Sansa knew she had to go back to Flea Bottom. Alyce had become her first great spy, and as much as it hurt Sansa, she knew she would be more valuable to her if she were to back to the orphanage. Sansa would ensure she was safe and well taken care of.

The two Kingsguard that had been stationed outside the King Joffrey’s chambers on the night of his murder testified to the fact that the woman had been the only one that entered the King’s room. Ironically, one of the guards actually walked her into the King’s bedchambers, so he could truthfully state that the rooms were empty of all but the woman and the King and no one entered the entire night.

When Lord Royce asked where the whore came from, the Kingsguard just shrugged and said from the only person who would still provide them to the King; Lord Baelish.

“I do not deny sending her, but she was no assassin. Only a special present for the King on the night before his wedding,” Baelish claimed.

Jaime was next, and he told the court of his role, how he was not guarding the King’s chambers that fateful night, but instead spent it with his brother Tyrion. They had retired to his little brother’s room and awoke the next morning to find the King and present him with gifts from his family on the day of his wedding. Jaime told the court of what they had found upon entering the chambers. Jaime stumbled a bit at describing the violence that had been inflicted on the whore from his own son, but told how the girl had managed to drive the knife right into the King’s heart. Such a precise strike could not be simple luck; she clearly was sent there to kill the King. Jaime also told the court of the small falcon sigil that was found in the bed beside the bodies, and everyone gasped.

“Impossible!” Littlefinger screamed at Jaime’s testimony, but he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Tyrion confirmed all of Jaime’s story and had nothing new to add.

Tywin would not add to the testimony, as both King and judge, he was required to remain impartial. That left Catelyn Stark.

Sansa squeezed her mother’s hand before she rose and gracefully took her place in the witness block. Her mother was the only person who could confirm that Petyr Baelish conspired murdered Lord Arryn, and it was critical that the court believed her. Of course, her excellent pedigree and name certainty lent credibility to her testimony. And what a testimony it was.

Catelyn Stark wove a story of a man who had been obsessed with her from the time they were children and little Petyr Baelish had come to foster at House Tully. When she openly described Petyr challenging Brandon Stark for her hand, even though she had been betrothed to the latter, and the court gasped. She told the court how the only reason her intended had not murdered Petyr is because she begged him not too. Then Brandon Stark was killed by the Mad King and Catelyn Tully, ever the dutiful daughter married the second Stark son, Eddard even though Petyr thought she should be his then.

“Do you deny this happened, Lord Baelish?” Oberyn Martell asked the man. Littlefinger shook his head, enraged that his greatest humiliation had been brought before the court.

Upon the death of Lord Arryn, and the appointment of her husband as hand to King Robert, Cat, told the court how Baelish said it was the Lannister’s who had poisoned the former hand, sowing the seeds of discontent between the two great houses.

“I am ashamed to say I believed him,” Catelyn told the rapt audience quietly. There wasn’t a single person who didn’t see how she had been manipulated by her friend.

It was only when she was in the Eyrie with Petyr that he told her the truth; he had convinced Lysa to murder her husband so they could marry, and he could gain access to the Knights of the Vale. Petyr had the wealth and influence, but to truly become powerful he needed a kingdom and an army. Marrying Lysa Arryn had given him both.

Cat’s eyes filled with tears as she described how her mad and deranged sister had been in love with Littlefinger since they were children. It was a tragic tale and filled with such nuance and detail that no one doubted Lady Stark.

“She is a whore who killed her own sister to marry me,” Petyr screeched at this point, engaged at Catelyn. “She had nothing. Her son had banished her from her camp, and her own daughter had rejected her from ever coming to Kings Landing. She crawled into my bed in order to gain another Lordly husband.”

Catelyn felt her cheeks blush red at that shame of sharing his bed, but she refused to bow, and soon Tywin had the court back in order. It was hardly the most shocking thing that had been spoken of today. And Catelyn Stark hadn’t precisely been a maiden. The woman was just over forty and had birthed five children. Sharing his bed was not quite as shameful as Littlefinger wanted it to be.

When she told of how she and Ned had trusted Petyr in Kings Landing, how he promised he would keep her husband safe, only to recently learn that her husband had been arrested at the command of Petyr and the Gold Cloaks, her voice broke. No one doubted for a second that Littlefinger had manipulated the Starks and used his friendship with Lady Stark to his advantage. The result had been a very honourable and well-loved man who had died. Many eyes looked to the Queen at this point. But she was filled with nothing but cold rage at the man sitting in the accused box and would give no one a chance to see her grief about her father. That was private and for her and her husband only.

Once again, Petyr simply shrugged and said he was acting on orders from the Queen Regent at the time, and Ned Stark had died a traitor.

Catelyn finally, shamefully told the court of her time in the Eyrie, her confinement by her mad sister, Lysa’s death at the hands of Littlefinger and then his plot for King Joffrey and Tywin Lannister. At this point, Prince Oberyn asked Lady Stark if it were true that she held a knife to the Queen’s throat and threatened to kidnap her.

Catelyn did not deny it. “I was told that my daughter was being abused by her husband. I only sought to escape with her back north.” She swallowed hard and looked directly at the Dorne man. “I was wrong. Incredibly and completely wrong. There isn’t a man in the entire Kingdom who would treat my daughter better than the King.”

Lord Royce looked at her and asked her simply if she believed that Lord Baelish was responsible for the death of the King. “Without a doubt, My Lord,” she answered firmly.

“Even if this means he will be put to death. He has been your friend since childhood, My Lady,” Royce persisted.

“I know what he spoke of, and I knew what his plans were in Kings Landing. I have no doubts, My Lord, even if that result is his death,” Catelyn Stark’s voice and eyes never wavered. Lord Royce nodded.

When she was dismissed and went to rise, Petyr lunged at her, hissing that she was a whore, just one more loose woman he had slept with. Ser Marbrand who had been guarding him at that point smashed his fist into his face, and blood gushed from his broken nose, as Catelyn gratefully made her escape to come and sit down beside Sansa who enveloped her mother in a hug.

At that point, the King rose and called for a break. They had been there for hours, and Baelish’s face was a mess. The hall emptied, and the trial would resume in an hour. The three judged stayed on the raised dais and spoke softly with one another.

“If he confesses to his crimes and wishes to take the black, what will you say?” Lord Royce asked the King. He for one was convinced of the man’s guilt and no matter what the whoremonger said, he would be voting guilty.

Tywin sighed. Any man with half a brain could see the writing on the wall. Baelish could not call for a trial by combat, and everyone knew there weren’t six men in the entire kingdom that would fight by his side. That left the black; Tywin had a suspicion that the man would take it. He valued his life above all else, and while taking the black was an awful punishment, it still meant he would live.

Tywin hated that the rules of law and order forced him to ask the man once again if he were willing to renounce his previous not guilty plea. But he was mere weeks into his reign, and he did not want to be accused of running an unfair trial. That was not the tone he wanted for his reign. His time as King would be above reproach. It was the only way to keep the loyalty of the nobles and the commoners alike.

“He is guilty, I have no doubts, Your Grace,” the Prince said. Then he shrugged. “But if he is willing to confess to his crimes and take the black, I see no way we can deny such an outcome.”

Tywin looked to Lord Royce. The man nodded. “As much as it pains me to agree, I have to side with the Dorne man on this one.”

“I agree,” Tywin said tightly and wondered how Sansa and her mother would take the news. He had explained all the possible outcomes before the trial, and he always knew this was a possibility.

“If possible, Your Grace, the Knights of the Vale would be more than willing to escort the former Lord Protector of the Vale to the Wall, should he plead for mercy and ask for the Black,” Yohn Royce said, a small savage smile on his face.

That’s when Tywin knew he would get what he wanted. Petyr Baelish would never live to take his oaths at Castle Black.

When court reconvened, Petyr was led in. Tywin stood.

“Petyr Baelish, you have been found guilty of the crimes of regicide for the death of King Joffrey Baratheon, and guilty of the murder of Lord John Arryn, former Hand to the King.” Before Tywin could even finish speaking, Baelsih interrupted.

“I plead mercy, Your Grace,” and the crowd let out a shocked gasp. “I confess my guilt and ask to take the Black, Your Grace,” Petyr spoke quickly having seen that the outcome would not be in his favour. All he had to do was survive. He was a master at manipulating those around him, and even in an inhospitable place such as Castle Black, he was sure he would find a way to survive.

Tywin nodded tightly, his mouth thinning. He made a show of conferring with his fellow judges and turned back to the accused.

“The court grants you mercy, Lord Baelish. You will be held in the black cells until the Knights of the Vale escort your to Castle Black to take your vows before the Lord Commander there.” Shocked gasped rang through the crowd. Tywin immediately searched out his wife’s eyes and saw her cock her head at him. He nodded slightly and begged that she would trust him. She smiled slightly and turned to her mother to reassure her.

Tywin dismissed the court, and Baelish was led away, back to the cell that had been his home for the past while. The King left his throne and went to his wife, who stood tall and regal by his side. He looked at his family then and saw the confusion on their faces. He owed them all an explanation, but not here.

“Tonight in the Hand’s dining hall, we will discuss the outcome.” He paused, then looked at those who had testified. “You all conducted yourselves admirably today,” was all he would say before he turned and left with Sansa on his arm. He needed to speak with her first. They walked silently until they made it to the gardens of the Hand where he led her to the bench in the center.

When they both sat down, Tywin opened his mouth to speak, before Sansa said, “I assume Lord Royce has asked to personally take care of him?” She smirked as she watched Tywin’s jaw drop.

“Clever wolf,” he murmured to her and stroked her cheek, loving how intelligent she was.

She shrugged. “There was no other way. If you had denied him mercy, what happens at the next trial?” Sansa snuggled closer to him, knowing that here, alone she could be as affectionate as she wanted with him. He leaned down to smell her hair.

“Lord Royce has assured me that he will be dealt with. If they even make it as far as Moat Cailin I will be shocked. I believe it is the death of Lord Arryn that is particularly offensive to him,” Tywin said and wondered at just how perfect a Queen she was.

“How is your mother?” he asked, and Sansa sighed.

“Today was difficult. But I saw her leave with Ser Marbrand. Did you see when he smashed Petyr’s nose? I almost laughed,” she said, smiling at the memory and how fierce a protector her mother now had. “I believe they may ask to be wed soon, just a small, simple ceremony,” Sansa told him, and he grunted. He could see no issue with that.

It was a dissatisfying end to a gruesome chapter in their time together, but they were both glad the trial was over. Once they received word that Baelish was dead, they would both be able to fully concentrate on their upcoming coronation as well as their heir that was on the way, and how they wanted to rule.

* * *

Tyrion knew that his father had something planned for Lord Baelish. He was incredibly glad that the King had outlawed trials by combat. He could only imagine what would have happened if Petyr had somehow managed to convince someone to fight for him. The man’s eyes burned with hatred for the Lannister’s and Tyrion knew that the man was even know plotting against them.

Margaery was laughing at something Alyce said before she dropped the little girl off with some of her many Tyrell cousins in the garden. They would need to discuss what was to happen to her; Tyrion couldn’t imagine sending her back to the orphanage, but he didn’t want to upset his soon to be wife.

Margaery watched her husband try to puzzle out what she knew he wanted to say. While he was very clever, he’d yet to fully appreciate just how sharp her mind was as well. She took his hand and led them back to his chambers. It felt like it had been days since she’d last had a taste of him, and they had hours before they were required in the King’s dining chambers. With Joffrey and Cersei gone, the entire atmosphere in Kings Landing had changed dramatically. They were to discuss their wedding tonight at dinner, and Margaery hoped the King was amendable to it being moved up. She wanted to be married to Tyrion as soon as possible and she could imagine that the entire month leading up to the coronation would be nothing but one big party now with the trial done. It felt as if the capitol had been freed from a dark cloud.

“How soon can we be married, Tyrion?” she asked. “Everything was planned already. Once we have a Septon and the Sept, we could do it tomorrow if we desired.”

He nodded, knowing she was right, but still. There was a part of him that wanted to take her on their wedding night and not before; only once they were legally and before the gods and their family, husband and wife.

“I promise you, Margaery, we will ask the King tonight at dinner about moving our wedding forward,” he said, joining her on the bed. “I am sure you will mock me for this but the first time I have you properly, I want it to be when you are my wife.”

Margaery felt her eyes tear. She knew she could wait, even if the desire raged in her. She kissed him then, sweet and slow.

“What are we going to do about Alyce?” she asked him at one point and Tyrion sighed.

“Hopefully the King and Queen's new chambers are ready soon. The apartments of the Hand are quite extensive, and I’m wondering if there is a place for her in our household,” he said, unsure what her response might be.

“She can’t go back to Flea Bottom, Tyrion,” Margaery said, aghast at such an idea.

“No, my dear, she honestly can’t,” Tyrion said.

As they readied themselves, he couldn’t help but imagine what this would be like each and every day. He was soon to have a wife! Again. And this time she was a proper highborn lady whom everyone approved of. It was staggering really. When they climbed the stairs to the tower of the Hand, Tyrion linked hands with his beloved. He’d often seen his father do so with Sansa, and Tyrion liked the image it projected. He knew that the reality of life as a noble in Westeros often meant that women were subjected to marrying men who didn’t love them and that Margaery herself had barely escaped such a union. It made him more grateful than ever for his father and his Queen. Sansa Stark had been a godsend to the Lannister family. Before they entered the dining room, he pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles and asked if she were ready. She grinned down and him and led them into the room where their families awaited.

* * *

It couldn’t be helped; dinner tonight was a celebration. The cruel King and his Mad Queen Regent mother were dead. Lord Baelsih was guilty and soon to be dead. And there were weddings and potential heirs to House Lannister and the Crown on the way. Threats remained and always would; but at this moment, House Lannister and House Stark truly ruled Westeros.

Gathered tonight was the large group that had come to make up Tywin and Sansa’s core family and advisors in Kings Landing.

Kevan and Genna were there, along with Tommen and Jaime, the later probably the only man in the kingdom that was still mourning Cersei’s untimely death. Lady Stark was present along with Ser Marbrand, and Lady Olenna and Mace Tyrell were also there. Tyrion and Margaery were not quite the last ones to arrive. That honour belonged to Lady Brienne whom Sansa insisted on inviting. She felt that the woman had more than made up for her fateful error, and the sheer relief on Jaime’s face when she entered made Sansa smirk and shoot her husband a look. He simply tightened his face. He had not quite forgiven the large woman for her error when it came to his wife.

Sansa never left Tywin’s side and through dinner and conversation and wine flowed freely. Once things had settled, Tywin coughed and spoke to the assembled group. He assured them that the Knights of the Vale were more than capable of escorting a single prisoner to the Wall and that nothing would dare happen to Lord Baelish along the way with their protection. Everyone knew the exact opposite would happen. The Knights were set to depart in two days.

Then he announced that not one, but two weddings would take place in the next few weeks before their coronation. It was imperative that his house was as strong and as united as possible when the public ceremony took place naming him and Sansa King and Queen. Because Lady Margaery had been the most affected when her intended died the day of her wedding, Tywin had consented to their marriage taking place in a weeks’ time. And he was pleased to announce that they would be able to move into these very chambers as his and Sansa’s would finally be ready. The other wedding, which would take place in a fortnight would be Ser Addam Marbrand and Lady Catelyn Stark. There wasn’t a single person here who didn’t know about the two of them, but still, congratulations rang out.

Catelyn blushed and wondered how it had come to be that she felt comfortable around these people who were not of her house. She remembered first meeting them and thinking they would always be her enemies, but now they were like family.

After Petyr had been escorted from the Throne Room, Addam had whisked her away to his private chambers. She had let him lead her through the castle until they came to his handsomely appointed rooms. He tried to apologize that he didn’t have more to offer her in Kings Landing, but Catelyn hushed him by pressing her lips to his. She had felt her desire for this man growing and growing, and when he had smashed Petyr’s face during the trial, she wanted to throw herself at him then. She hardly recognized herself, with all these needs coursing through her body. But she thought it might have something to do with watching her daughter and second chances. Whatever it was, Catelyn was done wasting time. Addam hesitated a moment, before he crushed his lips to her, moaning as the desire for her raged through him. He would not take her, not until they were wed, but he would touch her and kiss her as much as he possibly could until the moment when she became his. She had been so brave and so stoic on the stand. Even when Baelish had hurled hurtful words at her, she had remained composed. He’d heard many Lords whisper that she was a testament to her breeding and a true lady, and he was proud that she would be his.

Eventually, they pulled apart from each other, and just gazed upon the other. Neither had ever thought to find another to share their life with, and both had experienced the extreme grief of losing a spouse. He desperately hoped the Gods would bless them with a child; he missed his sons both of whom had died bravely. He wondered about visiting Winterfell after they had wed, and once things were secured in Kings Landing. He knew the Queen also wanted to visit home at one point, but with her pregnancy progressing, it might be years before she got there.

They settled comfortably in his solar to talk and spend time together before they had to go to the King’s dinner. Addam was even gladder than ever before that Tywin had finally seized the throne. It was still a revelation to realize how much Tywin Lannister’s northern wife made him appear trustworthy and beloved to the court and commoners. He had spent many of his hours on the streets of Kings Landing, and he wasn’t sure that the Old Lion knew quite how much his wife was loved by the commoners.

Addam knew his liege lord had a core of steel and ruthlessness and would exploit anyone without a moment’s hesitation. But he was also a man who loved deeply, and the reality of Tywin Lannister was far more complex than just a brutal tyrant in a position of power. Addam would never admit it to anyone, but he had secretly rejoiced when he’d heard that Cersei was dead. He’d watched the Queen Regent spiral further and further out of control, and he had worried about her influence on her father and her brother. He would never say it out loud, but she had been a threat to the Great Lion.

When he had escorted Catelyn into the Hand’s dining room, they had been welcomed like family. Addam made sure to spend time with Jaime, knowing his old friend was still grieving the loss of his sister. And when Tywin announced that their marriage would take place in two weeks, Addam couldn’t help the smile that broke his face. He was anxious to have Catelyn Stark belong to him, and judging by her look, she was equally pleased.

Eventually, their family left, and it was only Sansa and Tywin. He escorted her to their bedroom, where she sunk gratefully onto the padded bench in front of the fire. She had a dreamy look on her face, and Tywin asked her about it.

“I will miss these rooms,” she said and smiled softly. “I still remember the first moment I saw you sitting behind your desk,” she told him, and he caught a wistful note there.

Relaxed and in the mood to indulge her memories, he asked the obvious question. “And what do you remember exactly?” He’d joined her on the bench and started to unlace her dress, loving how she leaned back to let him. They had become so comfortable with each other, and it was these small things that truly reflected how married they were.

She laughed a bit and turned to look at him. “I was so scared. I thought maybe you would order me killed right there. And then, despite how fearful I was, I thought you were so handsome.” She blushed, and he barked out a laugh at her. He honestly couldn’t imagine anyone more suited to him. He leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“Do you want to know what I thought?” he asked her, and she nodded shyly.

“I was told you were a simple, simpering, vapid woman, and I was sorely disappointed that such a beautiful creature was so stupid. And then you challenged me, interrupted me and demanded my hand in marriage. And I thought I could hardly wait to have you in my arms. And that I would never let you go once I had you there, Sansa,” he told her, and his voice got lower and raspier as desire hummed through him. “You had me from that first meeting, wife,” Tywin growled at her.

She turned full then, her dress had fallen to her waist along with her small clothes. Tywin couldn’t help but cup her breasts; they were heavier and fuller by the day. She responded to the barest of touches. He leaned down to take her in his mouth and heard her gasp and held his head to her chest. Sansa’s hand pawed at his clothing; he’d discarded his doublet, but she wanted his flesh as well. She pulled his tunic over his head and ran her fingers down the planes of his chest, his muscles rippling and responding to her eager hands. Needing more, she stood and let everything fall off her until she was naked and bathed in only the light from the fire. She looked like the mother and the maiden combined, ripe and full with his child.

Saying nothing, he walked over to the bed with her and sat against the headboard and settled her on him with her feet planted on the bed. She gently rocked back and forth on him, and he gripped her arse and observed her face until he saw what he was waiting for. Her eyes flew open and looked at him.

“What was that?” she asked and squirmed around again until she felt that tingle again and gasped.

“That,” he said, sucking at her neck, driving her wild, “is a special spot that will make you peak harder than ever Sansa,” he told her, careful to keep his hands away from her. Tonight he wanted her to find this new pleasure. “Keep going love,” he commanded her, and she ground on him. He kept his hands on her arse, guiding her and helping her to hit that patch of nerves deep inside her.

“Tywin,” she moaned, and he knew she thought she was going to have to make water on him.

“Trust me, wife,” he told her, and her eyes locked on his as she continued to move on him. Her breathing got shorter, and she panted until he felt her entire body tense, and she screamed his name. Dazed, she barely realized he had flipped her around, so she was on her back as he pounded into her. Soon enough, he felt that familiar tingle and spent deep inside her.

“That was amazing,” she told him, and he smirked at her.

Eventually, he pulled her from the bed and wrapped her in his favourite robe. As they made their way to their bathing chamber’s he called his steward to change the bedding. Sansa splashed and played with him when they were in the warm water and then she asked if he would wash her hair. He easily complied; he loved her hair. It was so unique, and he wondered at that moment what their child might look like. Part of him desperately hoped for a little girl with her red tresses, even though he knew he needed a male heir. Eventually, he felt her tire, and he dried her off before they made their way back to their large bed, where she crawled into the center and waited for him to join her which he always did. He couldn’t imagine sleeping anywhere else, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, marvelling at all they had overcome so far.

* * *

The morning the Knights of the Vale departed to escort Lord Baelish to the Wall was cool and misty. In the early dawn light, the King and Queen met Lord Royce and his loyal Knights at the edge of the Kingswood. Tywin had Sansa placed atop a matching white mare he had purchased for her and kept her by his side as they rode to meet the Knights. He also brought Ser Marbrand and Jerrod as well as a full complement of City Guards, who escorted the prisoner to Lord Royce. Tywin was still bitter Petyr Baelish was leaving the capitol with his head attached to his body. He knew that Royce violently disliked the man, but Tywin was not a person that gave up control easily and it bothered him that Littlefinger’s smug expression assumed that he would be able to somehow escape his punishment. Tywin would not sleep easy until the word came that the man was dead.

The King looked at Lord Royce and said, “I want proof.” Royce nodded to the man he had bent the knee to. Once he had dispatched Baelish, and provided the King with proof, he would call all the banners of the Vale of Arryn and ask for a show of confidence to be named the new Lord Protector of the Vale. He would also begin to foster Robin Arryn. The boy must learn, and quickly how to become a Lord, and his entire life, he had been coddled and spoilt. Lord Morton Waynwood and his mother’s ward, Harold Hardyng were set to stay in Kings Landing. Lord Waynwood was son and heir to Lady Arya Waynwood and was a man wholly committed to the preservation of the Vale and House Stark. Harold Hardyng was the presumptive heir of Lord Robin Arryn and would ascend to rule the Vale as Harrold Arryn should Lord Robin die without an heir. It was assumed that he would learn from Lord Waynwood and be ready to assume his place on the small council when the time came.

Tywin was not amused that the gallant and handsome knight was staying in Kings Landing. He had caught the young man staring longingly at his wife, and the King would hate to make an enemy of the Vale because he murdered their second in line. Still, if Ser Hardyng couldn’t keep his eyes off his wife, Tywin would teach him a lesson. He was the same age as Sansa and had already fathered one bastard and had another on the way. Sansa herself seemed to pay him no mind, even though there was more than one lady of the court that had tried to catch his eye. Tywin knew his jealousy was irrational; his wife was wholly devoted to him, but he could not let it go. He did not trust any of the Lords and Sers from the Vale.

Petyr Baelish had been gagged, as was typical for prisoners in the presence of the Queen, however, once he was handed over to Lord Royce the gag was removed. He smirked as he looked at Sansa and Tywin. His plans had gone wrong in so many ways; but how many men could be accused and found guilty of killing not only a King but a former hand and live to tell the tale. Petyr was the Lord Commander of the Vale and now the King, idiotically, was handing him to his own men to be escorted to the Wall. Petyr knew they would never get there; the Eyrie would be his destination. Better still, they’d left Ser Harold Hardyng in Kings Landing. No one knew how much he was Petyr’s man, and Littlefinger knew no young woman could resist his charms. He was the prince personified from the tales and songs, and Petyr knew just how attractive that would be the Lady Sansa. There was no way her stern and grim husband could make her happy. All Petyr had to do was wait until he was in a position of security again and he would be able to plot his next moves.

“Lady Sansa,” he called from his horse and started when he received a tongue lashing from Lord Royce about her proper title. “Ahhh yes, my dear, I’m sorry. I mean, Your Grace. I am sorry that we part on such dissatisfying terms. I had hoped my time in Kings Landing would have ended differently,” he said and was slightly surprised when she arched an elegant eyebrow.

“I wonder, Lord Baelish if you have fully considered your predicament,” she said coolly, every inch the Queen. “My dear brother, Jon, is at the wall. I know he will not take lightly to learning of your role in our father’s death. I hear any number of accidents happen to men there.” She took great pleasure in the small look of fear that darted across his face. “You forget, My Lord, I am of the North. Men there are loyal to Starks. And you, are going to the most northern place in Westeros. Safe travels, Lord Baelish,” she said and turned her mare to go back to the Keep. She had said all she needed, and soon had a complement of guards fall in beside her. One of whom happened to be Harold Hardyng.

Tywin was not far behind, but he needed one more word with Lord Royce. He scowled as he watched Ser Hardyng accompany his wife to the keep, and made his conversation with Royce short and pointed before he watched the Knights of the Vale and their prisoner leave on the Kings Road north.

Sansa had returned to the stables, and a young boy rushed to help her. Before he could get a stool for her to step on to dismount, a hand appeared. Sansa looked at the knight who had been so bold to dare touch the Queen without her consent. He shot her what she assumed he believed to be a charming grin, and said, “Your Grace, if you’d allow me.”

Sansa tried not to be rude, but she had no intention of touching such a presumptuous young man that she had not been appropriately introduced too. He set something off in her. There was an air about him that reminded her of Joffrey. The perfect face that hid a black heart. He also shared her former betrothed’s look; blond and fair, although Hardyng was much taller.

Before she was forced to either take his hand, breaking all sense of decorum or be utterly rude and reject his seemingly gallant offer, Tywin rode into the stables. His horse was massive, and it dwarfed hers as it came to a stop beside her.

“Wife,” Tywin growled at her, but she knew from his expression his anger was not directed at her.

“Husband,” she said and grinned. She could see he also disliked the young knight and was glad her instincts were correct. It was funny how dramatically Sansa’s idea of handsome had changed. She knew the old her would have swooned over a handsome knight such as Harold Hardyng offering her his hand. Now he almost looked like a child; certainty like a simpering fool, and definitely not like a King. Tywin set her blood on fire and she couldn’t imagine any other husband for her.

“I thank you Ser, for your kind offer, but as you can see, my husband has arrived,” she said to Ser Hardyng and watched as a scowl crossed his handsome face as he glanced Tywin’s way.

Her husband swung off his horse before he made his way to her and stood in front of Hardyng, who had failed to move away and held his hand to her. Sansa swung down and kept herself pressed against her husband, who leaned down to brush his lips against hers. She clung tighter, and hope that the horrid Harry Hardyng was watching. She was a Queen; not some lowborn woman he could touch whenever he wanted.

When Tywin and her finally parted, she looked at the young Vale knight. Ser Waynward had also shown up in the stables, and Sansa pinned him with a look.

“Lord Waynward, I am unsure of the protocol in the Vale, but in the capital, it is entirely improper for an unmarried knight who has never been introduced to the Queen to offer her his hand,” Sansa said, ice in her tone. “If your ward is unable or unaware of proper protocol, I’m afraid his presence will not be tolerated here,” Sansa finished, and Tywin’s granite face did not betray the glee he felt at her verbal tongue lashing.

She watched at both Waynward’s face, and Hardyng’s tightened in anger. But she was the Queen, and there was simply nothing they could say. Waynward knew that Hardyng had a way with the ladies, and he would have to learn that this Queen was impervious to his advances. Or be removed back to the Vale.

“Yes, Your Grace, my deepest apologies,” Waynward said tightly, knowing he would have to reel the young knight in.

Tywin wasn’t satisfied with that. He walked up to the two Vale men, and said in a low and menacing tone, “If Ser Hardyng ever presumes to touch my wife again, he will lose his hand,” and he turned to back to Sansa, but not before he saw the look of pure fear skirt across Ser Hardyng’s face.

They left the stables without a backward glance and made their way to their new chambers for one last inspection as their belongings were being moved in. By tonight, Sansa and Tywin would have new rooms.

Once they arrived, Tywin opened the doors. The entire set of rooms had been transformed into Sansa’s specifications. There was a solar with Tywin’s impressive desk already there, a room dedicated as a library and extra rooms with space for Sansa. The adjacent bathing chambers were more opulent than the Hand’s and Sansa had ensured that Lannister lions and tapestries, as well as the gold and red of her new house, were in abundance. Sansa had also ordered a large map room to be constructed and a new small council chamber, with an even larger table. Window and light spilled into all the rooms, bathing them in gold and making everything look new.

Their bedchamber was a massive room, and Sansa was most excited that their bed from the Hand’s chambers was already here. Their staff had been very busy. The most exciting part was the small series of rooms that attached to the bedchamber. It was a number of rooms dedicated to their child, including a nursery and a series of connected rooms for wet-nurses and nannies. Sansa knew that most highborn women handed the care of their infants over to staff, but she had no intention of doing that. She saw that the nursery already held a number of important pieces of clothing she had made for her child, and ran her hands lovingly over the tiny garments.

Tywin pulled her to his side and pressed a kiss to her forehead. They were finally alone, and able to speak freely.

“I don’t like that man, Hardyng,” she said without preamble. “He reminds me of Joffrey. And he thinks he’s much too charming by half.”

Tywin smirked; happy he wouldn’t have to reveal his deep-seated jealousy of the knight to his wife. Until her eyes narrowed, and she scolded him. “How you can even be jealous is beyond me Tywin. You know I belong to you, husband.”

His eyes widened, and he debated what to say. He knew his jealousy was irrational, but it didn’t stop it from being there even if Sansa had never given him anything to doubt.

“He’s too presumptuous,” Tywin stated the obvious and Sansa snorted.

“How many bastards does he have?” She asked Tywin, knowing that was not something that would slip by him.

“Cleaver,” he told her, his voice almost purring. He loved it when her brilliance shone through. “One for sure; possibly another on the way.”

Sansa sighed, thinking it was such a waste. “And he’d the heir if my cousin dies without one?”

Tywin nodded. Lord Royce, the wily old bastard, had left quite a distasteful man behind. Tywin wondered for a moment if it was deliberate or simply because the knight could one day be the Lord of the Vale. Either way, Tywin was glad that Sansa saw through the man and his ways.

“I believe he has been fostering with Lady Anya Waynward, and that he is widely accepted by the Lords of the Vale as being the second in line after Robin Arryn,” Tywin’s face soured at the notion.

Sansa sighed. She knew they could rule without the Vale, but it would feel incomplete. And Sansa had felt comfort and comradery with Lord Royce. If only he could have stayed, but he needed to deal with Baelish.

“We need to keep an eye on him Tywin,” Sansa said, and even though he had already set that plan in motion, it pleased him that their instincts on this matter matched.

He cocked his head and looked at her, knowing that he was significantly older than her and wondering if she was at all displeased with her choice of him as a husband. “Aren’t most women interested in the handsome knights from the songs?” Tywin asked her.

She snorted at him. “Husband, do I look _most women_?” She arched a haughty eyebrow at him.

“No, wife, you do not,” he said, finally convinced of her desire for him and not Ser Harold Hardyng.

Sansa met his look, then let the desire she felt for him even now warm her eyes. She knew that he worried about his age, but he needn’t. She loved everything about him, and a man like Hardyng held no appeal for her. She was married to a lion, to a King. She leaned up to kiss him and bit his lip.

“Do not doubt me, or my desire and love for you Tywin. It is all-consuming,” she told him, and wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling his face down to hers. She kissed him again, long and slow and full of everything she felt for him. “You are mine, and I am yours. For all our days,” she said fiercely, and he grunted his agreement.

Soon enough, they were surrounded by more servants who worked to move all their belongings here and broke apart. Tywin went to see how Tyrion was handling moving into his new apartments, and Sansa stayed to oversee things in theirs.

The first small council meeting held in the new Kings Chambers happened four days after the Knights of the Vale had left with Petyr Baelish, and one day before Tyrion and Margaery’s wedding. Present in the room were Tywin, Sansa, Tyrion, Kevan, Varys and Jaime, along with Mace Tyrell, Oberyn Martell, Lord Waynward and Catelyn Stark.

For now, it had been agreed upon that Jaime would represent Tommen’s interest at the small council meeting as the person set to inherit the Stormlands. Deep in conversation, Tywin was angered when they were interrupted by five Vale Knights each carrying a crate.

When the crates were placed on the large table, the first Knight simply said, “Lord Royce sends his deepest regrets to the small council and King Tywin for their failure to protect Lord Baelish on his way to the wall.” The Knights bowed to Tywin and stepped back. The King flicked open the first crate and saw Petyr Baelish’s head inside. The next four crates all contained parts of his body. Everywhere you looked there was damage to the whoremonger; he’d been beaten, bruised, burned and stabbed. Petyr Baelish had met a horrifically painful end.

“What happened?” Tywin snapped at the Vale Knights.

“Bandits, Your Grace,” and someone let out a small snicker. This was not the work of bandits. No, this was the revenge from a faithful house against the man who had killed their liege lord and even though Tywin hadn’t wielded the sword, it was a vastly more satisfying end to Littlefinger than a simple beheading would have been.

“Tell Lord Royce that the Crown appreciates his honesty and accepts his apology for failing to deliver Lord Baelish to the wall,” Tywin said seriously. The knights bowed to the King and left the room.

Tywin saw Sansa and her mother exchange a satisfied look, and he was pleased that he had taken a chance on Lord Royce. At that moment Ser Hardyng entered the room, looking for Lord Waynward and blanched when he saw Littlefinger’s head in the crate.

“What is this?” he cried in outrage. He was loyal to Lord Baelish, and he had assured him that not only would he be back in the Eyrie within a month, that the Queen and the throne would be his. Petyr would deal with Robin Arryn and come up with a plan for the King. Instead, the man was dead; his body strewn along with the table like some grotesque installation.

Tywin pinned the young knight with a look. “Justice.”

Harold Hardyng opened his mouth to protest when Lord Waynward interrupted. He had never understood what his mother saw in the young knight, and he knew he was already on dangerous ground with the King and Queen. “Quite true, Your Grace,” he said before Hardyng could open his mouth and then dragged the young man from the room. Tywin met the eyes of his council, noting the pleasure in most of them.

Oberyn shrugged; he’d had no love of the whoremonger, and now he was dead.

Jaime was glad that the man had met such an end; he felt that the man had contributed to his sister’s madness and ultimate demise.

Catelyn Stark felt torn; yes, she had justice for what was done to her family, but Petyr had been a dear friend for so long, and she had lain with him. She needed to find Addam and confide in him. She knew he would give her guidance and comfort, and they had no secrets from each other. Still, she was glad he was dead.

Mace and Kevan knew that he had been a threat, and now that threat was gone. Tyrion knew his father’s reign had just become that much more secure with the Lord Protector from the Vale dead.

Lord Varys tried to hide the pleasure he felt, but even he could not entirely disguise the small look of satisfaction that crossed his face. He was the true Master of Whispers now, even with Tywin and Sansa trying to chip away at it in Flea Bottom. 

Sansa was gratified such an end had come to Petyr. She hadn’t trusted him in years, and he made her skin crawl. Even leaving, he had been too cocky, and she wondered about his plans.

Knowing nothing more would be accomplished tonight and fearing that Lady Olenna would murder them if they were late to her daughter’s pre-wedding dinner, Tywin dismissed the small council. When everyone had exited to room, he was left with his wife, who suddenly grinned at him and threw herself into his arms.

“You always give me the best gifts, husband,” she murmured to him and pressed her lips to his. He laughed slightly at her streak of ruthlessness. She would need it to rule, and he was happy that she had one that didn’t consume her the way Cersei did.

“I aim to please,” he growled at her and decided he didn’t care if they were late for dinner. He was the King, and he wanted his Queen, and as he pulled her to their bedchamber’s his heart swelled with her pretty laugher.

He had dealt with all the major threats to them save for the blasted Dragon Queen. He had proven himself worthy of keeping his wife alive and well despite the dangers that had been stacked against them. And now, like the lion he was, he would feast on his victory, and take his prize; his beautiful, very willing prize, before he would further secure his legacy tomorrow when he watched his son marry the Rose of Highgarden.


	22. Chapter 22

_ King’s Landing  _

Ironically the wedding of the Hand of the King was turning out to be the event of the season. The lords and ladies that had gathered in the Capital for Joffrey’s wedding were delighted that there was another royal wedding so soon after the last one had been cancelled. Since most things had been planned months in advance for Joffrey and Margaery, only small adjustments had to be made to make it suit Tyrion and Margaery instead. Most of the Lord and Knights that were in King’s Landing were staying until the coronation of Tywin Lannister, so the wedding of Tyrion and Margaery would be even grander than that of Tywin and Sansa due to the sheer number of people in the Capital.

Sansa woke the morning of the wedding and cuddled deeper into Tywin’s warm embrace, loving that when she pressed her ear to his chest, she could hear him almost purring. It was a sound he swore he didn’t make, and she giggled when she heard it. He indeed was a lion, and she delighted in hearing it; it meant he was genuinely content. He must have been at least half-awake, because he grabbed her arse and pinned her to him before he rumbled out a sleepy, “Stop squirming woman,” and she laughed again. Then she began to lick and kiss his chest, tracing the muscles and scars that were as familiar to her as those on her own body.

Eventually, he pounced, and she shrieked as he attacked her neck and breasts, licking and sucking and nipping at her. When he surged into her, she sighed contently, and he smiled.

“Got what you wanted then?” he asked an eyebrow arched at her and a smirk on his face. She nodded, before arching into him and encouraging him to keep moving. Since his favorite place was right where he was, he complied readily, and smiled gently at her as she eventually peaked around him, making him spill his seed deep in her. Afterwards, he rolled onto his back and Sansa spread herself across his chest. She felt him sigh and sent him a look.

“I never thought I’d see the day when he would be married. And to arguably the most eligible woman left in all the kingdom,” Tywin said in answer to her unasked question. Sansa knew there were still issues between the two men, despite their close working relationship. You didn’t erase thirty-five years of hated and anger in a few shorts months. But Sansa was proud of how Tywin was trying with Tyrion. It was all she had asked of him in the first place.

“He’s happy, Tywin, and a large part of that is due to you,” Sansa said. He snorted and sent her a look.

“No, Sansa, it is all due to you,” he corrected her. It was true; without Sansa as his wife, he never would have repaired his relationship with his second son. Without Sansa as his wife, he wouldn’t be King. Without Sansa, he wouldn’t have a chance to make House Lannister into the dynasty it was destined to become.

Eventually they rose and bathed, and soon enough Sansa’s handmaiden appeared to do her hair. Once again, she’d asked for it to be pinned up, and Tywin was glad. He had a new piece of jewelry for her and it would be best if her neck were free. Sansa knew Margaery had chosen gold for her gown, so Sansa had gone with a deep red, almost burgundy hue for hers. When Tywin saw her, his breath stopped. As always, she was stunning. She caught his eye and then saw the box he had from the Royal Jeweller. Before she could protest, he held up a hand. “You are a Queen,” was all he said and came closer so he could open it.

When he revealed what was inside, she gasped. The necklace was heavy and ornate, and the gold shined. Every couple of inches, there was a smaller ruby, until they all led to the largest ruby Sansa had ever seen at the front of the necklace. It was even bigger than the one that was her secret piece from him, and Sansa couldn’t even begin to imagine the cost. He draped it around her neck, and she felt the cold weight of it, but soon her skin warmed the gold. Her dress had left her entire neck and shoulders bare; it was as if she were made for no other reason than to wear such a magnificent piece of jewelry. Sansa felt her eyes tear, and she turned to thank him.

“Mine,” he said to her and she nodded, “Yours.”

Jaime would be with Tyrion this morning, so Kevan, Genna, Tommen, Cat and Addam accompanied Tywin and Sansa to the Great Sept. Shortly after they had taken their places, Tyrion and Jaime arrived. Tywin nodded to Lady Olenna and Lord Willas and stood by his family. He watched his second son try not to fidget as he waited for his bride. The Lannister bridal cloak that Sansa had worn a short time ago was in his hands.

When the Septon started the prayers, and a hush fell over the crowd as Lady Margaery entered on the arm of her father, Mace. Her smile was brilliant, and even those who doubted this was a love match could not deny the joy on the Rose of Highgarden’s face.

When she joined Tyrion at the front, she clasped his hand and sent him his private smile and all his nerves disappeared. When it was time to cloak her, Margaery stepped down two steps, so it was easy to do so and not humiliating for him. As long as he lived, Tyrion would have no idea what he had done to deserve her. They repeated their vows, in front of the gods and family and the full court. When he went to kiss her, she repeated her first action, and there wasn’t a snicker in the crowd; no one dared upset the Great Lion. And then it was done. They were married, and Lady Margaery Tyrell was now a Lannister.

Their feast was festive, and instead of the insane amount of courses that Cersei had ordered for Joffrey’s wedding, they had pared it down so they could feed the larger crowd with donations of food also being distributed throughout King’s Landing to the peasants and commoners. Celebratory toasts rang throughout the afternoon, and even Jaime’s normally grief-stricken expression was lifted this afternoon as he watched his little brother that he loved get everything he had ever wanted.

When Sansa finally got a moment alone with Margaery, she embraced her and welcomed her to the family. Then the women laughed, both now Lannister’s and turned to look at their husbands who had their heads bowed to each other, deep in conversation. Sansa saw the look of lust that filled her friend’s eyes, and murmured, “Soon enough,” to her, before someone snatched the bride away for a dance.

Sansa felt strong arms come up behind her and knew that Tywin had found her. She sunk into his embrace, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Dance with me, wife.”

Sansa turned in his arms and smiled at him before he led them to join the other couples. Just as the music stopped, Ser Hardyng appeared at their side and bowed low. He offered her his hand, and there was no way that Sansa could gracefully refuse even as she tensed. But Tywin could refuse the Knight. He was the King. There was something that set Sansa on edge with the handsome knight, and she was grateful her husband could feel her reluctance to dance with him.

“My wife is tired,” Tywin said shortly and turned them from the Vale knight, but not before Sansa saw something dark pass over his face at being refused her again. She clung to Tywin just a bit tighter as they walked back to their seats at the head table.

“I just don’t like him, Tywin,” she said quietly, and her husband concurred. He spent the rest of the wedding watching the Vale knight, and even though he never tried to approach Sansa again, Tywin saw his eyes track his wife. He would speak with Lord Varys and see if his Master of Whispers knew anything more about him. And he would let Jerrod and Ser Marbrand know his concerns about the man.

Soon enough, with wine and mead flowing, those at the wedding begun to call for a bedding ceremony. Tywin simply stood and said there would be none. Groans and mutters were heard throughout the garden but no one dared go against the King. Tyrion shot his father a grateful look, then grabbed his new wife and left.

As soon as they were around the corner, Margaery let out a breathy giggle, happy to finally be wed to Tyrion and looking forward to her wedding night. When they had finally climbed the stairs to the Hand’s chambers, Tyrion stopped, a bit overwhelmed that this was all his. Truly his. He was Hand to the King and a married man. And no one had forced his wife down the aisle to him. She had chosen him all on her own. Margaery shot him a questioning look and then saw his face.

“You deserve it,” she said softly to him. He shook his head and then grabbed her hand to bring her to their new bedchamber. He was happier than ever that his father had removed the bed that belonged to him from the room and that Tyrion’s own furniture occupied the space.

Margaery was standing beside the huge bed and leaned down to kiss him as he approached her. Caught up in her passion for him, he whispered, “Turn around, wife,” and she complied, kneeling so he could undo the stays and laces of her wedding dress. When he had finished his task, she stood, clad only in some very scandalous small clothes, before she took those off, so her exquisite body was bare before his eyes.

“Husband,” she said when she saw his stunned look. Tyrion looked at her as if she were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Then she pulled at his clothes until he too was naked and very clearly ready for her.

She crawled onto the bed and Tyrion followed her up. He had a need for her that was all-consuming, and as he kissed his way up her body, he could smell her arousal. He dipped his fingers into her and found her ready. He wanted to play and feast and nibble on her; but more than anything, he wanted to bury himself in his wife and take her maidenhood so that she would forever be his.

With love in her eyes, she said, “Now Tyrion. I know it might hurt, but I’ve waited too long for you.”

He kissed his way back up her body until he captured her lips as he pressed a kiss to her lips before he said, “I’m sorry, wife,” and surged into her, feeling a brief bit of resistance until he was fully seated within her. He drew his head back to look at her face to see if she was in pain, but all he saw was pleasure and happiness.

“Husband,” she said to him, her voice full of wonder. Tyrion groaned at what she felt like. 

He was lost to her, overcome by need and love and desire for his wife. He thrust into her again and again, and Margaery wrapped her long legs around his smaller body, until her peak and cry out his name, and Tyrion felt himself finish deep inside his wife. His wife. He knew that they wanted a child more than anything, and they had discussed it previously. There would be no moontea or trying to prevent a child from being conceived. If Tyrion and Margaery had their way, their son or daughter would grow up with the King and Queen’s child.

Utterly spent and completely overwhelmed by the day, Tyrion pulled himself from his wife’s warm heat and settled her in his arms. He pressed a soft and gentle kiss to her lips, and simply said, “I love you wife.”

She beamed back at him and whispered, “I love you as well, husband.” Undone by all that had happened so recently in his life, Tyrion felt himself drift off to sleep, content and happy in a way he had not been ever before.

_ Lady Catelyn’s Wedding  _

Catelyn Stark’s wedding to Addam Marbrand was supposed to be a quiet, family affair with only the Lannister’s and Tyrell’s present. But word had spread throughout King’s Landing that the beloved woman from House Tully was remarrying one of the most trusted men in the realm, and what had started as a small intimate gathering, quickly spiraled into a wedding that rivaled that of Tyrion and Margaery’s.

Catelyn protested of course, but it was useless. She was the mother of the Queen and was marrying the Lord Commander of the City Watch. A man who had restored honour and dignity to the post and one whom the commoners had come to love. Under Ser Marbrand’s command, crime and violence had been significantly reduced in King’s Landing along with Sansa’s social programs. Flea Bottom had never been so safe as it was under Tywin Lannister’s rule.

Sansa laughed brightly as she heard her mother’s gentle protests, but nothing could sway Genna Lannister from planning another large and festive gathering. Years of war had left too many with nothing to celebrate, and now the commoners, peasants and nobles alike wanted to be merry.

Tyrion and Margaery had disappeared for a time after they had wed, so it had fallen to Sansa and Genna to do most of the planning. Sansa’s top dressmaker had been summoned to create a new gown for her mother, and Sansa smiled happily as she watched her mother’s face light in happiness.

When Margaery and Tyrion finally sauntered into the King’s dining hall after having ignored everyone for three days, it was to japes and raised eyebrows.

Tywin himself looked at his second son, and said dryly, “After all that there had best be an heir on the way.”

Tyrion smirked; confident he had done his best. He had never felt better. It was entirely different, lying with his wife. Despite what he had felt for Shae, she was always going to be a dirty secret and she never would have been welcome at the family table.

Jaime slapped his little brother on the back, truly happy for him and his new wife. He knew that more than anyone, Tyrion deserved to be loved.

Sansa hugged Margaery, once again welcoming her to the Lannister family. She briefly wondered if she could make something happen between Jaime and Brienne, thinking if she could, then both her close friends would be part of her House. She had started to work on mending her relationship with the large woman, and they had spent a pleasant afternoon conversing one day. With Margaery back, the three Lannister women moved mountains to prepare for Catelyn’s wedding until one week later, Sansa found herself in the Great Sept again, standing beside her husband, watching another person she loved get married.

Catelyn had asked Jaime to walk her down the aisle, and he stammered out a yes, honored that she had wanted him. Addam and Jaime were close friends, and Catelyn and Jaime themselves had an odd bond due to their complicated histories. Both felt a deep connection to one another as they walked their paths of redemption.

While waiting for her mother in the sept, Sansa’s eyes roved over the lords and ladies present, until they collided with Ser Hardyng’s. She felt a chill skirt down her spine at the look in his eyes, and she shuddered. When Tywin leaned down to press his lips to her ear, he asked her what was wrong.

“Ser Hardyng,” was all she said, and she watched as her husband eyes met the man’s insolent gaze. Tywin knew something was going to have to be done about him, and sooner rather than later. He had an unnatural obsession with Sansa that Tywin simply couldn’t figure out. Varys had only been able to turn up the most basic information about the man. He was definitely the father of one bastard with another on the way, and he seemed to warm a new bed each week. But no one could uncover why he was so fixated on the Queen. Tywin meant to get to the bottom of it. For now, the Knight made no overt moves; but Tywin watched as the man’s eyes tracked his wife and he did not trust him. The Knight could never hold the King’s gaze for long.

Sansa cried when her mother and Ser Marbrand pledged themselves to each other and was shocked at how emotional she was to realize that she would no longer be Lady Stark. That honour now belonged to Robb’s wife in the North. But Sansa could see how happy her mother was, and she knew that Ser Marbrand was a good man.

Later at the feast, once again held in the gardens, Sansa sat and watched her family and friends laughing and japing with one another. Genna hadn’t left her mother’s side all day, and the two were close friends. Margaery and Tyrion still couldn’t keep their hands off each other, despite Tywin’s stern looks. Sansa secretly thought it ridiculous since he touched her at least as much as Tyrion did his new wife, and Tywin caught her rolling her eyes at him more than once. Tyrion might not be his natural-born son, but they were so similar that Sansa often shook her head at their antics.

Sansa let Jaime pull her from her chair for a dance, happy to see that he at least seemed to be enjoying himself at the wedding. He was still a very graceful man, despite having only one hand, and Sansa felt comfortable in his arms, in a way she did with few men. He was her family, and almost like a brother to her.

“How goes training with Lady Brienne?” she asked him at one point and saw him startle slightly before a look of pleasure came into his eyes.

“Good, Lady Sansa,” he told her and then smiled at her. “She is an amazing warrior.” Sansa was pleased that he didn’t add _for a woman. _It seemed in Jaime’s eyes; her gender had no bearing on her skills.

Eventually, her mother made her way to Sansa and she embraced her.

“I’m glad to see you so happy, Mother,” Sansa said and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

Catelyn blushed and then smiled, amazed at the turn her life had taken. She never would have believed she would have been able to find happiness in a place such as King’s Landing. Or a second chance. When Ser Marbrand approached them, he bowed to the Queen, before Sansa laughed and hugged the man. She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek as well and welcomed him to the family.

The Lord Commander blushed, and held his wife tight to his side, before meeting Sansa’s eyes. “Ned Stark was a good and honourable man, Your Grace. I know I will never replace him in your heart. But I am honoured that you are my daughter. You are a fine Queen and a true testament to your House.”

Sansa felt the tears well in her eyes and saw the look of adoration her mother shot her husband. Yes, Ser Marbrand was a good man. Then they turned and made their way back to the dancing. Sansa looked up to search for Tywin, losing sight of him in the swell of people that had joined in the celebration.

Left alone for a single minute, Sansa hadn’t realized that Ser Hardyng was waiting for this moment. She felt someone grab her arm and another snake around her middle. In less than a second she was dragged from the feast into a darkened corner of the garden, unseen by anyone. Sansa went to scream, but he was too quick and clamped a hand down over her mouth. He had taken her to a small, dark concealed corner of the garden, and turned her so she could see his face.

His once handsome face was now a contorted mask of hatred and dark desire, and Sansa felt a ball of fear settle in her stomach. She had done absolutely nothing wrong at the wedding. She hadn’t left her guards or gone off with this man. She had simply been standing there. And within a moment she was alone with a man who had no permission to even touch her; and looked like he wanted to do much worse than that. She shuddered when she felt him put his hands on her stomach.

“I wonder what would happen if I cut this lion out of your belly right here, Lady Sansa,” he sneered at her. He had drawn a short dagger out and ran it along her belly. Sansa’s entire body went numb, and she felt like ice.

Nothing had gone right for Harry since he’d come to the capital. He had been promised a kingdom and a wife and instead he’d been humiliated and scorned by the King and Queen. Worse still his protector was dead, carved up like some animal. Rage at his treatment had finally spilled over. He would make Sansa Stark pay for rejecting him. How on earth she could let that old man in her bed was beyond Harry’s comprehension. Soon she would know what it felt like to be with a true Knight.

Sansa squirmed and tried to get away from him, but he was too strong and he started ripping and slashing at her gown, his one hand never leaving her mouth. She tried to kick him, to move away from his hand as it tore at her clothing, but nothing worked; he was just too strong for her. Eventually he had ripped the top half of her gown off, so Sansa stood there in only her corset and her necklace, tears streaking down her face.

“Did you know you were promised to me?” he asked her and she wondered if he were mad. She’d been married for months now, and the only other person she’d ever been betrothed too was Joffrey.

“It’s true. Petyr Baelish had such sweet plans for us, Sansa. Plans you have ruined,” he cursed at her and ripped more of her gown away from her body, until it was a pool of ruined fabric at her feet. Then she felt his hand work its way up her legs as she tried desperately to keep them shut. She was heaving now, almost sick at the thought of what he might do to her.

“Open up your legs for me Sansa, or else I will make this as painful for you as possible,” Harry demanded into her ear, his breath hot and sticky against her ear. She kept her legs clamped together and heard him growl in frustration. Just as he pulled back from her, trying to get her to the ground where he could use his superior height and weight to pin her down, Sansa saw movement out of the corner of her eye.

Without warning Ser Hardyng was ripped away from her. She gasped as her mouth was free again and felt Tywin’s arms come around her as he cradled her to his body. She was shaking and sobbing from what had just happened. Jaime was with his father, and he had the knight pinned to the ground, his sword drawn and under the man’s neck.

The three of them exchanged a look, and Tywin left Sansa momentarily to take Jaime’s sword. The man pinned to the ground was sobbing, begging for his life. With one more look at Sansa, and a nod of her head, Tywin simply ran the man through. There would be no trial, no public humiliation of his wife, no chance for the man to take the black and escape his punishment or demand a trial by combat. The Vale Knight had been told if he touched Sansa again his life was forfeit. And he had done much more than simply touch Tywin’s wife. Tywin pulled the sword from the body and handed it back to Jaime, before he looked at his son.

“I will deal with this Father,” Jaime promised, and felt sick at the state that Sansa was in. Tywin shrugged out of his doublet and wrapped Sansa in it. “Take her and go. I will let Tyrion and Jerrod know.” Tywin nodded to his son; his rage so potent he couldn’t even speak.

Jaime watched his father gather Sansa and leave the garden party before he turned back and found Jerrod standing their mouth agape.

“He attacked Sansa. I’m not sure how much damage was done,” Jaime said simply an indicated to the body. “Find Tyrion.”

Jerrod nodded and left, returning moments later with a happily inebriated dwarf who sobered quickly at the sight before him. Jaime once again explained what happened and Tyrion swallowed. He could hardly blame his father for running the man through; and he felt sickened at what had happened to Sansa.

“What can I do?” Tyrion asked, and Jaime sighed.

“Let us clean up this mess. We will think of something. Someone is going to have to tell Lord Wayward that his ward is dead,” Jaime said.

“Perhaps a jealous husband?” Tyrion suggested. He’d made it a point of knowing all he could about the second heir to the Vale and the man’s reputation proceeded itself in King’s Landing.

Jaime and Tyrion exchanged glances, wondering what they should tell Lady Catelyn. Tyrion knew that Sansa would eventually tell her mother what happened, but for now, the wedding could proceed without anyone being the wiser.

“I’ll say that Sansa was exhausted. The baby or some such story. Thank you, brother, for being there for her,” Tyrion said, shaken at what had happened to Sansa. Tyrion saw a brief flare of pride in Jaime’s eyes that he had been there for his family and his brother nodded at him.

Tywin had gathered Sansa in his arms and she curled into him, catatonic after what she had just been through. He had lost sight of her for a mere moment, in a crowd that loved her and she had been attacked. He wanted to call all his banners and ride to the Vale to demand what Lord Royce had known about this Harold Hardyng before he had left the man here in King’s Landing. He was enraged with the entire Kingdom.

When he exited the gardens, Varys caught Tywin with the Queen in his arms and one look at her dishevelled state and the rage in the King’s eyes, and he moved to them quickly.

“What needs to be done?” he asked, worried for the Queen. He had a deep and abiding love for Sansa.

“She was attacked by Ser Hardyng,” Tywin spat out, seething at every word. “No one knows. Help Jaime see to the body. And secure Lord Wayward. I want him in my solar at first light. He will answer for this.”

Then Tywin swept by the Master of Whispers and to their chambers. When he got there, his Red Cloak guards opened the doors, their eyes widening at the state of the Queen, before a calm rage came into their eyes. Sansa was beloved by all those loyal to House Lannister, and they would kill anyone who hurt her.

When Tywin entered their chambers, he gently placed her on their bed, before he went to call for the Grand Maester. Sansa’s voice stopped him.

“I can’t, Tywin,” she said, almost choking on the words. When he sent her a puzzled look, she said, “The baby.” She knew that some of those potions could harm a child and she would not risk it.

“I just need to get clean,” she said quietly, her voice breaking and he gathered her back up and brought her to their bathing rooms. Once there he filled the largest tub with water and added the oils she loved so much. He watched as she stripped off her small clothes, and saw that she was shaking. He quickly followed her lead and sunk them into the warm water where he held her as she sobbed and shook. Eventually, she started to speak.

“I was talking with my mother and he came out of nowhere,” she said. “It was Petyr.” Tywin frowned, but before he could question her, she continued. “Harry was Littlefinger’s man. Petyr had promised me to him. And when I didn’t show any interest, he decided to take what he thought was his.”

Tywin wished the man were still alive so he could kill him all over again. Both of them; Hardyng and Littlefinger. Tywin felt her start to shake again. She was starting to breath heavier and couldn’t catch her breath.

“The worst wasn’t what he wanted from me. He took out a dagger and drew it along my stomach. He said that he would cut my baby from my belly, Tywin,” her voice was utterly broken at the end, and Tywin’s blood had run cold at what she had endured. He felt helpless, and useless that he had been unable to prevent the man from getting to her.

“Shhh love,” he told her, needing to calm her even though all he wanted was blood. Sansa was overcome by what had just happened. With Joffrey, Cersei and Littlefinger dead they had thought she was safe. But she had just been attacked in the most public place imaginable. And it sickened Sansa what Harry had wanted to do, not only to her but to their child. She pressed herself closer to Tywin.

“Don’t leave me,” she said so quietly he could hardly hear her. She was worried he would call a small council meeting tonight, or seek out Lord Wayward. But she needed him by her side.

“Never,” he vowed to her. He would keep her by his side always. She was everything to him, and he had almost lost her. They sat pressed together in silence until he felt Sansa’s hand come up and cup his cheek.

“It’s not your fault,” she said softly, reading him so easily. He grunted, knowing it was a lie. It was his job to protect her, to keep her safe, to ensure no harm came to her. And he had failed.

“Tywin, he came out of nowhere. In the middle of a crowd of people that were our family and friends. I was alone for a mere moment,” she said, her voice stronger now, knowing he needed her as well. This had been an attack on both of them, meant to make them feel vulnerable and exposed.

Sansa felt Tywin’s large hand go down to cradle her stomach. Their child was there. A child they already loved and both desperately wanted. And now two people had tried to end its life before it had even been born. She placed her hands over his, and looked him in the eyes.

“We are safe, husband,” and Sansa pressed her lips to his.

“I want to tear the Kingdom apart Sansa,” he whispered to her, letting her see all the rage he felt, his desire for blood and vengeance.

“I know,” she said, knowing how deeply he loved her and how this attack would make him feel. She sighed.

“We both knew there would always be threats to us, Tywin,” she stated. It was part of being the King and Queen. She had known this when they had discussed taking the Iron Throne.

The water had cooled, and Sansa rose and stood before him, naked and ripe and beautiful. He couldn’t help himself. He felt himself respond to the sight she made and it shamed him after what she had just been through.

“No,” she said to him, reading the look on his face. “Do not let him take this from us.” His eyes met hers and saw the spark of need and desire there.

“Are you sure?” he asked and she nodded. He wrapped her in a massive towel and brought her back to their bed, where he laid her down, marveling at her body and the changes the pregnancy had brought. He kissed her stomach and drove back the fear at how close he had come to losing them both today. He gently pressed kisses along her stomach and then lower, and smelled her arousal. Sansa clearly wanted him and he sent up a silent thanks to the gods that this hadn’t been stolen from them.

He worshiped her, making her peak against his tongue and fingers, needing to see the pleasure on her face as she peaked.

When she finally met his eyes again, she could see a slight hesitation there, and she said, “I need you, Tywin.” He let out a groan at how she knew him so well and sunk into her, careful to keep the pressure of her stomach. Coming into her felt like home, and as he took her, he whispered how much he loved her, how much he needed her, how she was everything to him. She was sobbing by the end, but they were tears of relief and connection instead of terror and heartache. When Sansa finally clenched around him again, Tywin held himself in her as he spilled deep inside. Still needing to be close to her, he wrapped her in his arms and stroked her until she fell asleep. It would be hours before he would follow her, unable to stop the feelings of terror he had felt when he’d seen Hardyng tearing at her. Eventually, exhaustion won, and he tumbled into a broken sleep, wondering who would come for them next.

The next morning Varys was true to his word and escorted Lord Wayward into Tywin’s solar. The King did not know if the Vale man had anything to do with the attack on his wife. When the Lord had been seated, Tywin glared at him.

“Yesterday, the Queen was attacked by Ser Hardyng in the gardens,” Tywin stated and watched a look of shock and horror steal over the man’s face. He either had no idea about the Knight’s intentions or was the best actor Tywin had ever seen. The King sighed. It was clear that the man was not part of a conspiracy to hurt Sansa.

“Your Grace,” he said, stuttering and swallowing hard. “Where is Ser Hardyng now?”

“Dead,” Tywin spat. He wondered if the Vale lord would protest such an action. He watched the man swallow and then nod.

“Anyone who attacks my wife will not live to see a trial,” Tywin said. He couldn’t care less what anyone thought of that. He was the King of the Seven Kingdoms, the Warden of the West and the most powerful man in the realm. Any attack on Sansa was an attack on him. And those who had any such thoughts would know the consequences would be immediate and fatal.

“I will leave you to send word to your mother, Lord Wayward. I will tell Lord Royce,” Tywin said and dismissed the man.

Once he was gone, Tywin looked at Varys, and sneered, “Does Littlefinger have any more men waiting to accost my wife, Master of Whispers?” He was frustrated that Varys’ informants had not turned anything up before the assault had happened.

Varys shook his head. “I don’t know, Your Grace. I want to say no, but Littlefinger was a master at manipulating people.” Tywin grunted before dismissing him as well, happier than ever that he and Sansa had started to develop their own network of spies in Flea Bottom. He would send word to the orphanages that someone had tried to hurt the Queen, sure that if anyone had any information, they would come forward. Sansa was well-loved by those she had helped. 

He left his solar to find his wife. He would not be parted from her these days. He had explained how he needed to keep her by his side and that she would attend Court as well as the small council meetings. If anything were too much, they would adjourn until she was ready to continue. He knew he was ridiculous, but he didn’t care. Sansa hadn’t put up a single protest at his heavy-handed demands. She needed to be by him as well.

When he walked into their bedchamber, he saw she had dressed for the day in a gown that covered her from head to toe. He knew it was her armor; her way of coping. The attack had made her feel exposed and vulnerable. When she saw him, she went to him so that she was in his arms and he could press a kiss to her cheek. Surprisingly no nightmares had chased her last night, and she knew that it was because Tywin had taken care of the threat.

The next two weeks everyone in King’s Landing noted how close the King kept the Queen by his side. Tyrion and Jaime had checked in with her multiple times, and out of all their family, only Kevan and Addam had been informed of what had happened. Sansa didn’t want Margaery, Genna or Catelyn to worry or treat her differently, so she begged Tywin to keep it from them. He agreed, understanding her need for privacy.

When a rider appeared a few days before the coronation with word that her sister and Sandor Clegane were camped half a day’s ride from the capital, awaiting word from the King and Queen, she begged Tywin to let them ride out to meet them. He relented, knowing how much she had missed her sister. Jaime and Ser Marbrand also said they would come, and Sansa excitedly made her way to the stables, chirping cheerfully to Tywin that she was about to see her sister again. It was the happiest he had seen her since the attack. He smiled indulgently at her, pleased that Sansa would see part of her family again, but secretly worried about the effect that Arya Stark and Sandor Clegane would have on his household.

Still, anything that made Sansa this happy was worth it; the gods knew she’d been through enough grief and heartache in King’s Landing, and Tywin could only hope that his own jealousies and insecurities didn’t ruin the reunions that Sansa had been looking forward too. Mounted on their white horses, the Lions of Lannister’s rode from King’s Landing to welcome the wolves from the North back to the capital. The coronation was mere days away, and Tywin still awaited word that Robb Stark planned to bend the knee to the new King.

_ The Kings Road  _

Arya and Sandor waited until each house that had pledged a man to Sansa’s Queensguard showed up in Winterfell before they left for King’s Landing. The northern houses sent six men from houses Umber, Karstark, Hornwood, Manderley, Glover and Crewyn, and a woman from House Mormont. Sandor snorted at that, and then remembered how fierce Arya Stark was. Northern women were not the same as those from the south, as he had discovered.

Sandor hadn’t stopped thinking about the little bird, now the Queen since Robb had told him the news. Arya had seen that he was distracted and teased him mercilessly about it. He honestly didn’t know how to feel about her. There had been no other woman that had even caught his eye since he’d left that night the Blackwater burned. He’d been too preoccupied with surviving to worry about women.

Lord knew enough wenches had thrown themselves his way since he’d made it to Winterfell, and as his reputation grew, he’d even had a discussion with Robb about being married off to a Northern Lady to help him secure a stronger alliance with some of his northern houses. Sandor had spat his wine out when Robb Stark suggested such a thing to him. He was an old, scared dog that no one wanted. Except, it seemed for the ladies in the North. Robb informed him that there was more than one Northern house that had inquired about Robb’s Master of Arms.

Too bad the only woman he had on his mind was unattainable. It wasn’t like he would even know what to do with her if he’d ever even had a chance with her. But Sansa Stark occupied far too many of his thoughts these past few weeks, and it was only worse the closer he came to King’s Landing.

He knew that half the reason he had decided to protect Arya Stark after he’d fled King’s Landing was the simple fact of who her sister was and how much he had felt he’d failed her. Since then he’d come to appreciate Arya all on her own; hell most days he thought of her as his little sister or perhaps even a beloved niece. Arya Stark was family to him; he’d become part of her pack, willing to defend her and die for her and her family the way a brother or a father would.

But it was her pretty sister that Sandor thought about the most as they rode south. It was madness. Sansa was now married to the single most powerful man in the entire realm; a man that Sandor Clegane knew well. Tywin Lannister was a not a person you fucked with. He could crush you with a single word or blow. And no man that wanted to live would mess with Golden Lion’s beloved wife. If the stories were true, and Tywin had somehow fallen in love with his wife, Sandor knew that any man who even looked her way wrong risked his life. The Old Lion jealously guarded everything that he perceived was his and Sandor knew there was very little that Tywin didn’t view as his own. Including Sansa.

Sandor hoped like hell that the situation was as Sansa had described; that she was in love with her husband and he treated her well. Sandor knew she deserved at least that much after the treatment of King Joffrey. And he wasn’t sure what he, or Robb would do if she were unhappy and being mistreated. She was married to the King and Sandor knew that the Golden Lion had never been more powerful. Whether Sansa was treated well or not, Tywin Lannister would never let her go.

Sandor also had severe misgivings about being back in King’s Landing itself. There were so many horrors there and Sandor just didn’t know how useful he would be in the Capital. But he knew if Sansa asked, he would stay and guard her with his life despite what it might do to him.

He knew he would rather be in the North. He had his friendship with Robb and had pledged himself to Arya; but it had always been about the little bird, and he suspected it would remain that way for some time. Which meant if she asked, despite knowing what it would do to him, he would stay in the shithole that was King’s Landing. For her. This truth angered Sandor, even as he accepted it. He had built something for himself in the North; respect, friendships, family, and loyalty to an honorable house. The south was nothing but drunkenness, anger, rage and humiliation. He hadn’t been called dog in so long he wondered what it would feel like the first time some southern bastard did so. Still, one couldn’t very well say no to the King and Queen.

Robb hadn’t been japing when he’d said that they would ride south with full Stark colors. Sandor had been outfitted to look like a Northern Lord, and he was proud of the clothes he wore, even if they weren’t of the house he’d been born into; they were the House that had given him a second chance.

As they traveled, he watched as Arya bonded quickly with the six knights and one lady that would become Sansa’s guards in King’s Landing. The trip back south was vastly different from when they had ridden north a few short months ago. Peace had finally come to the seven Kingdoms and it was apparent whenever they passed a village or saw wagons loaded on the Kings Road. It had been years since the common people felt it was safe to move about safely.

Sandor knew in large part this was due to King Tywin and his iron grip on the seven kingdoms. Word had reached them that he had all seven kingdoms pledge their loyalty to him; including Dorne and the Vale. Sandor wondered what he had to give to the Dornish to get them to agree. He knew that it had been the Great Lion that had ordered his brother to murder Elia and her children.

Passing Moat Cailin was a tense time; Sandor had been told the moment he crossed this point his life would be forfeit. But that was before Sansa had become Queen and he had the entire backing of the North. Nothing cataclysmic happened, and they safely reached the Twins that were being held by House Reed. Meeting them there to continue their journey was Arya’s uncle Edmure and his wife Roslin, from House Tully in the Riverlands.

When Arya saw her Uncle’s face towards Sandor she immediately came to Sandor’s defense. “He’s Robb’s most loyal man, Uncle. He saved Rickon and helped rebuild Winterfell.” Not quite trusting his niece, Edmure looked around at the faces of the northern Knights that accompanied them. He saw nothing but the truth in their eyes; somehow against all odds, Sandor Clegane had become a loyal Northman. Shrugging away his concerns, he knew he was in no position to protest the man’s inclusion in their group.

After resting at the Twins for two days, the small group pushed on. The closer they came to King’s Landing, the more they heard the praises of the King and Queen. Arya groused the entire trip hearing about the beautiful Queen Sansa, and the _Northern Princess that saved the realm_. She thought she’d be sick these people were so enamored by her sister. All she could remember is how silly and stupid and womanish Sansa had been. These people talked about her sister as if she had a spine of steel and the heart of a lion.

Arya grew more nervous the closer they got to King’s Landing. Very bad things had happened the last time she had travelled south. Both her and Sansa had lost their dire wolves, and their father had lost his life. She still didn’t know whether she could trust her sister, and knowing her mother was there as well, turned Arya’s stomach. Plus there was the simple fact that her sister had married a very powerful and very scary man.

Arya remembered her time as Tywin Lannister’s cupbearer. She had no doubts that had he known who she was, she would have been used for whatever purposed suited him at the time. She could admit that he treated her well while they had been together; in fact without Tywin Lannister she and Gendry might have died in that horrid place. Still the man was a Lannister, and the most powerful one of all. He had been an enemy of the Starks for a long time; Arya remembered his rage at her brother Robb and the plans he had made to ride against the North. And now Sansa was married the head of the entire pride.

They also heard stories of the death of the Queen Regent as they got closer to King’s Landing, and Arya pouted that another name had been removed from her list. She still wasn’t sure what she would do with Sansa’s husband; he’d clearly redeemed himself at the battle of the Twins by riding to her brother’s side and he had returned her family’s sword. She was torn and it was tearing her up inside.

When they were half a day’s ride away, Sandor sent a rider to King’s Landing to let the Queen know that her people from the North had arrived. Arya was itching to see her sister and her mother and wanted to press on, but Sandor was unmovable on this. The moment they crossed into King’s Landing they would be in the lion’s jaws. They would wait for word that they were welcome.

Camped that night by the side of the Kings Road, Arya found a spot beside Sandor on a log in front of the fire which he sat well away from.

“What do you think it will be like, being back there?” she asked this quietly so no one else could hear.

He grunted but knew that wouldn’t placate her. “Don’t fucking know. It’s a lot hotter than I remember,” he said and watched her grin.

“That’s because you’re used to the North now,” She told him. “Do you think you will stay here?”

He could be wrong, but he detected a hint of worry in her voice. “Guess it’ll depend on the Queen,” he sneered, not willing to show her how nervous he was about meeting Tywin and Sansa again. He still wasn’t convinced that this whole thing wasn’t some giant ruse to lure him south and lop of his fucking head for deserting that fucking cunt Joffrey.

Just as she was about to open her mouth to ask another question, he snarled at her, “Go to sleep little wolf. We will know tomorrow what fate has in store for us,” then he lifted his huge body from the log they had shared to go and lay on his bedroll. He knew he wouldn’t sleep, but he couldn’t talk with her anymore either. Eventually he heard her move away and find her own spot to sleep.

Two days later and no word had come from the rider they had sent. The group was nervous. Sandor had repeatedly sharpened his sword, and tended to Stranger, but even he was running out of things to do.

That was until the sound of horses broke the stillness of the camp. Arya shot up from her place by the fire and watched as the red and gold banners of House Lannister rounded the corner. Leading the group was the King on his massive white war horse, and sitting beside him on her pretty white mare was her sister the Queen. The group all rose to their feet, before the retinue stopped and everyone bowed to the monarchs. Sansa was in a state, unable to believe that her sister was here, in front of her, alive and well.

The group heard the King growl, “Easy wife,” before they saw him dismount and come to her side where he helped her down. Then he stood back and watched as she ran towards Arya, her sister having taken off to meet Sansa. They caught each other, swinging around in each other’s arms.

Clegane rose then and met the King’s eyes. Now would be the moment of truth; had he been forgiven for his craven act or was he to lose his head? Grey eyes met green and Sandor saw the banked fury and frustration with him in the Great Lion’s glare, but then the King simply nodded and ground out, “Clegane,” before brushing past him and going to the sisters.

Arya was grinning like a fool in Sansa’s arms, and reached out to touch her prominent stomach. She knew her sister was pregnant, but she looked much further along than four and a half months. “Sweet sister,” Arya said and looked up in wonder when she felt Sansa’s tummy.

The Queen laughed prettily and kept a firm grip on her sister as Tywin approached. Arya watched as her sister’s entire face lighted at the sight of her husband, and saw as Sansa reached for him. The King tucked his Queen to his side and met Arya’s gaze.

He cocked his head at her, and said “I was a fool to ever believe you to be a low born with a learned stone mason for a father.”

Arya grinned at him and shrugged her shoulders.

“Safer to travel My Lord,” and indicated the breeches she was currently wearing. While no one would mistake her for a boy any longer, she certainly did not look like a lady the way Sansa did. Still, she knew he was an extraordinarily powerful man, despite being Sansa’s husband, so she curtsied to him at the end and murmured, “Your Grace.”

Tywin snorted at her, secretly pleased to see she hadn’t lost her cheek or her cleverness. When she lifted her head, she saw that Tywin had leaned into Sansa and asked softly into her ear, “Happy now wife?” It should have sounded condescending, but instead it just sounded loving and concerned. Sansa grinned and then in front of everyone, pressed her lips to his, kissing him soundly.

Arya’s mouth dropped at such a display, and she looked to the knights that had come with her to be Sansa’s guard and saw they had the same stunned looks on their faces, along with her Uncle and Roslin. Northerner’s were not used to such open displays of affection. And certainty not from the King and Queen.

“Yes,” Sansa said and nuzzled at Tywin. “Thank you, husband,” and kissed him again, grinning happily.

A laugh broke the groups’ stunned surprise, and everyone looked up to see the Kingslayer perched atop another white war horse_. The Lannister’s certainty liked to look pretty_, Arya thought sourly. Then she realized that now included her sister.

“I’m afraid you’ll all have to get used to them,” he told the group and pointed to his father and Sansa. “They are not shy about their affections for one another.”

Arya narrowed her eyes to see if he was mocking her sister, but all she saw in Jaime Lannister’s face was devotion and love for the King and Queen. Sansa blushed prettily and shot Jaime an annoyed look.

“A wife can be found for you son,” she japed with him and he mocked horror until she laughed again. Her uncle then made his way forward to embrace her, and she threw her arms around him, hugging him warmly and welcoming him and his pregnant wife to King’s Landing.

Tywin coughed to indicate it was time to ride back to the capital, and left to converse with Jaime before they set off on the road again, leaving Sansa momentarily alone.

She turned and searched the group until she spotted him. He was impossible to miss. Larger than any man she had seen, her eyes teared when she saw him clothed in her house colors and sigil. His robe and clothing was that of the North, and she saw that he flew the dire wolf banner. It had been so long since she’d seen her house sigil, and to see one of her family’s greatest protector’s fly the banners now was almost too much. She walked swiftly to him, seeing that he was packing up his camp, his back turned to her. How did you thank a man that had almost single-handedly saved your entire family?

“Ser Clegane,” she said when she was closer to him and saw him heave a great sigh, before she heard him mutter, “Not a fucking ser.”

She grinned; glad he hadn’t lost his bite, but as he still had his back to her, she pressed on.

“Perhaps not, although I believe as Queen, I could rectify that situation,” she said. That made him turn and face her.

He was still the Sandor she remembered from her memories; grey eyes, black hair and that horrible scar on half his face. But to Sansa he represented safety and protection. She owed him her life and the lives of her siblings. Grey eyes met blue, and Sansa smiled warmly at him.

“Little bird,” he breathed, unable to believe she was here, that she had survived the nightmare that was King’s Landing and that cunt Joffrey. He coughed then, and said, “I mean Your Grace...” She held up her hand to stop him.

“Sandor, please don’t,” she said quietly. “I know we have much to say to one another. But there is only one person in this world that I can say saved my life repeatedly when I was alone here, and that was you. You don’t need to call me by my title. Not after what you have done for me and my family.” She watched as he swallowed hard and then nodded.

“When you’re settled, we will talk. I can’t even imagine the stories you must have. And I’m eager of news from Winterfell,” she told him and smiled at him again.

He nodded again, stunned by how happy she looked. He too had watched her and her husband when they had approached the little wolf. He’d never seen his liege lord act like that around anyone. Ever. And it was clear from her reaction to her husband that she truly loved him. Sandor felt something settle in him; all he’d ever wanted was to keep her safe. And now she was. There was no one in the realm that could protect her better than Tywin Lannister.

“I’d imagine you’ve got a story or two yourself,” he said gruffly and nodded at her to indicate her new status.

She grinned widely and laughed then, full and rich. “That I do.” There was so much unsaid, but they would have time to talk once everyone had settled in the capitol.

She turned and made her way back to her husband, who had never really taken his eyes off of her. Sandor watched as Tywin drew her to his side once she had reached him, and kept her pressed to him, before she leaned up to kiss him once again. Sandor shook his head, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Soon enough the camp was packed, and the horses readied. Sandor watched as only the King touched his Queen and she was soon on her mount, before Tywin himself sat atop his huge warhorse. Then he heard Tywin ask her if she were ready, she sent him a sly look and spurred her horse on, before Jaime Lannister laughed and the rest of the guards kicked their horses to follow her.

At that moment, Sandor caught the look on Tywin’s face; the man was utterly devoted to her. Sandor knew then that any worries or fears that Robb had about Sansa’s marriage were groundless. Tywin Lannister would burn the seven kingdoms to the ground if anyone hurt his wife. And Sandor pitied any man who came between the lion and his lioness. There was no way that he would hurt her; he was much too in love with her.

Arya slid in beside him and shook her head.

“Can you believe it?” she asked and nodded towards Sansa, still stunned by the change in her sweet sister. Gone was the vapid and stupid woman who only cared about handsome boys and pretty dresses. In her place was a strong and confident woman who was Queen of the realm and deeply in love with the scariest man Arya had ever met. A man that acted like a kitten around his pretty wife.

Sandor grunted. And spurred Stranger to catch up with the King and Queen, with Arya following close behind.

When their group arrived at the gates to King’s Landing, Arya and Sandor, along with the seven Northern knights and Edmure and Roslin Tully, watched as the streets filled with commoners as Sansa and Tywin rode by. The feeling of King’s Landing was decidedly different than the last time Sandor was here.

Sandor understood why. These peasants and commoners loved their new King and Queen. They were jubilant at the coronation that would take place in a few days. Sandor watched as Tywin never let a smile crack his stern face, but Sansa waved and smiled to those she rode past. It was her; she made him more likeable, and therefore both of them beloved.

When they had finally stabled the horses they were led into the Red Keep. Tywin inspected the Northerner’s that had come to guard his wife and grunted, barking out instructions for them to be shown to their rooms. Then he looked at Sandor, Arya and Edmure and told them to follow him and Sansa.

Sandor knew the Red Keep well, and soon enough they found themselves outside the doors to the King’s chambers. He swallowed hard, remembering the last two Kings that had occupied these rooms. But when Tywin pushed the doors open and they entered, Sandor was pleasantly surprised to see that they had been completely redone. Not a hint of Joffrey remained. Waiting inside was Lady Catelyn Marbrand and the moment Arya saw her mother she threw herself into her arms, pushing past Sandor.

He watched as the little wolf was cradled by the pretty woman, who stroked her back and murmured to her nonsensically. With a discreet cough from the King, the two women broke apart and they were all brought into Tywin’s solar. Sandor’s eyes widened as he watched Sansa reach for her husband’s hand, and that Tywin tucked it to his side. When he went to sit at his desk, Sansa was still by his side so the four of them were left standing on the opposite side of the huge desk. Tyrion had also managed to slip in, and Sandor grunted at the dwarf. At least he’d always seemed to look out for the little bird, and he’d stopped that beating the one time. But the last time they’d met he’d told Tyrion Lannister the king could go fuck himself so Sandor wasn’t completely sure what his reception from the man might be.

Tywin allowed an awkward silence to fill the room before he cleared his throat.

“You are here at the request of the Queen,” he said to Arya, Sandor and Edmure and met their gazes. “Each Kingdom has been offered a seat at the small council table. Sansa has been representing the North. Lady Catelyn Stark, up until her wedding, has been there for the Riverlands.”

At that announcement, Arya and Edmure pinned Catelyn with a look. She blushed and held up a hand. “It is a very long story, which I will tell you.” Before Arya could protest, Catelyn continued, “Once you have been bathed and fed, we will meet tomorrow and I will tell you all that has happened since we’ve parted ways.”

“Who?” Arya said and felt the tears come to her eyes. She knew her father was dead, but it seemed like a betrayal that her mother would marry again. And so soon.

“A good man, daughter,” was all Catelyn would say and watched as Arya’s face closed defiantly. She sighed, knowing it would be difficult to convince her second daughter of what she felt for Addam. Catelyn met Sansa’s eyes though and saw her support. Sansa adored Addam.

“Clegane,” Tywin said tightly, and Sandor raised his eyes to meet the Kings. “Robb Stark has informed me that you will be his proxy here in King’s Landing. You will be afforded every honor that position holds, including attending family dinners and small council meetings.”

Sandor shifted uncomfortably. _Fuck_, he thought, _what had Robb been thinking appointing him to such a position_? Sure, when they were in the North, alone and in his solar, Sandor spoke freely and honestly to his friend. But King’s Landing was a whole different political world. But Tywin was the King, and Sandor could not say no. He nodded tightly.

“Quite a step up, Dog,” Tyrion quipped. “I believe the last time we spoke; you were telling the King he could go fuck himself.”

Sandor shuffled uneasily, and looked at the dwarf, wanting to smash his face in for calling him a dog like that cunt King Joffrey used to. What the fuck was it with these lions that thought they were better than everyone else? Before Sandor could react, the Queen spoke.

“Tyrion stop,” Sansa said, her voice biting and angry. She had discussed at length with him what Clegane had done for her and for her family and now he dared called the man a dog. Sandor’s eyes widened fractionally at her defense of him.

The dwarf held up his hands, defensively, “A simple statement of facts, Your Grace,” he said by way of apology, but he saw her eyes were murderous and realized he had grossly miscalculated. An error he wouldn’t repeat.

As her family was dismissed, Sansa told Tyrion to stay. When everyone had cleared the room, she looked at her husband and his hand.

“I won’t have this. Not for the time he is here in King’s Landing. Sandor Clegane has been loyal and true to House Stark. He is here as my brother’s proxy,” she told both men, her anger at them and the treatment of their former loyal bannerman enraging her. “He did not have to come south; he has no reason to trust either one of you. You both know how awful Joffrey was. He protected me. Do not forget that. He is not a dog and will not be treated like one. Do not make me regret championing you, Tyrion.” She let her furious gaze meet his eyes and the dwarf swallowed hard and realized just how badly he had misstepped.

Then afraid she would say more and make a true disaster of the situation, she swept from the room, but not before both men saw the look in her eyes. The Queen was angry. Very angry.

Tyrion met his father’s gaze and started to apologize, before Tywin waved a hand. “It is not just you. She feels he is the one man that saved her. Again and again when she was alone here and trapped with Joffrey as King. And then he saved her sister and her brother. The Stark’s loyalty to Sandor Clegane is resolute, including the Queen’s. You best remember that before you bait him and her again,” Tywin told his son.

“And you agreed to allow him back here?” Tyrion asked, somewhat dumbfounded. He has watched his father jealously guard his wife against anyone who got too close to her, and he knew what had happened to Harold Hardyng. No one dared cross the King when it came to his wife.

Now there was a very large and very dangerous man that was going to be extremely close to the Queen. A man that the Queen was very loyal too and Tyrion was stunned that his father would allow such a man access to his wife. Despite the fact that Clegane would clearly die for her and she was certainty safest in his presence.

Tywin sighed and rubbed his face wearily. He had no doubts of Sansa’s feelings for him. And for Clegane. When she gazed upon him it was that of a brother or a beloved cousin. And he could not detect the same lecherous gleam in Sandor’s eyes that he had seen in Harold Hardyng’s for his wife. For some reason, Clegane had a bond with the Stark sister’s and Tywin was at a loss to explain it.

“I agreed when she sent word to her brother to ask for her sister to come south. I knew Sandor Clegane would be at her side,” Tywin said, avoiding the question. He looked at Tyrion. “I trust my wife, son. And don't ever doubt that I would choose her over you."

Tyrion nodded. He too had not detected anything romantic between the two of them. More like survivors of some horror that had reconnected after a battle. He took a moment to really think about what it had been like for her when she had been at Joffrey’s mercy. He still remembered the day Clegane rescued her from not one, but three rapists. Later he’d found the large man drinking his Dornish red, and he’d explained in gruesome detail just what they would have done to her. And he did offer her his cloak when she was stripped and beaten. Sansa had told Tyrion that he’d also offered her a way home; to protect her the night the Blackwater burned. Tyrion shuddered to think what would have happened to his family if she had left them that night.

Tywin rose from his desk and dismissed his son before he went to find Sansa. He needed to speak with her, and he hoped he wouldn’t find her in a rage. Sansa rarely got angry, but when she did, she was a force to be reckoned with.

When he entered their bedchambers, she was sitting on a bench in front of the fire place, lost in her thoughts.

“I shouldn’t have asked him to come back here,” she said when Tywin sat down beside her. She turned and grasped Tywin’s hand.

“He will always be a dog to you and Tyrion and Jaime,” she stated and held up her hand before he could protest. “I am not trying to rewrite history. His interactions with you and your family are what they are. To the Lannister’s Sandor Clegane will always be a dog and nothing more.” She paused, then continued, “But to the Stark’s he will always be a hero. He doesn’t deserve to be treated the way that Tyrion just did. Did you see that Robb sent him with his banners? He’s wearing the Stark sigil and Robb trusts him enough to speak from him here in King’s Landing. I didn’t even know they had become that close. I think his place is in the North Tywin, not here.”

Tywin felt a sense of relief steal over him. He wasn’t proud of his jealously, but it was as much a part of him as his cool logic. And even though Sandor Clegane may be the strongest fighter in the realm, having him that close to his wife day in and day out would drive him mad despite the security he might bring protecting her.

“I am sorry we will never see eye to eye on him, Sansa,” Tywin said quietly, and she shook her head.

“We don’t need too. He’s found his place. Once the coronation has happened, him and Arya will go home. They will go North and that is what is right. All I ever wanted was to make sure he’d made peace with himself and to thank him for saving me,” Sansa said and then buried herself in Tywin’s arms that banded around her to hold her snuggly to him. He could feel the tension between them lessen now that she had decided the scarred man’s fate.

Sansa pulled back slightly and looked up at him. “I love you husband,” and she pressed her lips to his. Tywin grunted his agreement, fully confidant in his wife’s love for him.

Tywin knew that as long as Sandor Clegane was in this world, he would work to defend the Stark’s and Sansa whether he was by her side in King’s Landing or in the North.

And Tywin trusted his guards here in King’s Landing. Between Ser Marbrand and the City Watch, the Red Cloaks led by Jerrod, and now Sansa’s seven northern guards, Tywin felt as secure as he could with her safety. It was enough that Sandor Clegane would protect her family in the North. It would give her piece of mind knowing he was there with them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~********************************~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_ Stark Family Meeting  _

Arya Stark was in a snit. And she had been since she’d been reunited with her mother only to be told moments later that her mother had remarried. She’d spoken with Robb about what had happened at Riverrun and with Sansa’s marriage. She knew her mother disapproved of both her children’s marriages so much that she left the safety and security of Robb’s army. She’d been there when Robb had received the raven from Sansa, briefly explaining that their mother was now safe in King’s Landing and under Tywin and Sansa’s protection. She knew all of this, and somehow, she had still expected her mother to be the same when she saw her again. It was true that Arya had always given her mother the most grief; she hated to sit through her lessons and couldn’t care less about needle work (the kind that Sansa lived for), but still, it was her mother. Now she seemed like a stranger.

Dinner that night was exhausting. All Arya could do was stare at these strangers and enemies, unable to believe that these people were now Sansa’s family. She remembered the imp and the Kingslayer; now Sana’s sons. She watched as her sister held court, laughing and conversing with everyone. Tyrion had recently been married and his wife seemed to be a typical stupid southern woman who only cared about the gowns she wore and how pretty she looked. Arya had nothing in common with such a woman.

Tommen was a moron, talking about knights and battles and fights. Arya was certain she could take him if they would even let her dual him. Sandor was an excellent teacher.

Tywin sat at the head of the table like the King he was. He only truly smiled when he looked at her sister, and that was creepy enough. Then Arya had to watch them paw and kiss each other and thought she would gag. They were so in love it was sickening, and Arya felt her resentment build towards her sister. Clearly, she had an easy time in King’s Landing, given where she had ended up. Arya hadn’t even had a chance to speak with Sansa and ask what happened to Cersei or Joffrey.

The only people that Arya liked were Kevan and Genna. They were funny. And they didn’t treat her like she was some stupid relative. They japed with her, and Kevan entertained her with story after story about battles he had been in. It reminded Arya of the time she’d spent with Tywin, just less intense and with less chance of being murdered. And even though they both clearly adored her sister, they made sure to ask her questions about the North. When she said things, she thought would be shocking, they just laughed; Genna especially.

Her mother and her new husband weren’t there, and Arya was pissed that Sandor had begged off as well. She was sure he was drunk somewhere in the castle, trying not to let his ghosts and demons destroy him being back here. Arya wasn’t even sure why they had come. Clearly the Lions of Lannister were fully in control of the Kingdom; what did it matter if she were here anyways?

She shot daggers to her uncle and his pretty wife, who had bonded quickly with Sansa and Lady Margaery. _Of course they all bonded_, Arya thought, resentment spilling through her. _They were all such stupid creatures, only caring about husbands and babies and pretty dresses. _

Arya barely slept that night, having gotten used to the hard camps they’d made on their way here. The bed was too warm and too soft.

Breakfast was almost a repeat of last night’s dinner, except this time Sandor slunk in to join them and her mother appeared near the end as well.

Tywin told Sansa that the library was free for their family meeting, and she beamed at him as if he’d said something important. Arya rolled her eyes at her sister. It was nauseating. She pinned Sandor with a look. He would not escape this family meeting this morning. He knew all the Stark secrets, and was here basically as Robb.

Finally sensing Arya’s building resentment, and knowing her mother was seriously concerned about the outcome of this conversation, Sansa stood and kissed her husband before she ushered their group into the designated room.

Present were Genna, Catelyn, Sansa, Arya, Sandor, Edmure and Roslin. Arya wondered why Tywin’s sister needed to be here, and then saw the woman give her mother a comforting hug. When everyone had settled, Catelyn begun her story. She was weary of sharing the tale, and hoped this might be the last time. She could have started from the beginning, and made her actions look better than they had been, but she decided her daughter deserved the truth. She had long since accepted that Arya might hate her after her tale. So she started when she had left Edmure and Robb at Riverrun. She spared no details about what happened at the Eyrie and her and Petyr’s plans for Sansa when they came to King’s Landing.

When Arya’s eyes narrowed and she asked, “Did you fuck him mother?” in a harsh tone, Catelyn quieted Sansa who had sprung to her defense.

“Yes, I shared a bed with Petyr Baelish. I will regret that decision every day of my life,” Catelyn said and then held up a hand. “I make no excuses for my behavior Arya. But you will not speak to me that way again.” Arya bowed her head, chastised and prepared to listen to more.

Catelyn apologized profusely to Edmure when she told him of their sister’s death and although saddened, he knew that she had been mad for a long time.

Sandor’s eyes widened when Lady Stark told how she had tried to kidnap Sansa, and all eyes shot to the Queen who simply nodded. Sansa took up the story then, explaining how misled their mother had been by Littlefinger and how Tywin was willing to spare her life if she went back North, for Sansa.

Arya’s mouth dropped at that admission from her sister. It wasn’t long before the lies and deceit that Littlefinger had done to the Starks came out, and Arya felt the tears spring to her eyes when they told of his role in their father’s death.

“Where is he now?” she demanded.

“Dead,” Sansa said and met her gaze. “A trial was held. He was charged with the murder of King Joffrey. When he was found guilty, he pleaded mercy and took the black. He was accosted by bandits on the way to the wall and murdered.”

Arya snorted, glad that he had met a grisly end. Nearing the end of her tale, Catelyn took a deep breath and told her family how she had become closer with Sansa and her new family. Arya grimaced at that. Sansa should be loyal to the North, not to these lions. And then she met a man whom she fell in love with.

“Who is he?” Arya ground out.

“Ser Addam Marbrand, Lord Commander of the City Watch,” Catelyn said and met her daughter’s eyes. Arya might have hated the Maester’s lessons, but that didn’t mean she was stupid. She knew exactly whom Lord Marbrand swore allegiance too.

“Did she force you into it, mother?” Arya asked, shooting an angry look at Sansa, who gasped in shock as such an accusation.

“Arya, how could you possibly think that?” Sansa said, hurt beyond belief.

Arya laughed, bitter and cold. “I remember you, Sansa when you were preening for Joffrey. I was there when you stood by and they took Father’s head. What did you do to secure such a position for yourself?” Arya reigned blow after blow down on her sister, forgetting to stories Sandor had told her about her treatment by the former King.

Sandor looked between the two women and saw that things were spiralling out of control. He saw the hurt and tears in Sansa’s eyes and the look of rage in Arya’s.

“Enough, little wolf,” he barked into the room, the first thing he had said. She knew her sister’s time in King’s Landing had been hell.

Arya crossed her arms but wouldn’t stop looking at Sansa. The Queen met her gaze and then looked to everyone in the room. “Leave us,” she said and her tone brooked no argument. Soon it was only her and Arya left.

She cocked her head at her sister. “I know you had to endure many horrible things to be where you are today. But so did I,” and she saw the disbelief in her sister’s eyes. Sansa shrugged and simply walked to the adjoining room, into Tywin’s solar.

“I need your help, husband,” she said and he came soon enough. Once there Arya refused to shrink. Now was when she was sure she would see the true nature of her sister and her Lannister husband. Sansa turned and asked him to undo her stays. Arya didn’t know what she was playing at, until Tywin pulled the dress from Sansa’s top half and she was covered in only her small clothes. “All of it, husband,” Sansa said, and Tywin complied. Her voice was granite.

Arya gasped as Sansa’s back came into view. It was littered with pale white scars that crossed over it in every direction.

“Who did this to you?” Arya whispered, horrified.

“King Joffrey ordered me beaten and stripped each time Robb won a victory,” Sansa said. Arya recalled the Hound telling her this, but to see the evidence on her sister’s back was horrifying.

Tywin pinned Arya with a hard look. “I like you, but if you upset my wife there isn’t a place in the seven kingdoms that you can hide from me.” Then Arya watched as he gently touched Sansa’s back before pressing a kiss to her neck and helping her dress.

When Sansa had been put back together again, she clutched at Tywin for a moment, before brushing her lips against his and thanking him. He gave Arya one more hard look before he returned to his solar.

“You might hate him, and I don’t blame you. Lannister’s and Starks have never been friends. But he is my husband, Arya, and I love him more than anyone in the seven Kingdoms,” Sansa said, and Arya felt a deep shame spill through her body. Clearly, there were things her sister had been through that she didn’t understand, but it was all too much for her right now.

“I never forced mother into anything with Ser Marbrand. He’s a good man and he loves her. She was broken, Arya, when she first came here,” Sansa continued. “Just give us a chance. That’s all I ask.”

Arya nodded before she turned and fled from the room.

Sansa sighed and made her way next door to Tywin’s solar, knowing he would be waiting for her. When he saw her enter, he put down his quill and opened his arms so she could come and sit on his lap. He said nothing and just held her. She had spoken to him last evening about her concerns with her sister. She knew that Arya distrusted them deeply and that she was upset about their mother’s marriage. Sansa, ever the peace maker, had tried to get her sister to see reason, but Arya was hot-tempered.

Tywin pressed a kiss to Sansa’s cheek that had come to rest against his face. He wondered briefly if she was sad that she would not be returning home with her sister and Clegane now that she had seen them. As if she could read his thoughts, she turned her face so his lips met hers.

“I am happy here with you Tywin. She is my family, and I love her, but my place is here with you,” she said softly to him.

He knew that she had a meeting with Sandor Clegane this afternoon, and he had to use all his legendary control to not demand that he be present. But he trusted her and knew that she needed to sort things with him once and for all.

Sansa sighed and then rose, muttering that she had to go find her mother and make sure she was ok. She kissed him one last time and promised to come to find him after her meeting in the Godswood, secretly delighted in the trust he was showing her. She knew it did not come easy for him.

_ Godswood  _

Sansa had asked Jerrod to tell Sandor to meet her in the small godswood in King’s Landing that afternoon, and when she arrived the big man was already there pacing. Sansa was exhausted from the emotional conversation with Arya earlier. She knew it would take her sister time to get over their mother’s betrayals and to adjust to the new marriage her mother had secured for herself. But Sansa had forgotten just how tiring her family could be.

When Sandor saw her, he stopped pacing and just stood and watched as she approached. It was the first time he was truly able to just observe her; without her guards and her new family or her husband hovering about her. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, and very pregnant. Unlike Cersei who had always flaunted the Lannister wealth, Sansa wore it like she’d been born to it. She was hardly the same woman he remembered chirping niceties to Joffrey and crying after being beaten by Trant and Blunt. Sandor realized in that moment that what she was, was a survivor.

Sansa had a few small benches placed here in her favourite spot, and when the Queen came to pray, no one disrupted her. Jerrod cocked his head at her and nodded once she was settled; he would not leave her alone, no matter how much she might trust Clegane, but he moved to the very front of the entrance so that he would not overhear their conversation.

Sansa sunk into the bench, grateful to be off her feet and resting. Her pregnancy was making her more tired than ever, and she felt huge already. When she indicated the bench next to her, Sandor huffed out a sigh and sunk his large frame into it.

“I want to start by thanking you for everything you’ve done for my family,” she said quietly.

“Still chirping,” he grunted back to her and watched her eyes narrow.

“I am not simply giving you platitudes, Sandor. You saved me, my sister and my brother. That’s more than half of House Stark,” she snapped back at him and saw him grin. It seemed his little bird had grown into a lioness. He watched as she took a calming breath and continued to speak.

“I am not the same person as when you left,” she said quietly, and he watched her eyes get lost in her memories.

“How?” was all he asked. He was never a man for many words.

Sansa sighed. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about how she had secured her marriage with Tywin. Not even her mother. But she knew that Sandor had played a large part of it. She shrugged.

“I watched and learned and listened. I heard when you told me I was stupid, and silly, and naïve,” she watched him closely and saw him grimace.

“Your Grace, I’m sorry,” he said, and she shocked him when she snorted.

“Sansa,” she said, correcting him. Then she kept speaking, “You were right. If I had continued along that path, who knows what would have happened to me,” Sansa said dryly, and Sandor saw her spine of steel hidden beneath the beauty.

“I’ve never told anyone what happened between Tywin and myself,” she said so softly he had to strain to hear her. She looked him straight in the eyes then. “A hound will die for you, but never lie for you. Isn’t that right?”

He nodded.

“He wanted to marry me to Tyrion,” she said and heard him growl at that revelation.

“Fucking Lannister cunts,” he muttered and shot her a look.

She grinned at him, “I had the same reaction, although now I can say I love my son dearly, even if his behaviour towards you yesterday was appalling. At the time though, I was in possession of certain information that allowed me to negotiate a better marriage for myself. And for my future children.”

Sandor snorted. “Found out that Joffrey wasn’t really King Robert’s, huh.”

Sansa gaped at him, astonished that he knew. He waved a massive hand her way.

“I’ve known those two since the day they started. And Joffrey looked nothing like King Robert. Not hard to figure out.” He eyed her then, impressed. “Good for you, little bird.”

She smiled at him then. “You gave me a clue, once. When you told me that Joffrey always acted like a spoilt lion. I wondered why you didn’t say a spoilt stag.” They grinned at each other.

“Why him though?” Sandor asked again. How had she ended up married to Tywin Lannister?

Sansa looked him straight in the eyes. “He was the only person in the entire realm that Joffrey was scared of. He was the only man, save you, that could protect me from the King. When you left that night, he was the only option left to me.”

Sandor shuffled uncomfortably. He knew that night the Blackwater burned he’d scared her. He often regretted how drunk he’d been when he’d gone to her. Maybe if he’d been a bit soberer and less angry, she would have come with him.

“Was it bad? After I left,” he asked. She nodded.

“But only for a short time, and then Tywin and I were engaged, and it was better,” she said, her voice betraying no emotion.

“I’m sorry I scared you that night,” he started to say, and she shushed him.

“I was stupid to think that Stannis would win. Or treat me any better than the Lannister’s. In the end, it all worked out,” she said and watched him snort in amusement.

“I’ll say. Queen of the seven fucking Kingdoms,” he muttered, and he heard her laugh.

“Oh gods, I’d forgotten what it’s like to be treated like Sansa and not the Queen,” she said, highly amused by him.

“He treats you well?” Sandor asked, needing to hear the words from her, even after all he’d observed.

He saw her eyes fill with tears, and emotion fill them. “I love him so much, Sandor. It is more than I could have ever hoped for in a marriage. Especially to a Lannister,” she told him honestly and saw his shoulders sag in relief.

“That’s good,” he said, happy she had managed to find something decent in this shit hole. Sansa had heard all about his and Arya’s adventures, and how beloved he was in the North.

“I appreciate, more than you can ever know, you coming here, standing for Robb, checking up on me, protecting Arya,” she told him. “And you cannot know how much it means to me to know that you would give up everything you’ve built in the North to protect me. But I am releasing you from that duty, Sandor.”

His mouth dropped open. He’d been told that Tywin himself wanted him to guard his wife, and he would do it because he was nothing more than a loyal dog that did his master’s bidding. But he would miss his new home in the North tremendously.

Sansa indicated Jerrod, her very faithful guard. “Jerrod is more than capable of protecting me. Plus Tywin. He is never far. I know how close you are to Robb. My brother needs you. Arya needs you. The North needs you, Sandor,” she paused and cocked her head at him, “And I think you need it.”

She watched his face and saw his jaw flex and his hands' clench. She was unsure if he were overjoyed and angry, until he said, “Are you sure?”

She nodded then, and he looked her in the eyes. “Protect my family, Sandor. Tywin and his loyal men are here for me. This is my home now, with my husband. But Robb still needs you. It will make me sleep better at night knowing you are there for him. He is too trusting and too naïve,” she said to him and Sandor grunted his agreement at that statement.

He nodded then. “I would have stayed,” he told her.

“I know, but this isn’t your place anymore.” She rose then and pressed a soft kiss to his scarred cheek. “I am glad you lost some of your anger, Sandor Clegane. And there will always be a place for you, wherever I am. Always remember that if you are feeling lost.”

He felt the emotion rise up and threaten to choke him. He’d only ever wanted to keep her safe. And now she was giving him her family to protect. Her faith in him was astonishing. He reached out and grasped her hand and said in his raspy voice, “I’m glad he loves you, Sansa. You deserve that.”

She smiled and looked at him. “So do you,” and then turned and left the Godswood with Jerrod.

Sandor sat there stunned. He’d come back south thinking he was to be commanded to stay in this hellish place and guard her. And he would have done so, no matter how unhappy it made him. But he’d seen that she was no longer a pretty little bird but a lioness, a wolf and a Queen. She was surrounded by people who loved her. And now she’d given him the greatest gift possible; his freedom.

A moment later Arya darted in to sit beside him. He could see that the little wolf was still upset from her earlier conversations with her family. Like him, she had some deep anger buried in her.

“So, are you staying? Going to be a loyal dog to my sister once again?” she sneered at him and she couldn’t help the bitterness in her voice. He’d been her protector for so long, and she was angry that he would just abandon the North for Sansa. He was an idiot to do so. Couldn’t he see how much here sister loved her husband? There wasn’t anything left for him here, but it seemed like everyone loved Sansa these days.

Arya was in a state. If Sandor stayed who would she train with? Spare with? Share meals with? Sandor was family. He was like Jon, the brother she’d loved more than any other and had lost to the Wall and his sense of duty. And now she would lose Sandor too. It just wasn’t fair.

“Told you I made my oath to you,” he said quietly. Arya’s face whipped around to his.

“You’re not japing?” she demanded, and he shook his head.

“You’re coming home then? With me?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Aye, little wolf, I’m coming home with you.” He grunted as she threw her arms around his massive chest and hugged him.

“Fuck sakes, woman, who else can whip your ass when you’re being a bitch?” he said, overcome by the Stark sisters and what they meant to him.

She punched him in the shoulder then, “You’re a piece of shit, you know that right?” she said. She grinned at him so he would know she didn’t mean it literally.

He smirked at her. He was happy that Sansa had released him from his duty in King’s Landing. He wondered briefly if Robb had any luck with Theon and if Rickon were still wild as that great wolf of his. And then he let himself simply feel the relief that he wouldn’t be made to stay in a place where his memories haunted him and ate away at his soul. He was a different man in the North, and he’d ride home knowing he’d be welcomed there; it was a heady feeling for a man like Sandor Clegane.

His little bird was loved and as safe as she could be, and he had a new house and family that he would die for. In his entire life, Sandor Clegane had never believed in second chances. Not until he’d met the Starks and realized that he could be something more than just the Lannister’s loyal dog.


	23. Chapter 23

_ Winterfell  _

Robb was busy in Winterfell with both Sandor Clegane and Arya gone from the Castle. There were years of work to do to restore the keep, and even though progress was made each day, Robb sometimes felt like an imposter. He could admit he wasn’t ready to be Lord of Winterfell; he wished for a few more years to learn from his father. And he missed the nightly conversations he’d come to rely on between him and Arya and Sandor.

His wife was a constant amazement to him. Without his mother’s overbearing presence, Jeyne had taken over as the Lady Stark as if she had been born to rule here. He loved that they were the same age, and ruling with her felt as natural as breathing. She was loving and kind to the commoners and worked hard to restore the Maester’s chambers. Robb had sent word to the Citadel that they required a new one and had received a raven back saying one was being sent their way. She had also overseen the gathering of all the winter stores as they all knew winter was coming. She had arranged for widows and orphans and those that had been injured or hurt during the war to receive appropriate compensation. And she had taken over Rickon’s care, making sure his wild younger brother was by her side often. Rickon, alone with the wilding Osha for so long, willingly stayed by her side now that Sandor had gone south.

And it had been under Jeyne’s care that Theon had indeed started to recover. Accidentally one day she had let Rickon accompany her into his room, and Theon spied the littlest Stark. He thought it was Robb when they were younger and safe in those memories; the Iron Born Lord started to talk generally with Rickon about all sorts of mischief they had gotten into when they were younger. After one such encounter, when Theon talked and joked with Rickon for a full hour, Jeyne had dragged Robb to the room the next day to witness the phenomenon.

Robb was stunned. Theon had lost his haunted look and had put on a decent amount of weight, so he no longer looked like a walking skeleton. For some reason, Rickon and Shaggydog had endless patience with the broken man, and Ric just sat there and let his disjointed mind wander down the memories of growing up in Winterfell. Robb was proud of Rickon and hugged him when he exited the room.

“Why’s he like that?” Ric asked Robb, giving his brother a curious look. Robb sighed and ran a hand through his hair. His brothers and his sisters had seen much too violence and horror for children so young.

“He was tortured,” Robb said and then saw Rickon nod at that information.

“Cleaner to have killed him,” Ric said, and Robb nodded his agreement.

“Father always said that whoever passed the sentence was honour bound to carry it out. It was why it was me that took the traitor Ramsay Snow’s head,” Robb explained to Ric.

He had never regretted his decision to end Ramsay’s life despite what the man had done to Theon. Robb Stark wasn’t built to torture people until they forgot their name.

On one such afternoon when Jeyne exited Theon’s room, Robb smiled at her and saw her put her hands on her ever-growing stomach. The old midwife that had come from nearby Wintertown told them that their child would be born in a few months. Robb could hardly believe that the next Stark would be born here in the halls of Winterfell. It was a dream come true for him. He leaned down to kiss his wife, content that she had adjusted to life in the North so well.

She smiled at her husband, knowing that he worried. He hadn’t heard back from Jon in the North yet, and Arya and Sandor had been gone for weeks. It was funny that he missed the southern man so much, but Sandor was one of the only people that spoke to Robb honestly and bluntly.

Jeyne had been glad when Robb told her that his mother had decided to stay in King’s Landing until the birth of Sansa’s child. She remembered the look of hatred on the woman’s face and couldn’t imagine trying to share space with her here in the North. If Catelyn Stark returned to Winterfell, it would be her castle again, even if Jeyne was married to the new Lord Stark.

Jeyne took great pleasure in getting to know Rickon. Sometimes she caught Robb getting frustrated with him, but then she’d shoo them outside to spare, and Rickon had taken to that like a duck to water.

It was his lessons that he had the hardest time sitting through. Jeyne never pushed him too hard. She felt the boy had gone through too much trauma to ever put their previous expectations on him. He would learn what he needed to at his own pace, and she would not be rushed or bullied on this. Robb smiled at her when she defended Rickon so fiercely; she would make an excellent mother to their children.

Rickon had confided in Jeyne one afternoon that he was always scared that someone would come and take his home away again. Theon’s betrayal had cut him deeply. He’d viewed the Iron Born prince as another brother, and when Theon had taken the castle, this fractured a trust in Rickon that was slow to rebuild.

It was why Jeyne encouraged him to spend time with her and Theon each day. It helped that the broken man had bonded with the littlest Stark, and she thought it might be helping Rickon as well. Everything with Theon had to be gentle and quiet and soft; all things Rickon wasn’t very good at but was willing to do to try and reconcile the man who had been his brother, to the man who had betrayed them and now the man that was broken.

Weeks after Arya and Sandor left, Robb received a raven informing him that his mother planned on wedding a Ser Addam Marbrand. She had the permission of the King himself, and Sansa’s blessing. Robb would be a liar if he said he didn’t feel a sense of relief that she would not be returning home to Winterfell. That night when Robb made love to his very pregnant wife, he felt for the first time that the ghosts of his parents no longer haunted their old chambers. For better or worse, they were now the Lord and Lady Stark of Winterfell and at twenty-two, they’d fully come into their new roles, together.

Just before the coronation of Tywin and Sansa, Robb received Sandor and Arya’s ravens. Both had said that the North would bend the knee to the new King. Sandor confirmed that Sansa’s marriage was what she had said it was, and that she was happy and loved in King’s Landing, despite being married to the Great Lion himself. Sandor also said he would be coming back North, and Robb felt a grin break out on his face. It might be naïve, but with his sister married to the King, Robb felt secure with the North’s place in the realm. He did not think that the King would ever cross Moat Cailin to attack them, and with a soon to be half northern prince or princess born to the King and Queen, the bonds between the two great Houses were stronger than they had ever been.

It wasn’t the south that worried Robb Stark anymore. It was the North. The day before he’d heard a rumour by someone who came to Wintertown by way of White Harbor. There was talk that the Greyjoy’s, led by Balon and Yara were backing Stannis. There was no conceivable way that Stannis would attack south again. No, the North was vast and huge and the men scattered, just returned home from war. Robb was crafting a response. Tywin Lannister, his good-brother and King of the Realm would want to know what was happening in the North. And if Stannis and Balon planned to land at White Harbour, then a Lannister and Stark army would be there to meet them. There had also been rumours of a wilding army amassing behind the wall but Robb had yet to hear any word from Jon, so he didn’t put much stock in that. Yet.

Finally, weeks after they had rescued him, Theon Greyjoy finally left his room. He had healed physically, though he was still quite slim. His open wounds had been stitched or cauterized or otherwise treated. He would always have horrendous scars, but his worst wounds were well on their way to mending. It was a beautiful cool day, sunny and bright and when Jeyne and Rickon entered, Theon was standing at the window, dressed in the clothes Jeyne had made for him.

Both Stark’s startled to see him standing up. As if sensing their presence, he turned and looked at Rickon.

“You’re not Robb.” Rickon shook his head. “You’re Rickon.” Ric nodded. “I didn’t kill you.”

Rickon coughed. “Scared me though. Me and Bran. Forced us to leave Winterfell.” Jeyne shot Rickon a look, worried that if he pushed too much Reek might appear.

Theon met his gaze and nodded, then dropped his eyes to the floor and mumbled, “I’m a traitor. Robb should kill me.”

Even knowing what this man had done, Jeyne’s heart broke for him. Before she could move, she heard her husband’s voice at the doorway of the room.

“Will you betray us again?” Robb’s voice was hard and cold, and Jeyne could feel the tears gather.

She watched as Theon startled as if shocked to hear Robb speak to him before he raised his head and looked at Robb. Meeting his gaze, he shook his head.

Robb wanted to rage, to bash Theon’s face in, to shake the man he had trusted with his family and his home. The man he had loved like a brother but who had betrayed them all. He wanted to hold on to his anger and his venom and make Theon pay. And then he looked at the man standing before him, and all of it bled away. He just wanted his brother back; it’s what he’d prayed for after he’d taken Ramsey’s head. He’d sat in front of the Stark’s weirwood tree and asked the old gods to give him his brother back. Because too much horror had been done to Theon, and Robb knew that despite what he had done to them, he’s been punished a thousand times over for his sins.

And now here was Theon. Not Reek. And he wasn’t asking for mercy or to be spared; he was asking for a clean death. And Robb couldn’t do it. He knew it made him weak, and vulnerable to feel such things as the Lord of Winterfell. But he could not punish the man in front of him anymore.

Robb strode into the room, and Jeyne and Rickon held their breath before Robb grabbed Theon and hugged him to his chest. Theon collapsed, overwhelmed with all that had happened to him, all that he had done to the Stark’s. He sobbed into Robb’s chest as his brother held him there and comforted him. Theon knew he would never be worthy of Robb’s mercy, but he pledged himself to Lord Stark, then and there. No matter what happened, Theon would never betray House Stark again.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” Theon mumbled again and again until Robb dragged his face cup to his, cupping it in his hands.

“Enough, brother,” Robb commanded softly and watched as Theon attempted to pull himself together. “You’re home, again,” Robb told him and watched as Theon nodded slowly. “No more Reek, Theon. If you want to stay at Winterfell you need to be Theon. And you need to learn to live with what you’ve done. These people, you broke their trust. You broke my trust. But we’ll all give you another chance, brother. Each day, you need to prove it, again and again.”

Theon nodded, overcome by what he was hearing. He already knew he would do whatever it took to earn his place back in the North.

Robb hugged him again and felt Theon’s thin arms wrap around him. He may be a fool, but he could live with that. He looked to his wife and brother and saw their approval. Somehow, he thought he might have Ned Stark’s as well. Tomorrow Sansa and Tywin would become the new King and Queen of Westeros, and Robb Stark had gotten one brother back. Now he just needed to find Bran and Jon, and ensure that Stannis didn’t attack. Winterfell was safe for now, and his heir was on its way. It wasn’t everything, but for now, it was enough.

* * *

_ King’s Landing- Immediately after Sansa’s Conversation with Sandor in the Godswood  _

Sansa made her way back to the Great Throne Room to find her husband. She had said that she would let him know how her meeting with Sandor had gone, and she knew he would be waiting for an update. She also loved to observe him now that he was King. The room that had seen some of her greatest humiliations now was a place she enjoyed spending time. It was amazing how different everything felt in King’s Landing with no Cersei, Joffrey or Littlefinger.

Sansa had two new guards with her at all times. They were her new northern Queensguard. Jerrod had been spending time with them to let them know her preferences, the dangers of King’s Landing, and helping them get to know the castle. For now, they were always paired with a trusted Lannister Red Cloak.

Sansa had decided that their cloaks would be grey and that they have both a lion and a direwolf stitched on them. No one would mistake them for Lannister Red Cloaks, nor would anyone think that they belonged to the City Watch. Any person who now guarded the Queen did so wearing a cloak that represented both her houses. Tywin had approved. She knew his Kingsguard would wear Lannister red with the golden lion. There would be no more white cloaks; not after the horror that Sansa had suffered at their hands.

When Sansa entered the Throne room, she saw Tywin sitting on the Iron Throne, listening to petitioners. As was his way, the moment she entered his eyes found hers. She made her way up the dais and took the chair beside him, and settled in to watch and listen to her husband.

Some might find this boring, but this was the heart of ruling. Listening and passing judgement on the plights of the everyday person. Disputes over livestock, stolen crops or failed harvests. Sansa knew that the people were the lifeblood of the country, and she took her new role seriously.

Often times, after dinner had been served, Sansa and Tywin would retire to his solar and he would encourage her to ask questions about decisions he had made. Sometimes she even disagreed with him, and as long as she had a valid reason, he wanted to hear why. Her extensive knowledge of different houses helped, as did her keen mind. More importantly, she wanted to rule well, and she was willing to dedicate the time to learn how. Tywin was immensely proud of her, and Tyrion told her one afternoon that she would make a truly excellent ruler one day.

The commoners also loved seeing them together. Although they never touched while the court was being held, many caught the brief looks the two shared. Those still present when the session ended were often treated to the King helping his wife from her seat, and they took comfort in the care he showed her. The King was a very intimidating man, but they knew that he loved his wife deeply and they had hope that their day to day lives would be filled with peace with them now on the throne.

_The day before the Coronation  _

Arya Stark didn’t know how to feel; too many new things had happened since she’d arrived for her to reconcile everything at once. So much had changed, including her mother and her sister.

She knew she hated King’s Landing. It still stunk, it was filled with too many people, and everywhere she looked all she saw was Lannister lions in red and gold. She still didn’t trust them, even though Sansa had been fully converted it seemed.

After Sandor had confirmed he was coming back North with her, she’d felt the pressure ease inside her somewhat. It made her happy that he hadn’t abandoned her for Sansa. She loved him like a brother and she was still missing Jon and Bran. And she knew that he was needed in the North, in a way he wasn’t here.

Arya was still undecided about how she felt about her mother being remarried. She hadn’t met this Ser Marbrand yet but had been told last night at dinner that he would be at breakfast this morning. She saw that her mother was happy here. Most of her life she’d been at odds with her mother; but still, it was her mother.

Then there was her sister. She’d thought long and hard about what she had seen on Sansa’s back. And how Tywin Lannister had treated his wife. If she were completely honest, she had seen glimpses of that man in Harrenhal. He could have done so many awful things to her there; she was a nobody to him then, just a lowborn woman. But he hadn’t. In many ways he was responsible for some of her education. She needed more time with her sister to know exactly what had happened to her. There was more to her story, and Sansa had a spine of steel that had previously been missing. Gone was the silly girl that Arya argued with and in her place an impressive woman.

With one day until the coronation, Arya assumed the entire thing would be spent in fittings and ceremony and had resigned herself to it. She knew she had a role to play. But Sansa had taken pity on her and had measured her swiftly for a gown that would be altered to fit her, freeing her up. She told her this at breakfast this morning.

Arya watched as Sandor Clegane sauntered into the King's dining room for breakfast. He had missed the dinner last evening after him and Sansa had talked but the man clearly wasn’t in his cups last night. Indeed now that he knew he wasn’t staying in King’s Landing he acted as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was almost jovial. Arya scowled at him.

Sandor himself couldn’t remember having been in a better mood. He didn’t have to stay in this shithole, and he knew that Sansa was ok. He could honestly give Robb’s allegiance to the new king, even if he was a Lannister. He knew that Tywin Lannister would be good for the realm. He had been when he’d ruled under King Aerys’ and would be again. And Sansa only made him better.

Now Sandor just had to get through the next few days with all the Lannister bastards swarming the Capital. Like Jaime Lannister. Sandor had known Jaime Lannister his entire life, being only a few years younger than the infamous knight and having guarded the man’s son and his twin sister almost his entire life. Still something seemed different about the Kingslayer and Sandor wasn’t exactly sure what it was. It was more than his twin sister being dead; the man seemed changed.

The scarred man’s eyebrows raised when he spotted the largest woman, he had ever seen sitting beside the Kingslayer. She scowled at him and he frowned back at her. _Bitch, _he thought. He took a seat and gestured to Jaime’s golden hand.

“What fucking cunt did that to you?” Sandor asked.

“Bolton men,” Jaime ground out. He hated to be reminded of his loss.

“Any good with your left?” Sandor asked and watched as the ugly woman beside the Kingslayer bristled.

“Fair,” Jaime said honestly and shrugged. Then sent Sandor a look. “We train each morning.”

Sandor grinned, almost feral and Jaime wondered for a moment if he’d miscalculated. Then he shook his head. There was no way that the Hound would hurt him; not here in front of Sansa and Tywin. But it had been some time since he’d really been challenged in the training yard. Even Bronn took it easy on him. Looking at Sandor’s face, Jaime knew this would be his first real challenge since he’d lost his hand.

“My Uncle’s still a great swordsman,” Tommen piped up, and Jaime smiled at the boy’s defence of him.

Arya snorted and Tommen glared at her. “It’s true. And I’m pretty good too.”

Arya snorted again and Sandor barked out a laugh. “Bet the wolf bitch can beat you.” He pointed to Jaime’s second son and then to Arya. How anyone could miss that they were father and son was beyond Sandor but he’d go along with their lies if that’s what they wanted. At least the little bird had figured it out.

Tommen was insulted. He had trained every day with Brienne and his father. He knew he wasn’t the best, but he’d come a far way. And he was going to be a knight one day. It was his fondest wish.

The whole table had stopped talking to observe the conversation happening between the five of them. Sandor shot Sansa a look then, and saw she and Tywin were also watching the conversation. He nodded once at her and she sent him back a small smile. Tywin just had a scowl on his face. Sandor wondered briefly how she put up with him. The old lion seemed as miserable as ever. Only when he looked at Sansa did he seem happy. Sandor shook his head. Figuring out married couples was far beyond his capability. At least when you paid a whore you knew what you were getting.

“Who’s training you?” Tommen demanded to Arya. “You’re a woman.”

Arya shrugged and gestured to Brienne. “So she’s. As for training...” she trailed off and then grinned at the little lordling. “Him!” And she pointed at Sandor.

Shocked gasped rang the table. Arya might not be a proper lady, but she was still a princess of the North. It was unheard of that a lady of the realm would train in the same manner as highborn boys and men.

“What?” she said to the stunned around the table, including Genna, Kevan and Tyrion Lannister. And her mother. “Robb knows. He agreed to it.” Her tone had taken on a defensive air.

Sandor shuffled nervously. It was true that they trained; he just didn’t think what that might sound like or be perceived as down here in King’s Landing. Things were different in the North.

Sansa had known all about the training, Robb’s ravens going into great detail about the bond between Arya and Sandor. She was just about to come to Arya’s defence when she saw Ser Marbrand open his mouth to speak.

“I for one, think it is more than acceptable,” a new voice said and Arya glanced up to see a large, well-built man with deep auburn hair come to her defence. “Ser Addam Marbrand, Lady Arya. I would be honoured to watch you spar once we have broken our fast.”

Arya swallowed hard. This man was her mother’s new husband. He didn’t look like an evil person, and she was sure he’d stood up for her in order to win her favour; still, she’d love to show him what she could do. She had heard nothing but good things about the man her mother had married. He was a consummate swordsman.

“Alright, after breakfast,” she said and watched Tommen shoot Jaime a look. She saw a pleased look on Ser Marbrand’s face.

Jaime grinned and then announced to the table. “It seems our family will be putting on quite the display today. Lion versus wolf,” and he watched as his father nodded, his face still set in a tight line.

Sandor lowered his voice and spoke into Arya’s ear, “Are you sure about this?” He had no worries about her skill. He was concerned about what would happen when they all discovered just how vicious and competent a fighter she really was. She nodded at him, and he shrugged his shoulders. He’d lay money that the little wolf would for sure take out Jaime’s son, and perhaps even the Kingslayer himself. It depended on how much practice the one-handed knight had.

Sansa shook her head. It was good to see that Arya hadn’t changed that much. She’d noted the almost relieved happiness in Sandor Clegane when he had entered the dining hall this morning and was even more confident in her choice to let him return North. He would never be happy here again.

Sansa leaned into Tywin, and smirked, “Surely you’re not going to participate, are you, Your Grace?”

He gave her a look. Of course he would not be participating, but he was very intrigued to see Arya Stark’s skills. Sansa laughed and wondered if he could truly watch from the sidelines.

After breakfast everyone who was participating in the training made their way to the yard, along with most of Tywin and Sansa’s family. Everyone wanted to witness this. When the Royal Family approached the yard, the Red Cloaks and Gold Cloaks that had been sparring stood aside and ringed the area.

Arya and Sandor paired off to warm up, comfortable and easy with one another and their routine. Jaime worked with Brienne, while Ser Marbrand grabbed a training sword and warmed up Tommen.

Arya and Sandor were a fearsome sight to behold, and the Hound could hear the whispers of men that he had known his whole life. The knights from the west made up the two greatest security forces in King’s Landing, in addition to Tywin Lannister’s standing army. Sandor knew many of these men hated him. He’d beaten them all at some point and was brutal when they had trained together. And now he was here representing the North. Even though Sansa was from there it didn’t mean that Sandor’s crimes had been forgiven. And to be fair, he had been a fucking miserable cunt when he’d been in the Capital. Many men had every right to hate his guts.

Eventually, Brienne called a stop and then paired everyone off. Ser Marbrand would take on Sandor, while Brienne sparred with Arya and Tommen and Jaime faced off.

In addition to the red cloaks and the gold cloaks, Sansa, Tywin, Cat, Kevan, Tyrion, Margaery and Genna had all come to watch and stood on the walkway above. Sansa had two of her guards with her even here in the presence of so much steel that would die for her. One of her guards was the woman from House Mormont named Dacey Mormont, a proud and fierce woman. Sansa smiled at Dacey, and asked, “Would you also like to participate?” She saw the woman grin, but she shook her head.

“No Your Grace, my place is here by you,” Dacey responded, but secretly pleased that the Queen seemed to value her worth and skills. Dacey had been proud to serve the Queen’s brother when Robb Stark had called his banners for war. And now she was proud to guard the first Northern Queen of the seven kingdoms for as long as she could remember. Dacey would die before she let anything happen to Sansa. She’d already proven herself, letting the Hound go back North where he was needed. Dacey knew that she and the six other northern houses were more than capable of ensuring the Queen lived a long and full life. It was a stroke of genius to give her Northern guards; they would never betray her.

Sansa’s other guard today was a Glover cousin. He was a second son, and had fought in the war against the Bolton’s and the Frey’s. He was deeply grateful for this chance to serve the Northern Queen young as he might be.

Jaime and Tommen had spared so much no one paid them much attention. And Ser Marbrand and Sandor were old acquaintances, which made things less intense between the two. Sandor was waiting for a chance again the golden cunt himself, Jaime Lannister, before he’d put any effort into a match.

It was Brienne and Arya that got everyone’s attention. Sandor might have trained Arya, but he’d never expected her to fight just like him. He had brute strength and size to his advantage and she never would. Instead he’d made her focus on her strengths; speed, agility and a driving need to always come out on top.

Arya shocked Brienne with her skills. Part of it was the big woman moved like Sandor and Arya was used to that. Brienne immediately noted the young woman’s quickness and agility and had almost no answer for it. Eventually they both wore the other down, and it ended in a draw, both having managed to strike the other at the same time. In the end, the women looked at each other, mutual admiration on both their faces.

“You’re a very good fighter, Lady Arya,” Brienne complimented the Queen’s sister. Arya grinned, “You’re not bad yourself,” and Brienne grinned.

After a short break, Arya took on Ser Marbrand while Sandor had a moment with Tommen. He barked out orders to the young squire, not to beat the boy down but to make him better. He could see the way they had been lax on him. He was, after all, a prince of the realm.

Tywin watched Sandor and Tommen intensely. He could immediately see that Clegane was harder but fair on the boy. And Tywin knew that Tommen would learn as much from sparring with Sandor Clegane over the next few days than he had with Brienne. There was an edge to Sandor that no one fucked around with. It didn’t matter if he had a training sword in his hand; he could probably kill you if he hit you hard enough with it. Even Tommen understood this. He’d known the scarred man his entire life, and he had a deep respect for him.

In the end, when Tommen finally was exhausted, Sandor offered him his hand and pulled the boy to his feet.

“Keep training. Every day. Find the hardest bastards you can to push you,” he told the young prince, glad that none of Joffrey’s madness or cruelty seemed present in the boy. Tommen grinned at him and then shot Tywin a look who nodded his approval. The boy had held his own and had none of his brother’s character. Thank the Gods, Tywin thought. Sansa sent him a brilliant smile, and he gave her one back.

After sparing with Addam Marbrand, Arya developed a newfound respect for the man that had married her mother. He didn’t take it easy on her, or give her an open shot. Ser Marbrand was the consummate swordsman. Classically trained and deployed in battle, Arya had to use all her cunning to even get near him. He was cautious and perfect with his strikes, and for the first time ever Arya started to admire a fighter than never lost his cool. He also didn’t jape, trade insults or give encouragement. He was serious and intense when he fought. At the end, when the match had been called, he gave Arya an appraising look.

“If you could keep your temper down, you will be more successful,” he told her unapologetically. She had all the potential to be a very good fighter, and a part of him was happy that she could defend

herself so well. With Clegane as her teacher, and her brother taking an interest, she would make a formidable opponent one day.

The last match of the morning saw Jaime take on Sandor and Arya face off against Tommen. Sansa shook her head at the posturing, not sure who she was cheering for. She looked at Tywin’s face and he smirked. It was good for Jaime to be challenged by a man like Sandor Clegane. Everyone here had taken it easy on his son; even him. Jaime needed someone that would treat him no differently than when he’d had his right hand.

“Golden-haired cunt,” Sandor whispered under his breath. He’d waited a long time to have a fair go at Jaime fucking Lannister, and even though they only had training steel, Sandor planned on making this count.

“Dog!” Jaime chirped back, having heard Sandor’s mutterings. He knew the big man wanted a piece of him; Jaime just wasn’t quite sure how a big piece that might be. He already knew this would be painful, but there was no way to back out now.

They came together, and within moments Jaime felt his blood heat. This edge, this danger, this knowledge that this man might truly wound him had been missing in Jaime’s life for so long. And in one moment it was back and he grinned, almost joyful at the sheer intensity of this match with Sandor.

Sandor saw the light come back into Jaime’s eyes and knew then he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. He’d seen the bleakness in the Kingslayer’s eyes and the only way to get it back was to light a fire under his arse.

Meanwhile, Arya had disarmed Tommen within a matter of moments and currently was sitting on him watching the two men battle. Eventually she slid off Tommen and offered him her hand which he willingly took, shooting her a quick grin.

“You’re an amazing fighter,” he told her reverently. She waited for him to add _for a woman. _When he didn’t, she said, “Thanks.” Then they both turned to watch how this played out between Sandor and Jaime.

As Jaime had known, Sandor was relentless and pushed his advantage. He knew that he never would have beaten Jaime if he still had his sword hand. But a left-handed Jaime Lannister was still a force to be reckoned with, and even though Sandor triumphed in the end, when he had Jaime pinned to the ground, the golden-haired lion barked out a laughed and had a huge grin on his face. Sandor held his hand and pulled him up, and Jaime hugged him briefly before clapping him on his massive back.

“I owe you, Clegane,” Jaime said, the truth coming through in his tone. Sandor brushed it aside. It was the least he could do for his former house. Then he raised his eyes to the Great Lion. He had wondered if Tywin would figure out what he was doing. His grey eyes met the cat green ones of Tywin, and he saw the King nod to him once. Sandor suppressed a grin, but he knew then he would leave King’s Landing with his head attached. Things had finally settled between House Lannister and Sandor Clegane.

Sansa waved her hands at her sister. She had been patient all morning, but now she needed Arya for her final gown fitting. Catelyn would also be there, along with Genna and Margaery and Sansa hoped that it would be a time when Arya and her could talk some more.

Before she disappeared with the women, Tywin then grabbed her and brought her off to the side. She was going back to their apartments, and would be guarded at all times, but he was still nervous. Someone could strike at her at any time.

Once away from everyone, their guards moved to surround them, affording them a bit of privacy. Tywin pulled Sansa to him, and carded his hands through her hair, pressing his lips to her. Tomorrow they would be crowned before the full court, as well as receive the knee from all seven kingdoms. He groaned when he felt her tongue dart out and the desire for her heat his blood.

“I won’t be long. Keep a guard with you at all times,” he told her and pressed his forehead to hers. He couldn’t help his worry. For some unknown reason he felt that today she would be at the most vulnerable, and he wouldn’t be parted from her for long. She kissed him back and pressed herself to him once more, taking comfort in his presence.

Then he turned and called for Tyrion. They had much to accomplish and not much time to do so.

Sansa waited until Arya joined them, before congratulating her on her display today. Arya stopped and looked at Sansa, trying to see if she were japing with her.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Arya asked, her voice incredulous. The old Sansa never would have approved of her learning to fight the way she did.

Sansa stopped and looked at her little sister. She wondered what it would take to get her to trust her fully; and then she knew. She leaned into Arya’s ear and whispered, “You’re not the only wolf that has learned how to kill.” She saw Arya’s eyes fly up to meet hers, and Sansa held her gaze.

Whatever Arya was searching for, she must have found, because a new look of respect lighted her face. Arya might not be able to say exactly what Sansa had to endure, but gone was the sister she had hated when growing up in Winterfell. Arya cocked her head, wondering for the first time exactly how strong Sansa had to have been to survive down here in King’s Landing. Vowing to be more open-minded, Arya linked her arms with her sister, for the first time fully looking forward to spending time with the new Queen of Westeros.

When the women had all gathered in Sansa’s chambers for her final fitting, the Queen had made sure that she there was wine and sweets and a light lunch. The other women sat together and were soon lost in gossip and conversation, while Arya stood by Sansa, looking at the gown that her sister had commissioned for her. It was dark grey, and less formal than Arya had thought. In many ways it reminded her of something she would wear in the North. There was even a spot for her sword and a small leather flared skirt meaning she could still wear her boots and breaches. Sansa watched as she eyed the garment.

“Will it do?” Sansa asked wryly, knowing nothing with Arya was ever easy. Her sister nodded then turned and looked at her.

“Who killed Cersei?” Arya asked quietly and without preamble. She pinned her eyes to Sansa’s and saw some emotion flutter in those Tully blue eyes she thought she knew so well.

Instead of answering directly, Sansa lowered herself to a chair and pointed to the one opposite of hers. Arya sat, and for all intents and purposes, the two were alone in the room.

“There are things I won’t tell you,” Sansa said, knowing that Sandor would keep her secrets about the truth of Joffrey and Tommen. It might eventually come out, but for now, with one day until the coronation took place, the last thing the Lannister’s needed was any type of scandal. Sansa loved Arya, but she knew her hatred for the Lannister’s was deep and she wasn’t quite ready to trust her sister with everything. Not yet.

She saw Arya’s eyes narrow, and held up her hand.

“Suffice it to say, I came into knowledge that I was able to use to better my position here in King’s Landing,” Sansa told her.

“And a better position was marrying him?” Arya asked, incredulous.

Sansa nodded and then looked hard at her sister. “Before Tywin came back, when we were still at war, Joffrey used to beat me each time Robb won a victory.”

Arya swallowed hard. “Sandor told me,” she said quietly. “What happened after Tywin came back?”

Sansa shrugged. “He was originally going to marry me off to Tyrion.”

Arya reeled back at that thought. Even she knew that was an insult to House Stark.

Sansa nodded, “I knew that he would never be able to protect me from the King. So I negotiated something better for myself.”

“And that was Tywin Lannister?” Arya asked, still incredulous. “But he’s so old Sansa.”

Sansa laughed then, pretty and bright. “Yes, I guess he is. I don’t even notice it now. But he was the only person in King’s Landing, perhaps all of Westeros that Joffrey feared. I was the key to the North and a true-born princess of the realm. My maidenhood and my lineage assured him that our children would marry Robb’s and guaranteed that his heirs were in a position for two of the greatest kingdoms in Westeros. And he could protect me from the King.”

Arya cocked her head at her sister. It was true that in her world strength came from fighting. But she knew that not every woman could be a warrior. She thought of her sister, her pretty, sweet sister alone in King’s Landing, surrounded by lions and with very few options available. Their brother should have traded Jaime for Sansa if he’d truly wanted Sansa back. Arya knew that Sansa had limited options available to her, and wondered if she would have had the same willingness to make such a marriage to try and save herself. Her respect for her sister grew.

“Alright,” Arya said and Sansa clasped her hand.

“I love him Arya. He is so good to me. And he loves me as well. He has never hit me, never raped me, never done anything to me in anger. He’s taught me how to rule, how to be strong. He values my opinion, and he shares important information with me,” Sansa said in a rush, needing Arya to know that this was more than just a political marriage.

“It’s ok Sansa, I don’t blame you for what you did. I don’t know if I will ever be ok with you being married to him, but,” Arya said, “it’s not my place. You did what you had to do to survive. I understand that.”

Sansa blinked back tears and Arya threw herself into Sansa’s arms before she reached down to touch her stomach again.

“What happened with Cersei?” Arya asked softly, the girls hardly a breath width apart.

“I poured sweet sleep into her wine than watched as she drank it all down. I stayed until her eyes closed, then I left her room,” Sansa said so softly that if Arya hadn’t had her ear next to Sansa’s mouth she never would have heard. “No one can know Arya,” Sansa said, a pleading in her eyes.

Arya looked directly into Sansa’s eyes and saw the truth. Then Sansa put her hands over Arya’s so they both rested on her stomach. “She would have killed my child, Arya. The next heir to the Iron Throne has northern blood. Stark blood, sister.”

Arya’s eyes blazed and she met Sansa’s gaze. Her sister was not weak, or silly, or inept. She was a wolf; a wolf who was in love with a lion; a lion who loved her back. Sansa would give the realm stability and peace for years if her and Tywin could deal with the threats that came their way. Arya knew there wasn’t a better political mind in all of Westeros than Tywin Lannister. Tomorrow when they asked if the North pledged itself to the new King, Arya knew she could say yes, knowing that her sister had at least as much power in King’s Landing as the King.

“If you hadn’t done it, I would have,” Arya told her softly and saw Sansa laugh a bit, and smile weakly. “Her name was on my list.”

“I was a wreck afterwards,” she told her sister, having no one else to confide in other than Tywin.

Arya cocked her head at her sister. “But you did what you had to do Sansa. No regrets, sweet sister. Does Tywin know?”

Sansa nodded and then gave Arya a look. “There is nothing that I keep from my husband, Arya. Not even this conversation. We are partners, and we will be raising the next generation of Kings together. There can be no secretes.”

Arya nodded at that. She’d watched as her parents’ marriage never recovered from the secret of who Jon’s mother was. Many times Arya thought that if only her father had told her mother they could begin to heal from such a betrayal. But the fact that he would never reveal that information drove a massive wedge into their marriage. Sansa was right; in order to rule with Tywin, and rule well, they needed to be in perfect accord.

As if he knew that they had been speaking about him, he entered the room and immediately came to Sansa. When he looked at their hands clasped over his wife’s stomach, his eyes met Arya’s.

“I trust you can keep this a secret?” he said to her and Arya nodded, knowing she would never betray Sansa and tell anyone. Not even Sandor or Robb. Sansa and Tywin had eliminated a threat to their child and to the Kingdom.

Then she watched as Tywin leaned down and pressed his lips to the crown of Sansa’s head and simply closed his eyes and inhaled. It was a gesture that was so sweet and so loving that any doubts Arya might have harboured about his feelings for her sister evaporated. Tywin Lannister was fully in love with Sansa Stark. It was a sight to see. Arya knew that all her sister had wanted her entire life was to be loved by her handsome husband. And after suffering so much, it seemed like she had finally gotten her wish.

Arya stood then and left them, lost in each other as they were. She wondered how many people felt excluded in their presence. They were so wrapped up in each other that she was surprised more people didn’t comment on it.

Arya made her way back over to Genna and her mother and Margaery, and let her mother draw her in for a hug before all the women complimented her on her fighting style. Arya arched a brow at her mother then, knowing how much Catelyn had disapproved of it at Winterfell. Cat pressed a kiss to Arya’s cheek.

“I’ve learned much in my time away from Winterfell, daughter,” Catelyn said ruefully. How could she accept a woman like Brienne of Tarth as a warrior if she wasn’t willing to accept her own daughter? And the simple fact that Arya somehow survived King’s Landing after Ned’s death and then through the Riverlands without being raped or killed was a small miracle. Catelyn could find no fault with her daughter. She had discussed Arya at length with Addam and his perspective was that Arya was much more like Lady Brienne than she ever would be like Lady Sansa. And the sooner that Cat could reconcile herself to that fact, the better their relationship would be.

Things finally settled for Arya then. She knew that Sandor would be returning home with her; her mother was loved and taken care of and happy here in King’s Landing with Sansa. And her sister was truly and deeply in love with her husband. Who happened to be the richest and most powerful Lord and King the realm had seen in a great many years. But it hadn’t corrupted her sister, and Arya saw the connection between the two of them. The realm would prosper under peace, and Tywin and Sansa might just be the rulers that could made good on such a promise.

Eventually Tywin and Sansa made it over to the ladies. Tywin eyed her dress for the coronation carefully. It was a deep silver colour, accented with gold and red. She would wear the Lannister choker tomorrow or so she thought. Sansa had not seen the crowns that Tywin had designed for either of them. He wanted it to be a surprise. Hers would pay tribute to both the lion and the wolf. Tywin himself had a new doublet designed for tomorrow, and would be clad entirely in Lannister red and gold.

He left then, more matters requiring his attention but would see them all at dinner that evening.

Once Sansa was sure that Arya and her mother were ok, she slipped out of her rooms and motioned to Lady Mormont to accompany her.

“I wish to speak to Ser Clegane, Lady Mormont,” Sansa said and her guard just nodded her head before they made their way to his chambers.

Knocking lightly on the door, Sansa heard a gruff, “Who the fuck is it?” She grinned.

“The Queen, Clegane,” Lady Mormont barked back at him, outraged that he would swear in front of Sansa. Shockingly the Queen did not seem at all surprised or appalled. She had a slight grin on her face.

“For fucks sakes,” they heard Sandor mutter, and they were giggling to themselves when he wrenched open the door.

“What do you want, Little Bird?” he asked, not really in that bad of a mood, but still determined to poke at her, nonetheless. He’d seen how everyone bowed and simpered to her; he’d be damned if he did so as well.

She arched an elegant eyebrow at him, and he let out a half grimace, half-smile and ran a hand down his face.

“I just wanted to make sure that everything was good for tomorrow. That you know your part and that you have the appropriate clothes,” she said, adding a touch of heat to her tone.

Sandor opened the door wider and let her into his spacious chambers. He looked embarrassed to be in such a luxurious room and watched as Sansa sat down at the large table in the center of the room as if she owned the place. Which he supposed she did if he stopped and thought about it.

“Aye got my clothes. Also, know what to do,” he mumbled. “Not my first coronation.” And he gave her a look.

She gazed off then, remembering the one they’d both attended for another King. One that hadn’t ended too well for Joffrey. Shaking herself from those unpleasant memories, she pinned him with a look.

“Tell me about the North and Arya and Rickon and Theon. I’ve heard Arya’s version, but I want yours,” she demanded of him, then softened her tone, with a quiet, “please.”

He shifted about and spotted a skin of wine. Reaching for it he took a huge slurp, before meeting her gaze. “You sure you want to hear about it?” It wasn’t a pretty tale and she nodded.

Sandor told her straight; he was no bard and no storyteller. But it was a compelling tale nonetheless. He’d duelled the Brotherhood and won. Kidnapped Arya. Kept her safe. Delivered her back to Robb, then helped her brother rebuild Winterfell. Sansa gasped when he told her what Ramsey Snow had attempted on their way back from Last Hearth. She cried when she heard what the sadistic man had done to Theon. Like Arya, she was able to find her compassion for the man who had betrayed their family. She smiled when Sandor spoke of the direwolves, Shaggydog and Grey Wind, and saw that he missed her brothers and the Northern Castle. He didn’t embellish a single story, and yet it was incredible what he had done for her family. She reached out and grasped his hand.

“There will never be enough words, Sandor,” she told him. He huffed out a breath and then mumbled something under his breath that sound suspiciously like _fucking starks_. Sansa didn’t pry.

When she left his chambers, she saw a look of awe of Lady Mormont’s face. She met the Queen’s eyes and said, “I didn’t know the whole story.”

Sansa snorted, and then gave her guard a look. “That’s not even everything. He saved me when I was alone and friendless in King’s Landing,” and saw Lady Mormont nod at those words.

They two stopped then before Sansa’s chambers. The Queen could see the Northern woman had something on her mind and encouraged her to speak freely.

“You really love him, don’t you?” Dacey asked bluntly, taking a chance with Sansa. “The Great Lion of the Rock. A Lannister.”

Sansa smiled and grabbed Lady Mormont’s hand, happier than ever that she had a bit of the North guarding her in King’s Landing.

“I do, my Lady,” Sansa said with sincerity. “I know it is hard to reconcile, but he is a good man to me. And he will be a good King for the realm.”

“I’m happy for you, Your Grace,” Lady Mormont said. Then added, “There are many Northern houses that are pleased that there will be Stark blood running through the Iron Throne.”

Sansa nodded at that statement. It was true and it was accurate. The North didn’t trust Tywin Lannister; the North trusted Tywin Lannister because he had married and fallen in love with their northern princess.

Later that evening, after a jovial super with their family and closest friends, Tywin sat and looked around the table and realized everything that had happened was because of Sansa.

His sons were back in the family, him having finally extracted Jaime for his ridiculous duty as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Tyrion and he were able to be civil with one another and Tywin had come to appreciate his second son’s sharp mind. The reality that Tyrion had married a highborn lady and secured a kingdom for his reign was due almost entirely to Sansa and her friendship with both Tyrion and Lady Margaery.

The fact that the Riverlands, the North and the Vale would all pledge their loyalty to him also could be laid directly at her feet. It wasn’t just their marriage that made people bend the knee; it was Sansa herself. She tempered his worst impulses and everyone in the Kingdom knew she was the compassion behind the crown. No one doubted Tywin Lannister’s brutally cold logic and pragmatism, but he was less harsh and threatening with his young and beautiful northern wife by his side.

He had Kevan arranged for Ser Gregor to be delivered to Dorne. There was no way he would have that man loose around King’s Landing and Prince Oberyn had informed him earlier today that their deal was complete and that Dorne would back him publicly tomorrow.

Tommen Baratheon would speak on behalf of the Stormlands and pledge that Kingdom to him as well.

Knowing tomorrow would be impossibly long, Tywin soon dismissed everyone from their dining hall. He wanted one last night with Sansa as just his, before she became the Queen of Westeros and belonged to the masses. He helped her from her chair, and couldn’t help but smirk when he saw her twist slightly to accommodate her growing stomach. She reminded him so much of Joanna at that moment when she had been pregnant with Jaime and Cersei. She had complained incessantly about how uncomfortable she was, and they had laughed together as she had grown impossibly large. Suddenly, Tywin’s brain made the connection. Sansa reminded him of Joanna. Not when she had carried Tyrion, but when she had carried the twins. _Twins! _

Seeing a look of fear and then wonder come into her husband’s eyes, Sansa arched an elegant eyebrow at him, then watched as he bellowed for Jerrod. “Get the Grand Maester and the midwife here, immediately,” he barked out to his most trusted man. Jerrod spun to obey.

“Are you going to share what is going on in that brilliant mind of yours?” she asked wryly and saw him begin to pace.

“It’s just a suspicion,” he muttered and then continued to pace until Pycelle and the midwife finally came into the room. Tywin spun and pinned them with a look.

Sansa had sunk back into her chair and watched with amusement as her husband worried. She felt fine; large and slightly uncomfortable, but fine so she wasn’t particularly worried about her health.

“Tonight I was reminded of Lady Joanna and her pregnancy,” he told the Maester and the midwife and saw them exchange bewildered glances. “My wife’s first pregnancy,” he stated and watched Sansa so he saw when the pieces fell into place for her.

“Oh my gods, do you think it’s possible?” Sansa said to him, disbelief and wonder on her face. _Twins? Could it be? _She knew that Tywin wasn’t a young man, and the more heirs they had the safer their legacy. She met his eyes, and saw, once again, both fear and hope. He knelt down in front of her and put his hands on her stomach, and looked up into her eyes. Tears gathered, but not from fear; only excitement and optimism were there in those blue eyes he loved so much.

“I think it may be so,” Tywin whispered to her and saw her smile.

The Grand Maester and midwife made their way to Sansa then, and they all went to the bedroom, where Sansa stripped down to only her small clothes. She wanted to be embarrassed that they would see her in such a state, but her mother had explained that when it came time to give birth, much more would be revealed.

Both Pycelle and Chelan, the midwife, probed her belly and Sansa knew before they said anything.

She gripped Tywin’s hand tight.

“I believe you are correct, Your Grace,” Pycelle said. “It appears that there are two. It would account for how large Lady Sansa has recently gotten.”

Sansa huffed out a breath and Tywin smirked at her, before leaning down to whisper in her ear, “Two, Sansa,” unable to keep the excitement and joy he felt at the Grand Maester’s announcement from his tone.

She grinned at him, and seeing the looks in their eyes, Pycelle and Chelan quickly excused themselves from the King and Queen’s bedchamber.

Tywin quickly divested himself of his boots and doublet, before he climbed into their very large bed beside her. He was overjoyed but worried. It had been enough when Sansa had been pregnant with one child, but now to bring two children into the world at once doubled the danger for her.

He felt her hand come to cup his cheek and drew his eyes down to hers. “No Tywin, not here. There will be no fear. These children were given to us by the Gods. They are our reward.” She lifted her small clothes off, so she was naked and he drank in her form. She was magnificent.

He reverently placed his hand on her stomach and watched as it moved as she breathed. He had suppressed so many memories from his time with Joanna, so overcome with grief and sorrow after her death. And now he was being given everything back again.

He let his hand drift lower, massaging and stroking his wife, memorizing her form at this exact moment. This beautiful woman was his. Who was ripe with his children and would give the realm not one but two heirs. This woman that had made him a King.

They had been together each night since they had first married, and five months of making love to his wife every day still hadn’t cooled his ardour for her.

“Gods, Sansa,” he said, and caught her eyes, the sheer love that she had for him so clear for him to see. He watched as she could wear a political mask with the best players in the game of thrones, but with him she was always so open and so willing to let him see what she felt. He had never trusted another like her; he knew he had never loved another like her; not even his beloved Joanna. Him and Sansa had accomplished everything together and it had bonded them in a way he thought was unlike any other King and Queen in recent Westeros history. When he looked at her, he saw the person who had given him everything he’d ever wanted; a legacy that would last a thousand years and love that rivalled the greatest feelings he’d ever had.

He brought both his hands up to her hair, her glorious, radiant hair, and carded them through her long locks, holding her forehead to his.

“I love you more than I have loved anything or anyone in my entire life, Sansa,” Tywin told her, softly, quietly, and honestly. He was stripped bare before her. Finally, the Old Lion had found his peace, and it was here in Sansa’s arms.

Her eyes filled with tears. She never could have predicted how much she would feel for Tywin when she had approached him those many months ago. She had never envisioned any of this. She never knew that she could love someone this much, or that it was possible to be loved in return by such a man. It was beyond expectation for a woman of her pedigree; to have made a love match with a man that complimented her in every way.

She pressed her lips to his, desperate to feel closer and squirmed under him, seeking him.

“I love you more than I ever even knew was possible, Tywin,” she said and nipped and kissed at him.

He sunk into her, knowing without even touching her that she was ready for him, and thrust steady and smooth, making her feel him, savouring the feeling of being buried deep inside her. This was home for them. They held onto each other, lost in what they both felt, amazed that they had survived everything that came their way. Eventually, Tywin increased his pace, and watched as her eyes dilated and pleasure ran over her face. He would have smirked if he could have torn himself away from watching her come undone, but he couldn’t. He reached down and rubbed at her, knowing as soon as she peeked around him, he would be lost. Leaning down he whispered, “My wife, my Queen, my Sansa,” and felt her clench around him.

She whispered back as she felt him harden just a bit more, “Husband, King. Mine,” and it was what he needed to finish deep inside her. Both ragged and undone by the connection they felt, Tywin kept her pinned against his body, stroking and kissing and patting her until they drifted off to sleep, the realm, for a moment secure in their capable hands.

* * *

_ Coronation Day  _

From the beginning when planning the coronation, Sansa had decreed that it needed to be a celebration for everyone and not just the noble families of Westeros. If Tywin wanted the Lannister name to be a legacy, they needed to be beloved by all, from the poorest peasant to the richest Lord. She had gone head to head with him over this, and he knew she was correct. They needed to secure their future and their children’s future; they hadn’t murdered two people to make the same mistakes those that ruled before they had. Sansa had learned just how important peace and security were from Tywin himself when he spoke of his time as Hand before. She reminded him of this one night in their chambers. Under Tywin’s leadership, the realm had prospered. Now, they needed to remind everyone exactly what being ruled by Tywin Lannister would mean for them.

She’d watched as Tywin and Tyrion had frowned when she had explained that she wanted every orphanage and poor house to receive enough food to feed them for at least a week. If nobles could toast and feast them in the Red Keep, those in Flea Bottom should have full bellies that night as well. Both men hated spending money, but she persisted. She knew there was more work to be done, not only in King’s Landing but in the surrounding areas. Men had been lost to war; widows and orphans scrambled to find food and work. The sanitation and overcrowding of King’s Landing left much to be desired, and Sansa's orphanages, while a rousing success was a mere drop in the bucket to help those that needed it. Sansa herself remembered how that felt being at Joffrey’s cruel whims. 

As for the coronation today, Sansa and Tywin would ride through the streets, allowing the commoner and peasants to wave and throw flowers their way. Sansa had arranged for extra rations to be given to every family that requested food, and had received a very happy smile from Lord Varys at that decree. They had spoken at length about this and whom he served. He had made it very clear that a great many people wanted nothing more than to live with enough food in their stomach to keep their children from dying and without threat of violence hanging over their heads daily. Ser Marbrand in this regard had been a godsend for the city. He had restored law and order and was a well-respected figure in the King’s Landing.

Today, Tywin would name Jerrod Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and Sansa would name Dacey Mormont Commander of her Queensguard. Sandor had snorted when he’d heard that and Sansa shot him a scathing look. Sansa and the fierce woman from Bear Island had formed a quick bond, and Sansa knew she would protect her with her life. The additional members of the Kings and Queensguard would also be sworn in. Then each of the seven kingdoms would pledge their allegiance to Tywin and bend the knee. All of this would happen after the Grand Maester named Tywin King and Sansa Queen and the crowns were placed on their heads. This would take place in the Great Throne Room, and Tywin had been very secretive about the Crown that had been designed for her.

Sansa woke the morning of the coronation with Tywin’s hands cradling her stomach. They had agreed they would say nothing to anyone about their discovery about her pregnancy yesterday. They both knew that it wouldn’t take long before it became known, but today the focus was on them and their new roles. And it was delicious to have something that was just theirs. Sansa smiled as she felt him trace small patterns on her growing stomach, knowing he would never admit out loud just how excited he was for these children. But she knew by his actions.

Sansa giggled when she felt his member harden and twitch, tucked up against her. He was insatiable and she loved it. She had worried that he would reject her or cast her from their bed as she grew larger, but it seemed her pregnancy had the opposite effect on him. He wanted her as much now as ever before.

She felt his hand drift lower to stroke her and arched back into him as he leaned down to kiss and suck on her neck. Sansa honestly didn’t care if he left marks there; it wouldn’t be the first time, and she knew that the realm was fascinated by how much they appeared to love one another. It had been decades since they had seen two monarchs that were in love.

“Wife,” he murmured into her skin before he thrust into her and Sansa gasped. No matter how many times they coupled, she still felt that thrill when he entered her.

He kept on hand on her stomach and the other on her nub, as he plunged inside her, again and again. Sansa started to moan and arch back into him and grind on him.

“That’s it, my lion, find your pleasure,” he commanded her, and Sansa willingly obeyed. She loved being with her husband this way. After a time, Tywin felt her shudder and peak, crying out his name in a way that would never get old for him. He withdrew then and heard her gasp before he rose above her and sunk back into her. Leaning down he kissed her lips, and felt her sigh, knowing that she was happy and content.

Still seated deep inside her, Tywin stilled for a moment until her eyes meet his.

“Are you prepared for this?”

Tywin knew that Sansa was more than capable of being Queen, and the reality was that they could hardly back out now. Still, he needed the words from her. He needed to know that they were in this together, that they would rule together, and that she would willingly carry on his name with the heirs that they produced. Sansa would never have an ordinary life the moment the crown that he himself designed for her was put atop her head. She would always be in danger, she would always have to play the game of thrones, and she would have to make horrible decisions that affected thousands of people. It was a monstrous burden and she was still so young. Tywin had waited his entire life for this opportunity and had been groomed for it, and he hoped in the short time they had together he could make her ready for it as well. At that moment he wished more than anything that he was at least ten years younger if only so he could be by her side for years to come.

Sansa reached up and cupped his face. “I am sure, Tywin.” He saw the truth in her eyes and kissed her again, before he began to move once more, building the heat and desire back up in her. Tywin leaned down and found the sensitive spot on her neck and sucked, needing her to come apart in his arms once more before he could spill inside her. She was close, and he touched her in the way he knew she liked best until she screamed his name, this peak harder and longer than the first one.

He bumped his forehead to hers and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Queen Sansa,” he said and saw her smirk. “King Tywin.”

A discreet knock at their door let them know that it was time to prepare. Everything today had been coordinated down to the last detail, and Tywin would not be late for his own coronation. He left their bedchambers as he watched Sansa be hurried away by her handmaidens to find his sons waiting for him in his solar, along with Kevan. His steward had laid out a small breakfast and starving, Tywin sat down to eat. The others smirked at him, guessing what had made their King so hungry. Briefly, Tyrion and Jaime japed about just how many children the old lion would get on his new wife at the rate he seemed to want her. Tywin shot them a look and arched an eyebrow.

It had been decided that Tyrion, Margaery, Genna and Catelyn would wait in the Great Throne Room. Riding behind Sansa and Tywin today would be Jaime and Kevan, Ser Marbrand as Lord Commander of the City Watch, Arya and Sandor and Tommen. Jerrod would also accompany them, along with Lady Mormont. As much as Tywin wanted this to be a Lannister crown, he knew that the only reason he sat on the throne was because of the North; and more importantly Sansa. And he knew he needed to make everyone see Sansa as a Queen, and not just his wife or Lady Lannister. It was why each kingdom would pledge allegiance to both of them; not just him.

Sansa allowed herself to be bathed and dressed and groom by her handmaidens. She enjoyed the process, and hummed to herself, cradling her stomach. Two babies! It was unbelievable. She knew that Tywin would be even more protective of her now. Soon enough she was dressed in small clothes and then her dress. The dress itself was heavy, with layers upon layers of fabric to make her appear every inch the Queen she was. Once her hair was done, half up and half down in her northern style at Tywin’s request, she made her way into the solar. Gathered there was her entire family.

Sansa’s eyes met Tywin’s and she smiled at his new doublet. It had been modelled after another one he had; black with golden lions. Only this time it was Lannister red with the golden lions and golden buckles. Tywin was once again stunned. Sansa was a vision, and the soft grey-silver gown suited her colouring and allowed the gold and red stitching to be prominently displayed. And she wore her hair the same way as on their wedding day.

Sansa walked to him and smoothed a tiny crease that she saw in his scarf. It was mostly just an excuse to touch him, and he smiled at her. Then she looked down and saw the jewelry box.

“Tywin, no,” she protested softly and everyone in the room was enraptured by them. “Yes, my Queen,” he said quietly for her ears only, then opened the box.

Designed to match her dress, Tywin had them make a necklace that befits her status as a Northern Queen. Using a brand-new technique, the jeweller had designed a white gold necklace with multiple chains that connected an astonishing amount of diamonds together. It took but a single moment until Sansa realized the diamonds made a snowflake. Tywin trailed a finger down her cheek.

“I can’t give you Winterfell, my wife, but I can bring a bit the North to you,” Tywin said.

Sansa felt her eyes tear. She couldn’t believe that Tywin would put something like this on her on the day of their coronation.

She reached up and cupped his cheek and he leant his forehead against hers. “I love you Tywin,” she said and kissed him briefly before she turned so he could fasten her new necklace around her neck. While Tywin was fixing the new jewelry to her, Sansa had the occasion to observe her family.

Her mother was clutching Ser Marbrand’s hand, tears in her eyes. Edmure and Roslin simply looked stunned at the King and Queen, still not quite used to the power they projected.

Kevan and Genna were smiling widely having been with them from the start. Both of Tywin's siblings were overjoyed at how everything had turned out.

Margaery and Tyrion were holding hands and whispering softly to each other while keeping an eye on Sansa and Tywin.

Jaime and Tommen were grinning like fools.

Arya gave her a half-smile and a nod. Sansa had everything she had ever wanted in a husband, that much was clear.

Sandor coughed and felt a bit like an intruder. He could scarcely believe his eyes, watching the two of them. _Gods help any poor cunt that got in the way of the Queen, _he thought. Tywin Lannister would destroy anyone who did. Sandor had heard the stories about Lady Joanna. She had died the year he was born, but you couldn’t squire in Casterly Rock without hearing about the beloved wife of Tywin Lannister. And against all odds, Sansa had somehow become that person again for the Great Lion.

When Tywin had finished his task, he moved to stand beside her, nodding at their family before departing their chambers. They were soon at the stables, and had this coronation been any later in her pregnancy, Sansa would not be riding to the Red Keep. As it was, she was most likely days away from being told to stay off a horse. She was grateful for Tywin’s help and soon sat atop her pretty mare, while Tywin, Jaime, Kevan and Tommen all mounted their white horses. Tywin also had his red Lannister sash that he wore when in battle draped across him and his horse. Sansa smiled at him, impressed with what a figure he cut.

Soon enough they left the stables and made their way through the main gates of King’s Landing where Lannister banners hung from the battlements. Red and Gold cloaks lined the streets, as people stood twenty deep to watch the Lannister’s ride up the road up to the Red Keep. Sansa smiled at the people, and they cheered and called her name. Halfway to the keep, Tywin could admit that everything Sansa had wanted was worth the cost. He had rarely seen or felt such love towards any monarchs in recent years. Cersei had never understood the need for their loyalty; Tywin couldn’t help but think that she would have been a truly ruthless leader.

Once they were at the Red Keep, Tywin moved to help Sansa off her mount, and looked into her eyes, hoping that she wasn’t too tired.

“I’m feeling fine, Tywin,” she told him quietly, and took his arm as they mounted the steps.

When they arrived at the Great Throne Room, the lords and ladies of the Kingdom had packed the room. Jaime, Kevan and Tommen entered the hall first and took their places beside the rest of the family.

Tywin grasped Sansa’s hand and tucked it around his arm as they were announced. They had eyes only for each other they made their way towards the dais and the crowd murmured as they passed. Tywin and Sansa climbed the stairs to the thrones themselves and turned to face the crowd.

Grand Maester Pycelle’s voice rang through the hall.

_"All hail His Grace, Tywin of House Lannister, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."_

Then he reached down to a small table and approached Tywin with a golden crown in his hands. The crown for Tywin was a tribute to his House and the Westerlands. Made to look like waves crashing upon the shores of Casterly Rock, lions roared and ringed the crown. Upon closer inspection, the front of the crown held a male lion with a female lioness at his side. It was an unmistakable message to everyone, and Sansa smiled to herself when she saw it.

Once Tywin was crowned, he turned to the crowd. “My Lords and Ladies of Westeros, may I present Queen Sansa Lannister.”

The crowd cheered and Tywin presented Sansa her crown. It was also gold in colour, but much more delicate. Ringing it were wolves and lions that chased each other, and Sansa was overcome with the symbolism. Delicate blue jewels were in the wolves' eyes, and the lions were green. Tiny diamond snowflakes dotted the front where the lion and wolf met. Sansa felt the weight of a country when Tywin placed it on her head and looked into her eyes.

She curtseyed to him, and murmured, “My King,” and heard him whisper back, “My Queen.” Then they turned as one and the crowd roared with chants of _long live King Tywin and Queen Sansa_.

Sansa and Tywin sat side by side as Jerrod and Dacey were announced as the Lord and Lady Commanders of the new King and Queensguard. Then they swore the rest of the guards in, each receiving a new cloak.

Finally, Tyrion rose and climbed the stairs to stand beside his father and Sansa. Looking out at the crowd, he spoke.

“Each Kingdom has pledged itself to King Tywin and Queen Sansa of House Lannister. Each House now has a seat on the small council, so all matters that pertain to the people of Westeros are heard. Today marks a new era in the leadership of the seven Kingdoms.”

Once again cheers rang the hall, then Tyrion called each representative from each Kingdom to bend the knee to the King.

Prince Oberyn pledged for Dorne and bowed before the King and Queen, followed by Lord Wayward from the Vale and her uncle Edmure Tully for the Riverlands. Jaime Lannister pledged for the west, and Mace Tyrell for the Reach, along with Tommen for the Stormlands. Finally, there was Arya and Sandor. As Sandor was there as Robb’s proxy, he would speak on the Northern Lord’s behalf. But Sansa had asked that they both come, as Arya was a trueborn Stark. The stepped up to the thrones together, and both kneeled, pledging the loyalty of the North.

Having secured all seven Kingdoms, Tywin rose off the Throne and addressed the crowd. “Alliances that were made today will be honoured throughout the seven kingdoms. Any House that tries to upset the Kingdom is now a House alone and friendless, and our enemy.”

Chants of King Tywin rang the room, and Tywin pulled Sansa to his side before they descended the Throne to mingle with the Lords and Ladies of the court. Even now, Tywin kept Sansa beside him, refusing to let her go. There were too many people in the crowd and he trusted no one. If someone were attempting anything, now would be when he would try. They were most vulnerable now, and almost anyone might be able to get to her if they were lucky enough.

Eventually the Throne Room emptied as the feast was scheduled to take part in the largest garden. Walking through the hallways of the Red Keep, Sansa couldn’t help but reflect just how monumentally different things were for her in six months. She remembered the day Jerrod found her and stopped the latest beating from Joffrey’s vile guards. She had no one back then save for Shae, and had barely any hope. Then she’d been taken to Tywin. And as much as she might have given him a second chance for new heirs and a new title of King, he’d given her everything. He’d valued her, and sought her opinion, and treated her like she more than just a beautiful woman. She was important to him, and he’d given her choices. Anything from this moment forward was because she had decided to play the game of thrones with him by her side. And now she was more loved and cherished by him than any other wife in the Kingdom, of that she was sure. She’d saved her family, her house, her future children and herself.

Tywin watched her as they walked and saw the soft look of reflection on her face. They were surrounded by guards and almost alone.

“Happy?” he asked quietly, and she shot him a radiant grin.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s all because of you, you know.”

He frowned at that, believing the exact opposite. “How so?” truly interested in her answer.

She stopped and made him look at her. “You gave me a choice. The morning after our wedding. We could be at Casterly Rock right now, Tywin. And instead, we are here. Because you gave me a choice and believed in me.”

Tywin shook his head. Her mind was a marvel to him. He pressed his lips to hers. “Let us go feast, my Queen.”

She smiled brightly at him, “Let’s. Your children are hungry, my King,” and they walked into their coronation feast, arm in arm to cheers of their names ringing out for all to hear.

A new age had come to Westeros; the age of the lion and the wolf.


	24. Chapter 24

_King's Landing_

The feasting, drinking, and toasting to King Tywin and Queen Sansa lasted the entire afternoon and well into the evening. The lords and ladies of Westeros were pleased, and as Sansa observed the interactions from the head table, she couldn’t help but smile. She knew that many houses still had issues with each other and that there would always be conflict in the realm, but for the first time in years, things felt settled and without the oppressive air of violence that used to hang over the court when Joffrey was King. No one had ever felt truly safe when he was in power.

Tywin stayed beside her the entire evening; he remembered what had happened the last time she had been left alone for a moment in the garden. Her new head of the Queensguard, this Dacey Mormont was quite fierce and protective, but Tywin trusted almost no one with her except his own family, her family, and Jerrod.

Arya and Sandor were scheduled to leave Kings Landing in a week, knowing that there was work to do in the North. Neither one was happy here in the Capital. And even though there was now peace in the realm, there was work to do in Flea Bottom. Sansa had a list of initiatives she wanted to undertake, especially in Kings Landing. Tywin knew that at some point, they would need to visit the different Kingdoms and was already making plans. Of course, they would not leave Kings Landing until after their children were born, but at some point, Sansa and Tywin would need to make an appearance in each Kingdom to ensure that loyalties and allegiances remained to House Lannister.

Tywin had made sure that everything at the feast was to Sansa’s liking, including the food, and the tea that she liked. He stroked her thigh under the table and smirked when he felt her touch him back. Tywin leaned over to Sansa at one point and asked how she was doing. She squeezed his hand and smiled at him and told him she was okay. He worried even more now that he knew she was pregnant with twins.

Carrying two children would require things to change. She would be larger than if she carried one, and most twins came early. She was almost five months gone, so it was imperative that she not push herself too hard these last few months. She would no longer be able to ride a horse, and Tywin was already trying to limit the number of steps she had to walk. He knew she would be annoyed with how protective he was of her, but he couldn’t help it. She was the most important thing to him. He knew it would be almost impossible to get her to rest; Sansa tended to work as hard as him.

Lady Margaery, Tyrion, Ellaria and Oberyn came to sit beside them at one point, and Tywin listened with half an ear as the women giggled and gossiped about what some of the more colourfull ladies of the court were wearing. Sansa was still trying hard not to be scandalized by Ellaria Sand’s dresses, but she huffed after each encounter with the southern woman. Tywin smiled when she prattled on about how undignified it was when they were alone in their rooms. His Queen would never show that much flesh to another man besides him, and he was grateful for her northern sensibilities. His jealousy would never be able to handle anyone else seeing her so revealed.

Sansa had finally warmed to Prince Oberyn, but not in a sexual way much to the man’s chagrin. She did, however, smile and laugh with him, and soon he and Tyrion were japing about the best whorehouses in the Capital until Margaery shot her husband a look and Tyrion’s mouth snapped shut. Ellaria laughed and sent the two of them a look.

“You don’t share?” she asked the dwarf slyly, and Margaery got a murderous look on her face, much to Tyrion’s delight. He grasped his wife’s hand and kissed it, happy he could be open with his affections for her.

“A rose has thorns, My Lady and I do not like to get hurt,” Tyrion said to the bold woman and Margaery settled. There would be no sharing of her husband with anyone.

“And you, Lord Tywin,” Oberyn said, knowing that Tywin Lannister was well aware of his sexual tastes and appetites. “You have never brought another into your bedroom, to share your lovely wife?” Oberyn truly enjoyed japing with the Old Lion and saw him bristle.

“No,” Tywin ground out and glared at the Prince from Dorne. The thought of anyone even near Sansa was enough to drive Tywin to madness, let alone the idea of another man touching her. Sansa just grimaced. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around the sexual tastes of their southernmost Kingdom. She got an odd pit in her stomach when she thought of someone else being with her husband.

“And you, Your Grace? You have no interest in all pleasures of the flesh that can be found with multiple partners?” Oberyn said and sent her a smile. Before Tywin could react, Sansa smiled benignly at the cocky man.

“I assure you, Prince Oberyn, my husband is more than enough for me,” she said and placed her hands on her prominent stomach. Tywin smirked at the Prince, gleeful that Sansa pointed out his masculinity to the arrogant Prince.

Oberyn threw his head back and laughed and winked at Tywin.

“Yes, if the rumours are true, the Great Lion will have more cubs than he knows what to do with, My Queen,” Oberyn said.

Sansa shot a glance at her husband and grasped his hand, and then looked back at the Dornish couple.

“There can never be too many lions, My Lord,” Sansa said and then looked to Margaery as well. “The Kingdom would be lucky to have the castle overflowing with children from our House.”

Oberyn laughed again, rich and deep. Everyone knew how much the King loved his wife, and at twenty-one, it wasn’t unrealistic to imagine a whole pride of cubs from Tywin Lannister’s loins for years to come. It was a fearsome thought, and Oberyn saluted the Golden Lion for his excellent marriage. The more the Prince from Dorne observed them, the more he was sure that Tywin Lannister had secured himself a lasting dynasty. His wife was well connected to the Vale, the North and the Riverlands and Tywin brought the West, the Stormlands and the Reach. Together they had six of the seven Kingdoms in their pocket, and it would have been suicide for Dorne to remain outside the Great Lion’s influence.

Oberyn heard the rumours that Stannis Baratheon and Balon Greyjoy were discussing an alliance, but honestly, he thought they were mad to challenge King Tywin. If needed, the King could call on a hundred thousand troops from Winterfell to the Sunset Sea to defend the realm. But Stannis Baratheon was a prideful and stubborn man. Rightfully the throne should have passed to him. But power resided in those who had it, and right now that was House Lannister. Tywin would give it up to no one now that he had it, rightful claims be damned.

Oberyn and Ellaria were planning on staying in the Capital for some time; ravens between Oberyn and his brother confirmed that he would be the Kingdom of Dorne’s representative on the small council. And truthfully, Oberyn was having fun in the Capital. Tywin was still not completely comfortable with the man, but Dorne was a critical Kingdom and required more work than the rest to keep happy. Once Myrcella married Tyrstane, their alliance with Dorne would be even stronger. Her wedding was scheduled in a few years and depending on how Sansa and their children were doing, Tywin planned to attend.

When the Dornish couple moved on, Margaery grasped Sansa’s hand and asked how she was feeling. Sansa sent her a tired smile. It had been a long day, but she knew it was important that she and Tywin stay for as long as possible. The people loved to see their King and Queen.

Sandor and Arya had sat with Ser Marbrand, her mother, Jaime, Tommen and Lady Brienne. Sandor found that he enjoyed discussing war and training tactics with Addam and Jaime. All three were lords from the Westerlands, and as much as Sandor had come to appreciate the North, there was something about talking with your countrymen that were deeply satisfying. And they looked at him differently now. He was no longer the Hound; now he was Sandor Clegane, trusted man to Lord Stark. Addam and Jaime both knew how much the Stark sisters loved the large man, and the respect Addam and Jaime now afforded him could be directly attributable to them.

On occasion, Sandor turned his head to observe the new King and Queen. His little bird looked like a true queen today, and there was a pang in his heart for her. He had only wanted her to be safe from that cunt Joffrey, and he knew that a Queen was never genuinely safe even with a fierce man like Tywin Lannister to protect her. There would always be threats to her, and he had to trust that those left in Kings Landing were competent enough to see to her safety.

He watched them and saw how the Old Lion touched her, whispered to her, and always made sure she was happy and eating. She did the same with him, and Sandor noticed that they were still talking with each other. They were a unit, Sandor realized suddenly, understanding that Tywin trusted Sansa with everything and was grooming her to be the true Queen and not just a pretty bird at his side.

Sandor wasn’t quite used to seeing his liege Lord act that way, and was positive he wouldn’t be used to it by the time he rode out of Kings Landing within a week. He knew just how vicious and hard the Old Lion could be, and he wondered if Sansa knew all the Lannister secrets. Then he shrugged. It wasn’t his problem anymore.

Tywin didn’t leave the head table much; he knew Sansa was tired despite her protests, and for once, he was comfortable letting the Lords and Ladies of Westeros come to them. Still, he didn’t miss anything, which was why when he saw two men in strange clothes approach Tyrion, he frowned slightly and watched as Tyrion hopped down off his seat and waddled out of the room.

“Where is he off to?” Sansa murmured to him, and he shrugged, eyes narrowed. He caught Jaime’s eyes, and he shrugged as well. No one knew whom Tyrion had left with. Just as Jaime rose to follow his little brother out of the garden, Tyrion came back in, followed by two men carrying a crate. Sansa and Tywin’s eyes both widened at the sight, remembering another who had been presented to them this way. Sansa reached for Tywin’s hand, and he held it tightly.

Tyrion couldn’t help but smirk. He knew his father would be more than pleased with the contents of the box. At that moment it was as if everyone knew something monumental was happening, for a hush fell over the sizeable boisterous crowd in the gardens. Approaching Sansa and Tywin, Tyrion bowed and said, “Your Grace, may I present Daenerys Targaryen.” Then Tyrion rose, and the crate lid was flipped open to reveal a young woman’s head with startling silver hair.

Sansa schooled her face to show no shock. She was a Queen, and she had agreed to this plan. Still, a part of her heart clenched at the site. The Dragon Queen was the same age. Sansa also knew if this woman had ever had a chance, she would have demolished the Lannister’s; including the two unborn children in Sansa’s womb. But it was different from agreeing to a plan and then to see it’s execution in gory detail.

She felt Tywin’s hand squeeze hers, and then her husband rose to address the crowd, who had gasped and let of shrieks of delight. Tywin watched her when Tyrion had revealed the head of his enemy, and though her reaction was commendable, he saw her pale. Tywin knew Sansa had a sensitive heart and while she would always defend their family, deep down, Sansa longed for peace.

Tywin looked to Tyrion and nodded his head. The Great Lion had promised to protect Westeros from the Dragon Queen, and he had delivered. He was indeed the most powerful man in the realm at that moment.

“My Lords and Lady,” Tywin said, his voice loud and true, and it rang through the crowd. “House Lannister promised to protect the seven kingdoms from another Targaryen invasion, and today that promise has been fulfilled.”

Cheers roared through the garden. There wasn’t a house present that hadn’t been affected when the Targaryen’s ruled; and while there were still some loyalists in the crowd, most had suffered. Especially in the end, when madness drove King Aerys’ to burn those he viewed as enemies. And the mad King saw almost everyone as an enemy near the end.

“Remember this day; remember the day that the Lions delivered on the promise to keep all those in Westeros safe and protected from the Dragon Queen,” Tywin roared, caught up in the fact that the most significant threat to his empire had been eliminated.

A deep sense of satisfaction thrummed through Tywin’s body. His eyes met Jaime’s and saw his son nod to him, and then come to a stop on Tyrion. Tywin had finally repaid House Targaryen for their transgressions against his family. Tywin left the dais where the head table was located and came down to embrace his sons. He could not have imagined a world where his youngest son, the one he knew was not his, had done so much for House Lannister. He thanked the gods that Tyrion never knew that this was his half-sister’s head in a crate. Everything Tyrion had done had been to further the rule of the lions. He’d saved Tywin’s heirs, he’d helped eliminate Cersei, he’d prevented the Iron Bank from backing Stannis Baratheon, he’d secured the Reach in his marriage to Lady Margaery, and now, against all the odds, he’d saved the realm from an unwinnable war against House Targaryen and their dragons.

Tywin met Tyrion’s eyes, and though he was not a man prone to public displays, nor was he a man that was easily impressed, he knew that Tyrion had exceeded all expectations that had been put on him. He could no longer ignore how important a role his son had played in his ascension to the position of King.

“Tyrion, of House Lannister, Hand to the King, you have conducted yourself admirably,” Tywin stated, and though his voice wasn’t as loud as before, there wasn’t anyone nearby who didn’t hear his words. “Your King recognizes your loyal service to House Lannister and the Crown.”

Tyrion felt his mouth drop. He’d never expected to receive such public praise from his father; it was practically unheard of even in private. He still wasn’t used to having his father speak to him civilly; let alone have his approval be pronounced in front of the entire court.

Jaime grinned broadly and slapped his little brother on the back, and then Lady Margaery made her way to her husband, whom she kissed on the cheek. Tyrion was in a daze. He’d never expected anything quite like this, and he was quite frankly stunned. All he knew was that when he’d travelled to Braavos and the House of Black and White he had wanted to keep House Lannister safe from all threats. It was all he had ever wanted in his life; to be accepted by his father and seen as worthy in the eyes of the Great Lion. And now, he finally was.

Sandor shook his head. How on earth had the dwarf managed all of that was beyond him, but even he’d heard the stories of the Dragon Queen and her three fire breathing beasts. Anything that had to do with fire was enough to send a shiver of fear down Sandor’s spine, so he had no issues seeing that silver-haired Queen’s head in a box.

Catelyn knew the damage that House Targaryen had done to House Stark, and at that moment, raised her eyes to her daughter’s husband. Tywin saw the satisfaction in Lady Catelyn Marbrand’s eyes and nodded to her.

Varys felt a twinge in his chest. He had been a loyal Targaryen supporter, but even he had seen the writing on the wall when Tywin had married Sansa all those months ago. He had been honest when he’d told Sansa that his loyalty was to the people of the realm and not to a particular House. Still, it was an ignominious end to a noble house of Westeros that had existed for over three hundred years.

Once Tywin had spoken directly to his son, he turned back to the head table. He was worried about Sansa. The presentation of the Dragon Queen’s head had been a shock to her, and he had seen it in the slight tightening of her features. He would take no chances with her health. When he sat down beside her, he leaned in and spoke softly, “Are you alright, wife?”

Sansa felt a warmth steal through her body. Some might find him overbearing, but for Sansa, she felt loved. Tywin only ever had her best interests at heart. He saw her so clearly, and it was almost like he could anticipate her moods and needs and would move mountains to ensure that all of them were met.

She shook her head slightly and felt her eyes tear. She’d known that this would be the end for Daenerys Targaryen when she had agreed to the plan, but her heightened emotions from her pregnancy, coupled with the long day had depleted her. She met his eyes and saw him curse softly and pulled her to him. He didn’t care that the entire realm would see him give his wife comfort.

“I need to get out of here Tywin,” she said so quietly that only he could hear her. He nodded and kept his hand in hers and pulled her to her feet. The King thanked those who had come to the coronation and then turned to take their leave. As they made their way back to their chambers, Sansa snuggled into him and felt his arm band around her. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Once they were back in their chambers, Sansa called for her handmaidens and gave them explicit instructions on what she needed. She wanted to sink into a large warm bath, full of her favourite oils. She also wanted the fire banked in their room, and extra food brought to their bedchamber. She’d had eaten at the feast but probably not enough, despite Tywin’s best efforts. Now that she was away from the pressure of being on display, she knew she’d be hungry again. Once they scurried to comply with her instructions, she felt Tywin come up to her and press kisses to the back of her neck before he took off her crown and a new necklace. Sansa rolled her neck, and Tywin smiled at her.

“Allow me?” he asked her and she nodded, and he began to undo the laces on her heavy dress, letting it drop, along with her small clothes. He kneaded her shoulders, and she groaned and leaned back into him. Tywin’s large, strong hands held her and then reached to the front to cup her sensitive breasts. They had grown larger as well, and her nipples were especially sensitive. He rolled them between his fingers and felt them harden into peaks. He leaned down and whispered to her, “Let me join you in your bath, my Queen.”

Sansa groaned and turned in his arms to press a kiss to his lips.

“Of course, my love,” Sansa said, and Tywin wrapped her in his robe that she still insisted on wearing. Sansa reached for his doublet and undid the buckles until he shrugged out of it. He toed off his leather boots, and then Sansa reached for the laces of his tunic. She loved undressing him and felt the desire pool in her core as she lifted his tunic off his trim body. She reached down and undid his pants and smirked when she felt his hardened member. She couldn’t get over how much he still wanted her. He drew her to him smashed his mouth against hers.

“Sansa,” he crooned to her. “My Queen.”

She blushed and grinned and threaded her fingers through his whiskers. Gods, he loved her.

He grabbed her hand, and they made their way to their bathing rooms. Once there Sansa dropped her robe, and Tywin groaned just looking at how ripe and round she was. He reached out to cup her breasts again and brushed his fingers over her tips, loving how they hardened instantly. Then Sansa stepped into the huge bath and sunk and Tywin followed her, situating them, so she sat facing him, her pretty breasts so close to his mouth.

He rubbed his hands through her hair, and drew her mouth to his, pinning her to him and kissed her deeply, before sighing and resting his cheek against her. He felt her wiggled around and chuckled.

“Patience, my love,” he whispered, and she giggled.

She gave him a soft look and pecked at his lips and whispered, “I love you, Tywin.” He tightened his grip on her just a little bit.

Then he leaned her back slightly so her breasts popped to the top of the water and they were just there in front of him to suck and nibble on. He rolled his tongue over them, making them harden further, and imagined his children sucking on her; her nourishing them and making them strong.

He was supposed to be above such base thoughts; he was no peasant squatting in a shack in Flea Bottom. Sansa could have a dozen of the best wet nurses being the Queen. But the idea of her in their bed, feeding their children, made him surge with love. There was something primal about seeing his woman ripen with his children. Tywin didn’t care if a man were the poorest beggar or the King himself; each man knew that feeling of pride at seeing his woman grow large because of his seed. Sansa was living proof that he was still the virial and powerful man he’d always been.

He sucked on her and thumbed them and rumbled out to her, “I can picture you, a babe in each arm, greedy little lions sucking from their mother,” and she moaned loud and long and pinned his head to her chest.

“Tywin,” she panted and felt her core clenched at the picture he presented.

He licked them and bit down gently, knowing how sensitive she was. “Does that thought make you want me, wife? Knowing you’ll only get bigger, and riper as the time comes to birth our heirs.”

“Yes,” she hissed as he continued to stimulate her. She could see them ensconced in their bedroom, their babes between them. Tywin reached down to swipe a finger through her and felt how ready she was, even in the water. He needed to taste her, to have her sweet scent on his tongue.

His strong arms lift her out of the tub and put her on the side. Sansa spread her legs wide, wanton and needy for her peak and Tywin grinned at the perfect picture she made. He must have looked too long because he watched as her hands drifted down and she slipped a finger inside.

Tywin had to suppress every instinct he had not to take her. He was rock hard and beyond ready for her. He smirked at her, and she grinned and bit her lip and then moaned loudly when he bent his head and swiped at her, nuzzling in deep as if he were a lion himself and she was a fresh kill. Tywin licked and sucked her and ground his nose into her until she called out his name.

When he felt her slump slightly, he rose and picked her up, trailing water through their apartments as he took her to their bed. Once there she grinned at him when he laid down and climbed on top of him and she sunk on him.

He was undone. She was the mother and the maiden herself as she rode him, placing her hands on his chest and grinding and swivelling her hips, searching for her peak again. He loved knowing that she was confident enough to have him this way.

“Wife,” he growled, and she locked her eyes to him. They sparkled, and she leaned down to kiss him once before she rose up again and continued to grind herself on him. Tywin felt himself tighten and knew he was close as he gripped her hips. Eventually, he drew one down to her nub and brushed his fingers against it before he pinched, and he heard her moan and pick up her pace. She slid off of him before she slammed herself down again and again and dug her nails into his chest, leaving little crescent-shaped marks on his skin. He grunted at the slight pain; it added a keen edge to the entire coupling. When she eventually screamed his name and peaked, her core sucked him into her so deeply he bumped into her womb. He dragged her down to kiss her lips and pumped his hips, so he spilled inside her.

Sansa tried hard to catch her breath, panting and huffing as she felt Tywin cradle her in his arms, before she fell asleep, exhausted from the emotions and toil of the day. Tywin smoothed back her hair that had plastered itself to her face and looked at the peaceful image on her face.

“My Queen, my love,” he whispered, and let himself drift off to sleep, holding her in his arms.

* * *

Shortly after he had presented the head of the Dragon Queen to his father, Tyrion watched as the King lead his pregnant wife from the feast celebrating their coronation. He knew that his father was pleased with him, and he knew that Sansa tired very easily these days. He suspected something more with her pregnancy; while he hadn’t occasion to be around many pregnant women, she seemed larger than Cersei ever had. He wondered if it was simply because she was so slim, but then, so was Cersei. No, Tyrion suspected that his father might have done the impossible and gotten his pretty new wife pregnant with yet another set of twins. The man was impossible to live up to, Tyrion thought, happily drunk and smirking.

He suspected his lady wife, now three weeks gone into their marriage would soon be joining her good friend in that way. And he couldn’t wait. Right now, Tyrion had absolutely everything he could want. Even the thought of returning to Casterly Rock or some such other keep held little appeal. Here he was useful. Here he had a purpose. And tonight, as much as this day and evening had been about Tywin and Sansa, he was a hero.

Margaery stayed glued to his side as toast after toast was raised in his name. Jaime and Kevan couldn’t believe his mission to Braavos had been so successful; not because it was him, but because he had eliminated such a threat to their House.

“But what of her dragons?” Prince Oberyn mused, and those gathered around the table nodded their heads.

Tyrion shrugged. The faceless men had only been hired to assassinate the Targaryen woman; he had no clue what would become of the beasts.

Lord Varys looked at the Lannister lions, and asked, “And Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan?” and watched the small man shrug again. “They are very loyal to her,” he warned them, and Tyrion frowned. There was no way they could have afforded to pay for all three to be executed; the price for the Dragon Queen’s head had been high enough, although it was nothing compared to what a war with her would have cost. And to be frank, the realm was in better financial position than they had ever been. Still, it was worrisome to think that there may be skilled and dangerous men out there that were now bent on revenge against their House. Tyrion made a note to discuss it with his father, and inform all the guards.

“To Lord Tyrion, Dragonslayer,” Oberyn toasted, and all their family gathered toasted the small man.

Sandor Clegane snorted at that. How fucking hard was it to pay someone else to swing a fucking sword, he thought a bit bitterly. Seeing his scowl, Arya leaned in.

“That’s where I was going before you kidnapped me,” she whispered to him. His one eyebrow winged up.

“Fucking Mereen?” he asked incredulously, and she shook her head.

“No dumb ass. The House of Black and White. To learn to be an assassin,” Arya told him in a huff. He barked out a laugh.

“What?” she said, offended that he didn’t think she had it in her. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a girl or not. They train anyone worthy.”

“And you think that’s you?” Sandor said and gave her another look. She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Yes.”

He shook his head. He would never understand these highborn cunts. The little wolf had the sweetest life that he could see. Her lordly brother let her roam around with him; she got to train daily in a way that almost no other woman of her status could in the seven kingdoms. And even though she was of marriageable age, no one was forcing a match on her. And now she wanted to talk to him about travelling to Braavos to learn to become an assassin. Fuck me, he thought. Robb would have his work cut out for him when he did finally try to make a match for her.

“Take it from me, little wolf,” he told her, “plenty of cunts in this fucking place that need a sword in their guts. No need to travel across the sea to learn how to do it.”

She nodded, seeing the truth in his words. Still, she knew the reputation of the faceless men, and it was a fearsome thing to behold.

Eventually, so drunk he was stumbling, Margaery pulled her husband from his seat. She’d let him have his moment, but she knew he’d have a lousy head tomorrow given how much he had indulged tonight. He rarely was in his cups like this, and rarely since their marriage. He was too busy fucking her each night to worry about losing himself in a skin of wine. He was humming as they made their way back to the hand’s chambers and swinging Margaery’s arm as he held her hand.

“Dragonslayer,” he kept muttering and then giggling, and Margaery smiled indulgently. She knew that Tywin Lannister’s public praise of him had stunned him. When they finally got to their bedchambers, Margaery was glad she hadn’t dismissed her handmaiden. Her husband was in no condition to help her undress, although once the woman had her down to her small clothes, she hurried out of the room. Margaery could see why, as she turned around and saw her husband lying on the bed, naked and hard.

“I’m not that drunk, you know,” he told her and had a wicked gleam in his eyes. "I need you," he murmured, and she stripped down to lay with him, letting him pound his way into her body, crying out when she peaked, and he quickly followed. She saw a silly, satisfied grin on his face and she smirked.

She kissed him once more and then whispered, “Go to sleep, dragon slayer,” and watched him smirk until his eyes closed and they both fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

The next morning Sansa watched amusedly as members of her family stumbled into their dining rooms, having stayed later and consumed copious amounts of wine, mead, and ale at the feast. Sandor and Tyrion especially seemed to be nursing heavy heads this morning, and Sansa ensured that there was plenty of food and water for both of them.

Tommen was chirping incessantly at Arya, who had an amused expression on her face. She promised she would train with him, and Brienne and Ser Marbrand were discussing some different training exercises with both of them. Arya had come to accept the Lord Commander grudgingly, and Sansa was pleased by this. Today she was taking Arya and Sandor into Flea Bottom. Dacey would accompany them, along with Jerrod and Ser Marbrand.

Before Sansa left for Flea Bottom, she pulled her husband to the side and told him how much she had enjoyed their bed play the night before. "I wonder if you will think of me when I'm away from you?" she asked coyly and Tywin felt the lust curl in his stomach.

He pulled her to him and whispered, “I want you every day, wife until you are limp and screaming my name.” He heard her breath hitch and knew she’d be thinking about this as much as he would. Satisfied she wanted him, he nipped at her ear and continued, “Today when you return from Flea Bottom, come and find me, wife. And then I will show you how a lion feasts.” He heard her moan and she clutched him harder to her body.

“Tywin,” she whined, and he chuckled at her. He loved these little games they played.

“I hope you are wet and needy all day, Sansa,” he told her and saw her pretty red lips pout. It took everything for him to not merely drag her back to their bedroom and have her until she couldn’t walk, but he had a Kingdom to run, and as much as he wanted that, he knew he had things to attend to today as did she.

Kissing her hard, one last time, he turned and took his leave with his sons and brother following him.

Sansa huffed and shifted and then turned to find Arya and Sandor staring at her. She straightened her spine and approached them.

“Seven fucking hells, little bird, why don’t you just take him here in front of everyone,” Sandor growled at her. It wasn’t hard to see the heat between the two of them, and he once again was stunned by just how much she had tamed Tywin Lannister. The Old Lion looked like he was going to fucking throw her down and mount her in front of everyone, his hunger for his wife so evident.

“Sandor!” Sansa said, almost scandalized. Then she grinned at him. “It is rather indecent, isn’t it.”

And she threw her head back and laughed as his jaw dropped. He growled and spun away from her and Arya lifted an eyebrow at Sansa.

“Fuck me, Sansa,” Arya said, “Mother and Father never carried on as you lot do.”

Sansa reached out and hugged Arya. “Someday you might meet someone that will make you feel the way I do. And then dear sister, I will laugh when you act the way I do.”

Arya grinned and shook her head. Sansa had changed, but in Arya’s mind, it was for the better. Her very proper, very whiny, very naïve sister was gone, and in her place was a woman that Arya liked. Linking arms they laughed as they went to find the grumpy Sandor and tour Flea Bottom.

* * *

Arya and Sandor were both suitably impressed with the changes Sansa had made in Flea Bottom. Although Sandor didn’t do much more than grunt, Sansa could see the look of pride in his face. He knew as well as her the hell that some young women and men went through when they were left all alone in a place like Kings Landing without any means but to sell their flesh.

Arya was impressed as well, more that Sansa had the willingness to follow through on such a project when she had no higher obligation than to be a pretty Queen. Oddly enough, Sansa seemed to genuinely care for the people of the Crownlands, including the peasants and the commoners here in Flea Bottom. And they loved her for it. This was why Sansa had dragged them down here today; to find meaningful ways to make their lives better. Arya knew that their father would be proud of her, and she told Sansa that. Ned Stark had instilled a sense of duty and obligation in his children for the people under his protection, and Sansa took that lesson to heart. While some chose to rule by fear, Sansa chose to rule through honourable works and deeds. It was why Lord Varys had put his trust in her and she had more than earned it. Her sister rewarded her with a hug and a smile, seeing how genuine Sansa was to her Northern upbringing.

Eventually, though Arya got bored, and when Sansa and Sandor sat down with Ser Marbrand to discuss what could be done for the widows, orphans and cripples from the wars, she slipped out and into Flea Bottom. She had Needle at her side and another small dagger in her boot and was unconcerned; she could take care of herself, and her sister was the Queen. No one would dare hurt her. Everyone had seen and heard the North had bent the knee to King Tywin, who was her goodbrother.

Arya wandered the streets, remembering when Yorhen had dragged her through them after she watched her father lose his head. That entire day had been traumatic, and she tried hard to suppress those memories. She rarely thought of Gendry anymore, striking him from his mind as easily as he’d abandoned her with Sandor Clegane when he had chosen to stay with the brotherhood. But she did now that she was back here. Unwittingly her legs took her down those same steps she’d travelled before until she was standing in front of the forge where she first saw him.

Lost in her memories, she hardly realized she’d wandered further than she realized. Had she been five minutes later, she would have seen Gendry, but as was the way of fate and the whims of Gods, she missed him. She turned and hurried back the way she had come, knowing if she lingered any longer, Sansa would send a search party for her.

Gendry had, of course, heard about the marriage of Sansa and Tywin and that peace had come to the seven kingdoms. He’d also heard that the young Lord Stark had retaken Winterfell. Beyond that, he’d kept his head down when Ser Davos had saved him from the Red Lady and brought him to Kings Landing from that god-awful island he’d been stuck on. He’d regretted his decision to stay with the Brotherhood almost the moment he’d made it, and he wondered about her almost every day. If her sister were the Queen, surely Arya would be alive, wouldn't she?

Slipping back into the room, Arya saw Sandor raise an eyebrow to her, and seeing that he was alone, walked up to him.

“Where the fuck did you get off too?” he growled at her.

“Taking a walk down memory lane,” she told him, and he snorted at her, then looked at her closely.

“Found who you were looking for?” he said and watched as her eyes widened.

She shook her head. “No,” she whispered to him. Why on earth she thought Gendry would be here just went to show how foolish she was.

Later that night, after dinner in the King’s dining hall, Arya stayed behind and caught her sister’s eye. Grabbing her hand, she dragged Sansa to the small solar off Tywin’s larger one. When Sansa sank into a comfortable chair, she wondered what was on her sister’s mind as she watched Arya pace. Several times her sister started to speak, only to hold her tongue. Finally frustrated, and wanting her husband, Sansa huffed out a breath.

“Either speak your mind, sister or let me go to bed,” Sansa commanded her and Arya shot her a look.

With one last sigh, Arya told Sansa about what happened from the moment she’d watched Ser Illyn Payne take their father’s head. Sansa sat there fascinated, and listened, not questioning her, which Arya appreciated. Arya told Sansa about her time at Harrnehal, with Tywin, and watched as her sister smiled a bit at some of their interactions. Tywin had been honest with Sansa and already told her much about their time together. But it was different hearing it from Arya’s perspective. What became clear throughout Arya’s tale, was that she had strong feelings for someone named Gendry Waters. Arya’s voice broke when she told Sansa how he decided not to come with her when she left the Brotherhood with Sandor. Sansa could see the hurt in her sister’s face. Then Sansa was shocked when Arya said she’d went looking for him, here in King’s Landing.

“Arya that was dangerous,” Sansa said, stunned.

Arya snorted. “I had my sword, and everyone knows who I am.l

She turned her face to Sansa, and the Queen could see tears in her sister’s eyes. “I’m not like you Sansa. I don’t want to be a lady. I don’t want to be married, but he was my family, and I can’t stand the thought of him being all alone.”

Sansa held out her arms and Arya sunk to her knees in front of her sister and laid her head in her lap, tears coming unbidden.

Sansa stroked her sister’s hair and looked up to meet her husband’s eyes. He had heard most of the conversation and sent her a slow nod. After observing Arya Stark since she’d arrived in Kings Landing, Tywin knew he would allow her brother the pleasure of trying to tame the wild northern noblewoman. Perhaps in time, she could be convinced of the benefits of marriage. Tywin was all too familiar with the frustrations of having a member of your family refuse to do their duty. Jaime was a prime candidate.

“Arya, I will continue to keep my ears open for this Gendry person,” Sansa said, and Arya’s eyes shot up to her sisters.

“But you’re the Queen,” Arya protested, and Sansa laughed and cupped her face.

“I am, and the common people love me. If anyone can find him, it will be me,” Sansa said firmly and watched her sister smile.

“Thank you, Sansa,” Arya said, and pressed a kiss to Sansa’s cheek.

“Come, sister, it is time for bed,” Sansa said and groaned a bit as she felt the weight of her stomach. Arya realized how tired Sansa must be and quickly rose and thanked her again, before spinning to pin Tywin with a look.

“I knew you were there,” she said to him, and he smirked at her.

“Careful,” he told her in that tone he always used with her. “You’re in my house now,” he told her and watched her grin at him.

She curtseyed perfectly and said, “Of course, M’lord.”

Tywin couldn’t help it; he barked out a laugh. She had cheek, that much was sure. She grinned one last time and left her sister and her husband to themselves. She wanted to be far away from them when they started whatever it was that had begun at breakfast that morning.

Once she was gone, Tywin turned his full attention to his lovely wife. He let his eyes devour her, and Sansa felt the heat pool in her core. But he also saw the exhaustion in her face. What started as fun this morning was no longer there. He gathered her in his arms and made their way to their bedroom, where he tucked her up against him.

"Sleep Sansa," he told her, and like a sleepy kitten, she curled into him. She was a marvel, and he leaned down to whisper how much he loved her before they slipped into sleep.

_ King’s Landing  _

Arya and Sandor were set to leave King’s Landing when Lord Varys delivered stunning news to the small council. Stannis Baratheon had declared open war on the Iron Born, refusing an alliance with the Kraken.

Tywin’s jaw ticked when he heard the news. He knew the day would come when he’d have to face Stannis again, and it appeared to be here. Tywin wondered if this were an opportunity to bring Stannis Baratheon into the fold finally. The man had no more moves to make, and Tywin knew he hated Dragonstone.

“Where are they now?” he asked the eunuch.

“Still at Dragonstone, My Lord,” Varys said.

Tywin sat in contemplation. He knew the Throne he sat on was Stannis Baratheon’s by rights, and he couldn’t have cared less. He had taken the throne and united the seven kingdoms. He had made an advantageous marriage alliance, and he had ended the war with the North. That made him ruler, and he would defend his right to rule, with blood and war if necessary. The Baratheon’s had only been on the throne for two decades; Robert had been the one that had broken the hundreds of years of Targaryen rule, and if he could do it, so could Tywin.

“Send a raven demanding House Baratheon and House Greyjoy to bend the knee immediately,” Tywin stated to the small council. “Shireen Baratheon and Tommen Baratheon will be formally betrothed. If Stannis accepts my rule, he can return to Storm’s End and rule as regent until my grandson and his daughter come of age.”

“And if he refuses, Your Grace?” Tyrion asked.

“Then he is at war with the seven Kingdoms,” Tywin stated and saw nods of acceptance around the table.

There was more news. Tywin held the gazes of the men that sat at the table. Sansa was by his side and already knew what he would say. She wanted to reach out and grasp his hand, but she knew that would not be welcome here. Still, she feared for her family and prayed that Tywin had answers to the threats to the North.

“Lord Stark writes that there are rumours of a wilding army, amassing North of the Wall and moving south,” Tywin told the representatives of the seven kingdoms.

Prince Oberyn scoffed. “What does that have to do with us? There is a giant wall of ice between them and us.”

Tyrion grunted, “As much as that might be true, the castles along the wall are depleted of men and houses rarely send competent fighters.” He remembered visiting Castle Black. The wall was an imposing place, but the Castle itself had been relatively empty, and he knew most of the forts along the wall were all but abandoned by the South. “How many, Your Grace?”

“Ninety thousand wildings,” Tywin stated and heard shocked gasps ring the table.

Tywin pinned Varys with a look. “If Stannis does not accept my terms, where will he attack?”

“North, Your Grace,” Varys said. Jaime concurred.

The North was vast, and houses were still far and scattered, and everyone knew that the Dreadfort remained empty and unguarded since the Bolton’s had been eradicated. Despite the two hundred men that held the castle, if Stannis could take it, he could launch a campaign from there. And, if Stannis needed men to fight for him, a hundred thousand wildings made a formidable force. Sandor spoke up and told Tywin as much.

The Great Lion pinned his former loyal bannerman with a cool look but saw nothing but the truth in Sandor’s eyes.

Tywin would not let his kingdom crumble because of Stannis Baratheon. If the man wouldn’t bend the knee and give up his claim, then he would feel the full force of the seven kingdoms.

Tywin looked to Jaime and Kevan. “You will take twenty thousand Lannister men and march North. Ravens will be sent to Winterfell immediately.” Lord Stark would know that his alliance would support him. It would take at least a month to march men to Winterfell and the sooner the men left, the better.

“Your Grace,” Mace Tyrell said, “Allow our forces to join yours. Lord Randall Tarly is a fearsome battle commander and a fine tactician. We have ten thousand men ready at his command.”

Tywin shot a glance to Jaime who nodded. Riding North with a host of thirty thousand men would be better.

Then the Vale and the Riverlands both added their support. When the King’s army arrived at Winterfell, it would be one of the greatest shows of force the Kingdom had seen. Tywin was pleased with his alliances and that the kingdoms rallied quickly to the call to war. All knew that the threat of both Stannis and the Wildings must be taken seriously. This would be the first real test of Tywin’s kingship, and he didn’t mean to lose. There was a part of him that chaffed at the thought that he was not riding to war, but his place was here now. He looked to his son and saw the excitement and anticipation light his eyes. Whatever Jaime’s faults, his firstborn was always best on the back of a horse, leading men into battle.

_Winterfell _

Robb had never been busier in his entire life. It seemed the work to restore Winterfell was endless, and the time he spent listening to petitions, and settling disputes was mind-numbing. He’s been named King in the North and went to war, and then come back to a crumbling keep as Lord Stark.

He had to admit, a part of him was happy to bend the knee to Tywin Lannister. Not because he liked the man, but because he knew more than anyone, he would keep the peace in the realm. Knowing that Stark blood would sit on the Iron Throne was enough to appease him into being one of the seven instead of a King in his own right. He knew that if he had pressed his Kingship, he would have been at war again; and this time, there would have been no stopping Tywin from taking the North by force. The man had the other six kingdoms in his grasp, and while the North was the largest geographically, they couldn’t compete with the numbers the Great Lion could amass. Besides, it was exhausting enough being Lord Stark, let alone a King.

The rumours of the wilding army grew louder by the week, and Robb didn’t know what to make of it. He thought if he had Sandor here, he would send his friend to Castle Black to figure out just what was going on. The silence from the Wall was deafening. Robb missed Sandor and needed him back. He’d received word that their visit was over and they were on their way back. Surprisingly, both Arya and Sansa seemed to be getting along. Robb wondered what happened down in King’s Landing to allow the two sisters to seem so friendly with one another. He remembered how they always fought when they’d lived in Winterfell.

Theon trained daily now with Rickon, and Robb smiled when he saw his friend and his youngest brother get stronger. Ric was always calmer after having spent time with Theon in the yard and was excited for Sandor to come back North so he could show the big man his skills. The direwolves seemed to grow larger by the week, along with Robb’s wife, and he knew by her tiredness and size that the babe was mere weeks away. Both he and Jeyne had talked about names, and they had agreed that if they had a son, he would be named for his father. Robb figured it was the least he could do to honour the man who meant so much to him.

The next raven that arrived from Tywin was one stating that he was allowing Arya to leave King’s Landing free and unmarried. He asserted that the little wolf would be Robb’s problem and wished him luck.

“What the fuck do you think he means?” Robb asked, perplexed. 

“Your sister is the Queen of the seven kingdoms, Robb. We both know that Arya was never going to settle into a keep and raise babies,” Jeyne said, her logic irrefutable. “I think it was an elegant solution to a sticky problem for Tywin and Sansa, making her your problem husband,” Jeyne said. She had become close to her good sister, the Queen, exchanging many ravens about their pregnancies. Though she had never met Sansa, she felt when they one day did meet, they would be instant friends.

Robb still wasn’t happy about the fact that Arya had become his problem again, but his wife’s logic and his sister’s ravens cooled his anger.

When the raven finally arrived from Jon at Castle Black, Robb’s blood ran cold. His brother stated that a massive army was forming North of the wall. Perhaps a hundred thousand free folk. Robb knew he did not have the men to defend the castles from such an invasion and immediately sent word to the King. He knew that help would be arriving. The King would not allow his Northernmost kingdom to face this threat alone.

Tywin’s raven back contained more troubling news for the North. Along with the threat North of the wall, Stannis and Balon Greyjoy had decided against joining forces which meant they both remained a threat to the North and the realm in general. No one knew where they might plan an assault on Westeros, but both last known locations for the men was at Dragonstone and the Iron Islands. Robb immediately sent word to Lord Manderley at White Harbor to be extra vigilant, along with the Reeds who held Moat Cailin. His uncle’s people held the Twins, and they would also send word if Stannis or Balon’s forces were spotted.

Robb would get help; Lannister, Tyrell, Vale and Riverland’s men were amassing to march North to come to his aid. At least fifty thousand men would march North, led by Jaime and Kevan Lannister. The relief Robb felt was immeasurable. He knew that the Northern forces would rally to his call, but there was no way they could win a war on two fronts.

He called Theon into the family study and along with Rickon and Jeyne told the Ironborn Lord what his father had done.

“King Tywin had sent terms for them to bend the knee,” Robb told Theon and watched his expression. Theon’s face blanched and then he got a funny look of determination on his face.

“I swore my fealty to House Stark, My Lord,” Theon said. “That has not changed.”

“Would you write your family, and encourage them to bend the knee to the King?” Robb asked.

Theon nodded but then swallowed. “They won’t, My Lord, but I will try if that is what you require.”

Robb sighed. He knew that Balon Greyjoy was a harsh man. Knowing what had been done to Theon, Robb could only assume that the Ironborn Lord considered his son dead to him. He hoped that Theon would stand by House Stark, but this was an awful test of loyalty for such a fragile man.

“You should lock me away, My Lord,” Theon stated and heard the shocked gasps of Rickon and Jeyne. Robb looked at his friend. Theon swallowed hard. “That way you would know I would not betray you again, Robb.”

Inwardly Robb was cursing, both Theon and Ramsey. Perhaps they had all been stupid to trust Theon in their home. He had been a hostage after all, of Ned Stark’s for his entire life. Robb had spent countless hours trying to figure out why Theon had betrayed them, and when he’d finally asked him one night when they had been deep into their cups, Theon had struggled to explain.

It wasn’t that he hated the Starks; if anything, it was jealousy that he wasn’t truly one of them that ate at him. He made no excuses for his choices but tried to explain how he’d always felt less than them. Robb railed at him, stating that Jon would never do that to their family, and Theon shrugged. “He might have been a bastard, and I a lord, but he was always more of a Stark than I was.”

Robb grunted at that. It was true. Many men would never claim their bastards, but Ned Stark had.

More than claimed him. Raised him to be one of his own, and even though Catelyn had never warmed to Jon, Robb knew his half-brother had it better than most bastards. Not for the first time, Robb wondered just who his father had lain with that he would be so willing to risk the wrath of his wife and dishonour his name to bring Jon home. It was baffling.

Brought back to the present, Robb looked at Theon. He didn’t tremble, but Robb knew that was only because he was holding himself together with all his willpower. He sighed and waved a hand. “I’ll not lock you up. I told you before you’d have to earn our trust. There will be no greater test. Greyjoys may very well be going to war with the Starks, and you will have to decide whose side you are on.”

Theon nodded. How could he explain, make Robb believe that he would never betray him again? He knew there was no way his father would ever take him back. In the world of the Kraken, he might as well be dead. And his foster family had shown him more compassion and love than he would ever deserve. Still, it made him nervous that his father would take such a reckless action.

When Robb finally received word that the armies of the south were mobilizing, he felt a relief course through his body. He had called his bannermen, and in two weeks, the Lords of the North would come to Winterfell to once again plan for war. Only this time they would be joined by lion, fish, falcon, and rose.

Robb was so preoccupied with war that he barely noticed his wife’s growing discomfort. A young Maester from the Citadel had arrived, along with a midwife from nearby Wintertown, and the Maester checked on his wife daily. It was Grey Wind that first alerted Robb that something was happening with the babe, thumping his massive head on Robb as he slept one night. He shot awake and reached for Jeyne, but found her moaning and pacing.

He shot out of bed and came to her, worry etching his face.

“I think it is getting near,” she whimpered, and he felt panic grip his heart. He wrenched open the door and bellowed for the Maester and the midwife who came running within moments.

Laying his wife back down on the bed, Robb paced when they confirmed that her water had broken and her labour was upon her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Robb admonished her gently, and she gave him a tired smile.

“You have so many worries on your shoulders,” was all she could say before another contraction gripped her. Soon their room was overrun with her handmaiden and their servants, fresh linens and buckets of warm water, soap and thread brought in. Robb pulled up a chair and sat by her side, letting her grip his hand each time a contraction hit her.

The Maester was scandalized that Robb wanted to stay, but the moment he tried to have him removed, Grey Wind growled, and the Maester shrunk back. Robb would not abandon his wife during this time, not even when they stripped her down, and the labour felt like it took hours. She panted, cursed, and grunted through the pain, and Robb was in awe of her strength. Finally, a full day after he had been awoken, the midwife announced it was time to push. Jeyne gripped his hand and looked into his eyes. She had tears streaming down her face.

“I’m so tired,” she whimpered, and Robb’s heart clenched. He wished he could do more than simply will his strength into her.

“I know, my love,” he told her and smoothed back her hair from her pale face. “Soon, though, and you’ll meet our child.” She nodded and bore down as the pain gripped her body, screaming at the tearing feeling.

The midwife, who was a godsend in Robb’s opinion, told her that was a good push and only a couple more. Robb wanted to glare at the woman. Couldn’t she see how tired his wife was, but she only gave him a look that reminded him he knew nothing in this room, and this was her domain. He shut his mouth and whispered encouragements to his wife. Two more heaving contractions and Jeyne bore down until the Maester announced the child’s head had crowned.

“Once more, my girl,” the midwife told her and Jeyne cried out weakly, not knowing where she would find the strength.

Robb leaned down and pressed his head to hers before he felt the pain shudder through her body. “You are so close, my love,” he told her, praising her for how strong he was and vowing he’d never touch her again if this were the outcome of putting his seed in her. How had his father endured this for five children?

Like women had since the dawn of time when the moment came to bring her child into the world, Jeyne found that last bit of endurance and soon a squalling filled the room.

“A boy,” the Maester cried and held the child up. Jeyne collapsed into Robb’s arms, overwhelmed by the sheer emotion of the moment. The midwife quickly snipped and tied the cord, and a servant cleaned and swaddled the babe before bringing him to Jeyne’s arms. She placed her son on her chest and saw him for the first time. He rooted around her, seeking her breast.

“Look at him,” Robb said, awestruck by the sight of his son. His hair was a dark, dark red, and his eyes were closed tight. He looked so tiny that Robb could scarce believe he was here.

Jeyne watched as he found her nipple and latched as the midwife massaged her stomach. She still had the afterbirth to pass and felt another, less intense wave of pain, until she grunted and expelled that as well. The midwife caught it and brought it to the light, happy with what it looked like. Jeyne was young and healthy at twenty one years of age, and the birth had been relatively easy.

The new parents were enthralled by their son, and Robb barely glanced down as they cleaned his wife. Eventually, she had to move and they changed the linens on the bed. He was glad to be there to scoop her into his arms, and she had a silly grin on her face. Eventually, clean but sore, Jeyne settled into the bed, exhausted. Her son had eaten and been changed and swaddled and handed to her husband, who settled beside her on the bed. He vowed he wasn’t leaving their side. Grey Wind came and sniffed at him, and Robb held the babe to the giant wolf. Never in a million years would Jeyne have ever guessed that a direwolf would be her son’s greatest protector after his father, but she knew the magic of these creatures since she had come to live in the North and there was a sense of peace watching the wolf sniff at the babe.

“Hello Eddard Stark, heir to Winterfell,” Robb crooned gently to his son. His eyes filled with tears. He had a son. He saw his wife’s eyes close and knew she needed rest, so he left the bed, still holding little Ned. Soon enough, Rickon’s head popped in, and Robb nodded him into the room. Rickon was extremely close to Jeyne and had been worried when he’d heard her screams of pain. But the room was soft and quiet as he and Shaggy padded in.

Rickon couldn’t believe that the tiny baby in Robb’s arms had come out of his good sister’s tummy.

“Rickon, meet your nephew, Ned,” Robb said, the pride apparent in his voice. Ric traced a hand down his cheek and grinned at his brother.

Days later after the family had bonded, Robb finally sent a raven south. With armies on the move

North, now more than ever, Robb was grateful for Sansa’s marriage. He knew that he wanted to raise his son in a world that had more peace than war, and he would gladly accept men from the seven kingdoms to defend the North.

When the Lords of the North amassed at Winterfell, Robb was pleased to introduce the next heir to Winterfell to the assembled lords. A few grumbled that he had bent the knee and given up his Kingdom, but when Robb explained the threats facing the North and the men coming to help them defend their homes, the complaining turned to relief. The thought of a hundred thousand wilding’s attacking the wall was enough to chill any North man’s blood. Great Jon Umber bellowed to those few who dared complained, reminding them that Sansa Stark was Queen beside the Great Lion and that the blood of the Stark’s would run through the next heir to the seven kingdoms. Great cheers rose from the halls of Winterfell, as those in the North prepared for war once more, only this time, they weren’t riding south; they were defending their home.

_ King’s Landing  _

It took Jaime and Kevan a week to rally the soldiers that were coming with them from King’s Landing. There were only a few thousand, as the majority of Lannister forces resided still at Harrenhal or the Westerlands. The ravens had been sent, and the plan was the meet at the Twins. There was an odd air of excitement as the men readied themselves for war.

In the meantime, Tywin had received word back from Robb. His tone was grateful when he spoke of the armies being sent to help defend the North. He told Tywin he had called his bannermen to Winterfell, and that he’d also sent word to Moat Cailin and House Reed to allow the southern armies smooth passageway.

Sansa had never seen Jaime Lannister quite so excited, and even Arya and Sandor were happy to be headed home finally. For her part, Sansa worried incessantly. She was relieved that such a show of support would be going North to help Robb fight, not one but two enemies, but as she grew larger, now well over six months gone, she couldn’t help but let the emotions of everyone leaving affect her.

The night before her family was scheduled to leave King’s Landing, Tywin held a dinner, inviting the lords and ladies of the small council to attend. Right before they were expected to participate in the small council, Tywin called their family into his solar to share with them that the North had its newest heir. Catelyn, knowing she was saying goodbye to Arya, felt the tears come to her eyes.

“They named him after father,” Sansa told her mother and her sister and saw smiles adorn both their faces.

Sansa had known for some time that her any sons she had would not have northern names. She had long ago resigned herself to this fact; they would be Lions of Lannister and therefore must have names that reflected the West, so she was especially glad that Robb had been able to name his son Ned. She thought that her father would be pleased, if somewhat embarrassed at the honour. Jeyne had included a special note for Sansa as the two women had grown close; they were the same age and had bonded. Like women before her, once the birth was over, Jeyne glossed over the agony she had felt. Ned, she reported looked just like Robb and was the perfect babe. Sansa felt joy at the thought of holding her children soon enough, almost overcome her. She was glad Tywin had told her privately, as she sobbed into him, at once scared, nervous and excited as her time drew closer. To her astonishment, he simply held her and stroked her back until she had composed herself again.

Tyrion hopped off his seat and took hold of the wine glass that he had poured for himself upon entering the solar. “Speaking of heirs,” he said, and looked to his wife who blushed prettily, “there will be another little lion joining the King and Queen’s in the not too distant future.” Cheers erupted for the happy couple, and Tywin met his son’s eyes and nodded. He was still amazed it was this son that was fulfilling the family obligations and not Jaime, and with an heir on the way, Tywin’s connection to the Reach became even more secure.

Sansa squealed and threw herself into her friend’s arms, hugging her enthusiastically. She had prayed every week in the Godswood that they would be blessed and both women had talked extensively about their children growing up together in the Red Keep.

Jaime slapped Tyrion on the back, and Kevan and Genna were overcome with happiness for him. Things had changed so dramatically since Sansa had come into their lives, and none more so than for Tyrion himself. When Sansa reached him, she struggled to bend down, and he waved away the gesture.

“I know you’re proud of me mother,” he japed softly with her, and she smiled at him.

“You know how much I care for you, Tyrion,” she said. “For both of you.” He felt the tears prick his eyes. She was the reason for all of this. She had united a House and a Kingdom.

When the Stark’s and the Lannister’s entered the dining hall, those that hadn’t been present for the announcements could see the happy looks on all their faces even though some would ride out to war tomorrow. Soon enough the happy news was revealed, and Tyrion knew that he would not escape the night without being deep in his cups. Sansa and Tywin held court, setting the tone of the evening at the head table.

Tywin felt a moment of melancholy steal over him. Sansa must have seen the look on his face because he felt her hand on his thigh. Tomorrow half their family would ride North; war with the wildlings and Stannis Baratheon a genuine possibility. Tonight, as Tywin gazed around their dining hall, their allies and family were safe. Tywin knew it to be an illusion but allowed himself a moment of longing that things would not have to change. Of course, he knew better. Anything could happen when you sent men to war.

“They will come back to us, Tywin,” Sansa said softly, and he grunted at her. Where before Jaime and Kevan leaving would have left a yawning chasm in his life, though he would never admit it, now he had Sansa. He squeezed her hand, ever grateful for her presence by his side. Soon word spread about the new heir to Winterfell, and cheers rang for Ned Stark. Sansa could only shake her head at the irony of Lannister’s cheering for Starks. But it was heartful. When word came that the Dragon Slayer as Oberyn Martell had come to call Tyrion had gotten his wife with child, more toasts rang through the hall. Finally, as the night grew late and those in their cups began to stumble, toasts were made to the King and Queen. Sansa and Tywin rose and acknowledged their family and alliances, before Tywin stated, “To the success in the wars to come.” A hearty cheer rang at that statement, as the seven Kingdoms united under Tywin Lannister, prepared to defend itself in the North.


	25. Chapter 25

_ Dragonstone  _

Stannis hated this island with a passion. It wasn’t the rocks, or the storms, or the rain. It was the fact that it wasn’t his and never should have been. He longed for his home in the Stormlands, and even though he’d made every attempt to take back the Iron Throne that rightfully belonged to him, in his more honest and contemplative moments, he knew where he truly wanted to be was at Storm’s End. Had he known that taking this dreadful island during the Rebellion would result in nothing more than his exile here, while Robert gave Renly Storm’s End, he might have stayed home. Then he snorted at that thought, knowing that he would never have. Stannis was a man that was ruled by logic, duty and a sense of honour. As distasteful as he’d found Robert, he would have always done his duty to support his brother’s reign.

Stannis brooded alone, often spending hours in his map room, overlooking the sea. The Great Lion outmaneuvered him, and it rankled him. He had hoped to sway Ned Stark’s son, Robb, to his side, to support him in his bid for the Iron Throne, as his father had, but that had failed. And now, with the marriage of Tywin to Robb’s sister, he knew that path was lost to him. Just as he knew there wasn’t a great house left in the seven kingdoms that would come to his side.

The Red Priestess might claim he was the true King, but even he could see the doubt in her eyes. He might have converted to her religion, but simple numbers and politics made his claim to the throne nothing more than a dream. Word had spread that Tywin had gotten an heir on his young wife almost immediately, and if Sansa Stark were anything like her mother, she would birth the Great Lion more than one healthy child. It made Stannis resent his sickly wife even more. Although he loved his daughter dearly, he needed a male heir.

He’d been surprised when he’d heard about the death of King Joffrey, and then his mother. There wasn’t a woman Stannis hated more than Robert’s wife. While he and his brother shared no deep affection for each other, the mere fact that she had cuckolded his brother their entire marriage angered him deeply. It was the audacity she had to put her bastard child on the throne after his brother’s death that was the most profound blow, and why he had ridden to war.

He had never expected Tywin to make the move he had. If he’d been a betting man, which he was not, he would have guessed that the Old Lion would have put Tommen on the throne, and ruled from behind the throne as he’d done for twenty years with Aerys. Stannis could admit that Tywin’s marriage was brilliant; perhaps one of the most successful that Westeros had seen in decades. Sansa Stark had secured him the North, the Vale and the Riverlands and with those three Kingdoms, the Iron Throne, in one simple ceremony. Even more shocking were the reports that he loved his Northern wife. Even out here on this spit of land, word had come at how affectionate the Great Lion was with her. Stannis, like everyone else, had heard of the great love between Tywin and Joanna; but no one could have expected that to happen again.

Stannis had the raven from the King crumpled in his hand as he sat and brooded. Bend the knee, and he’d keep Dragonstone, become Regent at Storm’s End and have to marry his daughter to the King’s bastard grandson. Stannis snorted at that. It was not enough; not nearly enough. He sighed. Tywin had taken the throne by conquest and had the numbers to back his reign, much like Robert had done close to twenty years earlier. Stannis’s claim might be the superior one, but he had no army to take on the new King of the seven kingdoms.

Stannis had briefly entertained the idea of an alliance with Balon Greyjoy; to say that was a distasteful thought was beyond an understatement. And even with the Iron Born on his side, he knew they didn’t have the numbers. Balon was after revenge against houses he felt that had wronged him, whereas Stannis’ quest was because the Red Priestess had told him he was the man to save the realm. How could he possibly save it if he weren’t King?

His most trusted man found him there, candles gutted as rains and wind howled outside. “Your Grace,” Ser Davos said, and Stannis grunted at the loyal man before Davos took a seat.

“The King,” Stannis seethed, “has offered us our lives in exchange for bending the knee and agreeing to marry my daughter to his bastard grandson. If I do so, I will keep my head, and be allowed to return to Storm’s End, to rule as regent until Shireen and Tommen are of age and marry.”

Ser Davos raised his eyebrows at that statement. He’d been sure they were headed to war. They had heard the rumours of a vast wildling army North of the wall; enough men to surely fight against the King Tywin’s forces.

“Are we not going North?” Davos asked, curious.

Stannis shook his head and sighed. “It is done, Ser Davos,” Stannis said, voicing the truth for the first time, even though he had known it for weeks. “The King sends men North to aid the wall and Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy does not have the men or the stomach for a protracted battle, and there isn’t a single kingdom left in the seven that haven’t pledged to Tywin Lannister.”

“What about the Golden Company?” Ser Davos asked, and Stannis shook his head, pointing to another message.

“We do not have the gold to hire the Golden Company, and the Iron Bank refuses us a loan,” Stannis told Davos. He snorted. “They like the arrangements with the new King. As we all know, a Lannister always pays his debt. And the dwarf is funnelling money back to the Iron Bank as fast as they can make gold dragons.”

Silence dominated the dreary room.

“You always wanted to be back in Strom’s End,” Davos stated quietly. Davos hated Dragonstone even though his House had pledged loyalty to the dragon lords here years ago. And he was worried about Shireen. The only good that had come from all this misery, as Davos could see it, was that the Red Priestess was packing as they spoke.

“Has she left?” Stannis asked, and Davos shook his head.

“Shortly,” he said. Ser Davos didn’t know what he believed in, but he’d watched Stannis sink deeper into her madness, as she had manipulated him with her magic, and knew that nothing good would come with her staying here. She couldn’t leave too soon, is Ser Davos had his way.

Stannis grunted.

“Negotiate,” Davos said suddenly, and Stannis’s head whipped around to the onion knight. Davos nodded at the note. “The King has six of the seven kingdoms in his pocket, true, but the claim of the Baratheon bastard is weak. Everyone knows this, and with the mother dead, there is no chance for any additional heirs. You’re the heir to the Stormlands. Bend the knee and ask for the Stormlands.”

Stannis stared at his trusted advisor. It rankled him to give up his quest for the crown. Not because he wanted the throne, not truly, but it was his, and it belonged to his family; he was a man ruled by logic and reason. He thought about everything he had heard about Tywin’s new wife and then thought about his. He knew she would never bear him another child; even if he took the throne, he’d leave it to no male heir, and there was no way that anyone would support his daughter eventually sitting there. The Baratheon line would end with him. The most he could hope was to secure Storm’s End for Shireen and a good marriage for her that helped her position. If she married a man from a lower house than her husband could take the Baratheon name. 

Knowing that Tywin had a new heir on the way and that Sansa Stark herself was profoundly beloved and politically connected to several kingdoms, his position was too weak. He hadn’t even been able to sway houses to his side when it had been between him and Renly. A servant appeared to tell the men that the Red Priestess was leaving.

Davos accompanied Stannis to the water. He didn’t trust her and needed to ensure that nothing happened before she left this island, hopefully for good. The sooner the red woman was gone, the better in his mind. Davos couldn’t hear what was being said, but he knew she was headed North. She had shown Stannis something in flames; a more significant threat than the Lords of the south and that was where she was headed. Personally, Davos hoped she froze to death. Stannis pressed one more kiss to her mouth before she sailed away. Turning back to his friend, Stannis and Davos watched as her ship grew smaller and then disappeared.

“I will write the King,” Stannis stated. Melisandre had confirmed that the Great War would be in the North. She told him she’d still believed in his claim, but that things were less sure now. Stannis snorted. She may claim to have the Lord of Light on her side, but he knew his claim to the iron throne was dead. The best he could hope for was to take back his family’s ancestral home, secure a place on the small council, and make a good marriage for his daughter.

_ Kings Landing  _

Her lion was brooding. His son, his brother and his grandson had left a week ago to ride North, along with Arya and Sandor. She thought it would make him happy to have less family around, but something must have happened to make him so short. He wasn’t too bad with her, but she’d watched him berate the members of the small council yesterday, and Tyrion had followed her from the room and begged her to speak with him. She wondered if it were the composition of his small council; now it was herself, Tyrion, Varys, Oberyn, Mace, Ser Wayward, Ser Marbrand, her uncle who had stayed in Kings Landing as Roslin’s time drew closer, and Tywin. Gone were Kevan and Jaime, and she knew he relied on them whether he would admit it or not.

She found him scowling and writing in their solar and approached him to sit in front of the great desk from which he worked. He continued to scratch away at the parchment, and Sansa sat, quiet and demure while he finished his task. Finally sighing heavily, he placed his quill down and met her eyes, a snarl on his face. She gave no reaction to his look, knowing he wasn't truly angry with her, but still, he was on thin ice.

“I suppose all those frightened children sent you in here to deal with me,” he said, scorn and disgust in his voice.

She arched an elegant eyebrow at him. She would put up with a lot from him; she knew his workload was heavy and his responsibilities great, but she would not be spoken to like some common annoyance. Sansa placed her hands on the chair and rose and left the room. He could come and find her when he was ready to be civil. It took him ten minutes before he found her in the nursery, arranging the clothes and bedding for their children. She was now into her seventh month, and the Maester had warned that the children could come sooner than a normal pregnancy and Sansa had felt an increasing need to nest. She smiled at that thought, thinking how Sandor had always called her a little bird. It turned out he was correct. She did not acknowledge her husband's presence in the room and continued her task.

“I’m sorry,” Tywin ground out, his jaw locked and mouth barely moving when she wouldn't look at him. She turned and sent him a look, and he sighed. “It’s Stannis Baratheon.”

Sansa said nothing and continued to move about the room. She knew he would eventually tell her what the issue was with the man. She tried to recall what she knew about the Baratheon’s, beyond the typical court gossip that had surrounded Cersei and Robert’s unhappy marriage.

She knew that Stannis was the second son and an accomplished military commander. That night of the Blackwater, when his forces attacked, she’d kept herself in Kings Landing, believing that the man’s honourable reputation would be better for her than leaving with Sandor. Given how things had worked out, she was now glad she’d stayed, but she had known very little about Stannis at the time. She knew that he believed the Iron Throne belonged to him and that he was passed over for the family seat which Robert gave to Renly, punishing Stannis for failing to secure the last two of King Aerys’ children on Dragonstone. She thought it quite unfair that Robert had slighted Stannis in such a way. It would be like giving Rickon Winterfell if Bran were still alive. Sansa could never imagine Robb doing something like that.

She’d also heard rumours about the third Baratheon son, and how he liked Loras Tyrell much more than Margaery. Sansa had never confirmed such rumours with her friend, but with two of the three Baratheon’s dead, she knew that Stannis was the last true heir to the Stormlands. And he had a daughter who apparently suffered from greyscale but had somehow managed to survive. Sansa thought she must be quite the child to come through an affliction like that.

“He wants Storm’s End,” Tywin said and sunk into a chair that was beside one of the bassinets for the babies, still brooding. Sansa gave him another look, almost amused at his frustrations, as he continued to speak. Now that he had decided to tell her what the issue was, he couldn't stop. “He rejected my proposal between Shireen and Tommen, stating that he _will not marry his trueborn daughter to a bastard born of Lannister incest to sully the Baratheon name even further_ and that he wants a position on the small council as the true heir to the Stormlands.”

Sansa thought all of that perfectly reasonable. They both knew that Tommen would never truly be a strong lord and seemed much happier to be a knight. And he was not the heir to the Stormlands no matter how much Tywin might want to pretend otherwise. A lasting gift from his venomous daughter was the problem of Tommen’s illegitimate birth. Thank Gods they hadn't put him on the Iron Throne. House Lannister would have lost all respectability had the secret become wildly known. Even now Tywin worked tirelessly to correct the damage done by Joffrey. There were still days when he cursed his dead daughter and her stupidity.

“Seems reasonable,” was all she would say and he glared at her. She gave him a look. “If it is not, explain to me why it is not. Reasonable, that is.” She ensured her voice was that of the Queen and not of a wife. Tywin wanted her brain, not her love right now.

He sighed and rubbed his whiskers. “The man’s brilliant; it was only the alliance with the Tyrell’s that secured our victory. He was so close, Sansa, to taking back the Iron Throne.” Sansa let the silence stretch. “Having a military commander like that at my disposal,” he muttered, thinking about all the possibilities.

Tywin prided himself on his calm and impeccable logic. He would not outright reject anything or anyone that could be used to his advantage. The only area he seemed to fail was applying that same logic was with his family. He loved Jaime, but Tywin was practical enough to realize that there were good military brains, and then there were great ones. Stannis was an excellent military commander. Perhaps second only to himself in the entire Kingdom. “He’d be a pain in my arse on the small council, never shutting up about what was correct and proper, challenging me at every turn,” Tywin muttered.

Sansa was amused. Everyone deferred to Tywin; even she did. She could get away with more than most, and not feel his wrath as others might, but she loved him so much that she worried that she didn’t see things as clearly as she should. She knew that Tyrion had their best interests at heart, but if it came down to brutal honestly or risking his father’s ire, she was unsure if he’d be able to give Tywin the objective opinion he required. Or more importantly, if Tywin would listen to his second son. Tywin and Tyrion had improved their relationship greatly; but it was still, at best, tolerable and Sansa wouldn't say that Tywin respected Tyrion. The more she thought about it, she realized there were very few people in the entire seven kingdoms that Tywin admired. She knew he respected her and she heard the begrudging respect in Tywin’s voice for Stannis and thought perhaps he was just whom Tywin needed on his small council.

“None of that sounds unreasonable,” she stated, and he gave her a look, knowing she was patronizing him. She held his gaze.

“Tywin is there anyone that sits at your small council table that will tell you, honestly, when you are wrong? Or give you the council you require if your choice or opinion is not the right one? One who can offer proper military advice?” she asked him and gave him a look.

He thought about that for a moment and realized with a start that she was right. Tywin knew that a great king knew what he did not know. He knew that a King could not know everything; and that a great King surrounded himself with the best advisors. Wisdom was what made a good king and kept his reign long and prosperous. But what good were advisors that would not speak honestly to him? Or that could not give him a wise council? In many ways, his small council was weak. He had made Joffrey’s small council strong, and he had no man like him on his council.

For a moment, he tried to imagine what men in the Kingdom would be willing to stand up to him. Ned Stark would have; perhaps Ser Selmy as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Jon Arryn maybe, but the man had his weaknesses. Oberyn would likely tell him when he was wrong, but his counsel was rarely useful or wise, and the man seemed much more likely to be in some orgy with his paramour than at a small council meeting. Kevan was the closest person he had that would speak with him honestly. His wife had proven her worth, willing to tell him when he’d been wrong about his daughter, but Sansa had no military experience and was still learning.

He wondered for a moment if Stannis was the key to ensuring that his reign was long and prosperous. He knew the man was loyal to a fault, and if he did bend the knee, he would defend him and his heirs with blood and steal. He looked at his wife, her council once again helping him through the most challenging parts of his reign.

“Come here,” he commanded, and Sansa suppressed a grin. She knew he was finally willing to be reasonable. She went to him, large and cumbersome as ever these days, and stood as he placed his hands on her stomach. He’d taken to talking to their children, in private when no one was around and her heart melted each time he did. He cradled her large stomach and looked up at her. “It’s for you and them, Sansa, that I worry so much,” he told her. “One day, I will be gone, and I need to leave the realm as strong as possible with people that will help you and that we can trust.”

“Is Stannis an honest man?” she asked and saw Tywin nod.

“To a fault,” he said.

“And do you believe he wants more than the Stormlands?” she asked.

Tywin shook his head. “It was one of Robert’s greatest insults. How Jon Arryn or your father let him get away with it was beyond me. When Stannis took Dragonstone from the Targaryen’s, Robert raged that the two children escaped, but there was nothing Stannis could have done. His campaign against them was brilliant, and he should have been rewarded with his family’s ancestral lands and keep,” Tywin told her.

He sighed again. “Am I being a fool to give it back to him?”

“No,” she said. They both knew they needed a strong and united seven Kingdoms to support their reign and the Baratheon’s were one of the oldest houses in Westeros. And bringing them back into the fold would be a boon to his Kingship.

“I will need to go to Dragonstone to negotiate with him,” Tywin told her, and she frowned. She hated the idea of him being away.

“Could you not send your Hand?” she asked, and Tywin shook his head.

“This man is technically the rightful heir to the seven kingdoms, even if I am the one who sits on the Throne,” he said. “Tyrion would be seen as an insult. Besides, I am the only man with the power to give him what he wants.”

Sansa sighed unhappily. Tywin had rarely been away from her in their marriage, and now the thought that he would leave right before her pregnancy came to an end, worried her.

“I will be back within two weeks,” he told her. The trip to Dragonstone took only three or four days at most, and he would send the raven today. She nodded but was still unhappy.

Sansa had grown tired, and Tywin could see it. He stood up from his chair and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Thank you,” he murmured to her and then clasped her hand to lead her to their bedroom. She had taken to napping each afternoon, and he knew she required it now. Once she settled into their bed, she tried to get herself comfortable but was unable too. “What do you need?” he asked, trying not to smile at her size. Sansa was a tall woman, but two babes made her appear quite large. She hadn’t yet started to swell, but her stomach was round and prominent.

She let out a squeak and a bit of grimace, before grabbing his hand. The babes were kicking and moving, and she pressed his hand to her stomach so he could feel them. It was amazing, and he’d forgotten how you could almost make out a foot or an arm if they were in the correct position. Tywin pulled back for a moment, and took off his boots and doublet, before crawling into bed to hold her. He saw the tears come to her eyes, and knew she needed him now; not as the King but as her husband.

“The more I grow, the more excited I am to see them,” she told him, her voice quiet and soft in the fading afternoon. “But I am nervous as well,” she said and he could hear the quiver in her voice. They both knew that twins were an additional risk, and Sansa didn’t often share her worries with him, trying to be aware of what he’d gone through with Joanna.

Tywin pressed a kiss to her neck and nuzzled her like a lion would a lioness. “Your body was created for this Sansa, and I will be there with you, the entire time.” She nodded, knowing that was true. He wrapped his body around hers, twining his legs in between hers to give her body some relief, and he felt her sigh and settle. He couldn’t stay long, as he needed the raven to go to Stannis today, but whatever comfort he could give her was worth it. He too disliked the idea of being away from her, but if he could appease Stannis, then it would result in a safer Kingdom for her and their children.

* * *

It took a week until the arrangements were made. Stannis formally agreed to a temporary truce, until he and Tywin could meet face to face. Sansa tried very hard to ensure that she did not heap more guilt on her husband, but he could see her worry and unhappiness. The morning that he left, she held her longer than normal, before they finally rose. She insisted on seeing him and the company of men to the ship they would take. She was nervous. Men had left her with good intentions and never returned. With Ser Marbrand here in control of the City, along with her Uncle, and her Queensguard, Sansa had insisted that Jerrod went with him. Before he left her, Tywin turned and pressed a hard kiss to her lips.

“Remember, you are the Queen, my love. I leave my Kingdom in your ever-competent hands,” he told her. She clung to him.

“Hurry back, Tywin,” she told him and then lowered her voice. “I love you, for all my days.”

His eyes showed how hard leaving her was. “Soon, wife, I will be back, and then I will have such a need for you.” With one last kiss, Tywin turned and boarded one of the royal ships.

Tyrion came to stand beside her, and she reached down to grasp his hand.

“My father has survived wars, Your Grace. He is too stubborn, too miserable and too smart not to return. And Stannis would not risk open war with us, no matter how strongly defended Dragonstone is,” Tyrion told her, and she nodded, not allowing the tears to fall. She would not let anyone see her worry or her grief. The realm needed a Queen, not a worried wife. Straightening her spine, she watched until the ship was a speck on the horizon and then turned and made her way back to the Red Keep. Along the way, Ser Marbrand joined her, and she was grateful for his presence. He gave her a nod and walked by her side. When they were finally back to their rooms, he entered with her and opened his arms to her. She was ever so thankful for him and let him give her a fatherly hug.

“He will return, daughter,” Addam said softly to her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She nodded into his chest and then composed herself.

“Thank you,” she said to him, and he nodded to her once again before taking his leave.

Tywin couldn’t recall a more miserable trip. He knew it had less to do with the weather and everything to do with being away from his wife. Years ago, when he’d been married to Joanna the need to rebuild his house and bring honour back to House Lannister had kept him away from Casterly Rock more than he’d wanted. Still, he’d been young, ambitious and driven. So driven, he thought. Now it was only something that would threaten Sansa and his children that would keep him away from her. Like this requirement to treat with Stannis at Dragonstone. The man would never have come to Kings Landing, and Tywin couldn’t blame him. He barked and growled orders to anyone who dared speak to him, and after three days, the approach to the intimidating keep was a welcome sight for everyone on the ship.

When they finally rowed ashore, an older man met them and nodded. “I’m Ser Davos Seaworth, Stannis Baratheon’s advisor, Your Grace.”

Tywin nodded at the man and looked towards the keep.

“Right this way, gentlemen,” Davos said and turned and led the small landing party up the never-ending steps to the throne room that Tywin imagined it was supposed to be a replica of the one in the Red Keep. He didn’t even glance around, keeping his eyes on Stannis Baratheon, who’d sat on a throne of black obsidian. The two men, probably the most qualified in the entire kingdom to be King, stared each other down and then Stannis came down off his throne so he was eye level with the King.

“Lord Baratheon,” Tywin said, his voice low.

“Tywin Lannister, The Great Lion of Casterly Rock,” Stannis said, giving no indication that he was willing to bend the knee and acknowledge Tywin as King. At least not until he’d gotten what should have rightfully been his.

Tywin ground his teeth. “Do not waste my time, Lord Baratheon,” the King said and glared at Stannis.

Stannis nodded and then turned to leave the room. “If we are to discuss terms, let us do it in more comfortable quarters.” The room adjacent to the throne room had a roaring fire and a long table, along with food, wine and mead. Stannis took a seat, careful not to sit at the head of the table. He wanted his family seat back, having moved past and given up on the idea of being King. Even if he were to kill Tywin here and now, the man had an able heir, another on the way, and a Queen that was beloved by the entire realm. There was no taking the crown from Tywin Lannister. The Old Lion had won. Now Stannis needed to use what little power he had left to ensure his family name lived on. When the men had settled, Ser Jerrod and Tywin on one side, and Ser Davos and Stannis on the other, Stannis began.

“I will be named the Lord and Protector of the Stormlands, and Storm’s End will be mine,” Stannis said, throwing the gauntlet down. There was no reason to engage in subterfuge or intrigue. Both men required something out of this meeting, and neither had time for games.

“And this pile of rock?” Tywin said, a slight sneer to his face. He hated everything to do with the Targaryen’s and their dragons.

“It belongs to the Crownlands,” Stannis said and looked around in mild disgust. “Find someone who has displeased you and make them spend a decade here. That is punishment enough.”

Tywin grunted. It was true. It was a miserable place; filled with dragons and black glass. Still, it was a keep that needed a Lord, and an important strategic position that must be defended. Tywin wondered briefly if sending Tyrion and Margaery here would be seen as a punishment. Then he dismissed the idea. That was a problem for another day. He could fill the castle with a lesser lord from the West loyal to him if needs be. He knew that Targaryen crown princes were given Dragonstone before they became King, but the time of the dragons had ended.

“And as Lord of the Stormlands, I assume you’d want a place on the small council?” Tywin said, voice brisk and not betraying his true feelings. The more he thought about this, the better it was for him. Bringing Stannis into the fold, and securing the final kingdom, truly securing the Stormlands with a competent Lord would add stability to Tywin’s reign. And no one could try to usurp him using any of Robert’s bastard children because the line of succession would have fully passed onto House Lannister. As it stood, Tywin had an heir place already in his first son, although the line of succession would run through Sansa and their children provided nothing happened to her in childbirth. With Stannis in charge of the Stormlands, that kingdom would buffer the two other southern regions and would help temper Tyrell and Dorne's ambitions. Sansa had been correct when he’d said that a man like Stannis could be invaluable to him on the small council.

Stannis nodded. “Tell me, Your Grace, what does a farmer like Mace Tyrell know about ships?” Stannis had been outraged to hear that the Highgarden lord had been named Master of Ships. “Ser Davos Seaworth knows more about ships and shipbuilding than anyone in the seven Kingdoms, and I know more about war, strategy and being the Lord Commander of the Royal Navy than Mace Tyrell.” Stannis still had not forgotten all the men that had nearly starved when he held Storm’s End against the man during Robert’s Rebellion.

Tywin cocked his head. He’d known since Kevan and Jaime left he would need to make new appointments in his small council. Tyrion as Hand would remain, his son had proven adept at the position. Varys was still the Master of Whispers, Pycelle was still the Grand Masester, and Jerrod was the Lord Commanders of the Kingsguard. Kevan had been Master of Laws, but in the interim, Tywin was planning on naming Ser Marbrand to that role. He was well suited for it.

The idea of moving Mace Tyrell to Master of Coin was a move that Tywin had entertained for some time. First, Tyrion could help his good father in the role and oversee that the man had the Crown’s best interest at heart. Additionally, the Reach provided an extraordinary amount of grain and goods to the Capital. The position suited Lord Tyrell much better.

Which left the position of Master of Ships. The most qualified man in the Kingdom for that role now sat across from Tywin Lannister.

Was it truly this simple to end wars? Tywin thought about how his marriage to Sansa and giving back the Stark family ancestral sword had ended a war and given him the large Northern Kingdom. All Dorne had wanted was Gregor Clegane and a place on the small council. Tywin knew that Stannis was a master at schooling his features, but then, so was the Great Lion.

Before Tywin could say anything, either agreeing or not to Stannis’ latest request, the Stag broke the silence. “I’ve seen you on the throne before, Your Grace.” Tywin looked at him. “I was a boy, brought to court with my older brother and my father. I thought you were King Aerys and I was so impressed I pledged myself to you, in my young mind, at that moment. It was only later my father told me that it wasn’t the dragon king, but the great Golden Lion we had seen that day.”

Tywin eyed the man in front of him. He wondered how things might have been different, had this been Steffon’s firstborn and not that boorish and ill-mannered Robert. There were many things that Tywin found admirable about Stannis Baratheon, not the least of which the man did not pat him on the back or make unnecessary conversation. He was a brilliant military strategist and an asset to any king. Robert had not understood or appreciated how much Stannis had done for his reign. That loyalty should have been rewarded, and it had not been, which had contributed to the so-called War of the Five Kings, which Tywin had recently ended. One of the self-proclaimed King sat here now.

“I will name you Master of Ships, and you will take your place on my small council. The Royal Fleet has been decimated and requires a firm hand to be rebuilt,” Tywin finally said, and he saw the slight relaxing of Stannis Baratheon’s shoulders. “You will come to Kings Landing and bend the knee, proclaiming before the court that you support my rule. I will name you Lord of the Stormlands and Master of Ships when that is done.”

Stannis nodded and called for more wine and dinner to be served. Davos let out a sigh of relief. He’d been unsure if his Lord was willing to give up his quest for the Crown but was more than grateful he was. They could never have won against the might of Tywin Lannister.

As they ate, Tywin spoke. “About your daughter,” Tywin started to say and saw Stannis stiffen. Everyone in the seven kingdoms had heard about the tragic tale of Shireen Baratheon and the greyscale that had scarred half her face.

Stannis held up his hand, and his face hardened. He remembered the cruel taunts from Tywin’s second son, and he feared for her at court. His first instinct was to ship her and her mother back to Storm’s End the moment it was his.

“She will not be wed without my consent,” he said, and his tone brooked no argument. Tywin nodded. The child was the same age as Tommen, only twelve.

“And, when a match is made for her, it will be understood that she will inherit Strom’s End. Whoever marries her will take her name,” Stannis said, his need to protect his child paramount.

Tywin arched an eyebrow at that. It was not a common occurrence, but on occasion, when a lady had a higher position than her husband, he could take her name and their children would be born under her house. Tywin knew in this case, it made sense for Shireen, even with Tommen still alive. He nodded his acceptance to Stannis, then held up his hand.

“When she comes of age, you must consent within a year,” Tywin said and knew all the terms would be written down for both to agree. “At nineteen, we will discuss the prospects for her,” Tywin said, and Stannis nodded, a feeling of relief flooding through him. He’d secured his family’s seat and his daughter’s future. “She will come to Kings Landing with you and become part of my wife’s ladies at Court.”

Tywin saw Stannis start to protest and gave him a look. “I promise, upon meeting my wife, you will understand why I insist.” Ser Davos also wanted to protest. He knew that Shireen was sensitive and the women at Court in Kings Landing had vicious reputations for slander and gossip. He feared how the child would do in such an environment. Here at Dragonstone, she’d been surrounded mostly by people who cared for her and accepted her. “You want her to inherit one of the oldest and most noble houses in Westeros, Lord Stannis. She must learn how to be a ruler and a Lady, and there is no one more suited for such a role than Queen Sansa,” Tywin said, and both men heard the affection in his voice for his wife.

“She’s just a child, Your Grace, and smart as can be, but she’s been isolated,” Ser Davos broke in, unable to help himself. He loved that child, and it would break something in him to see her ill-used.

Tywin turned his eyes to the onion smuggler. “This means there is even more reason for her to come to court and learn from the Queen. I promise you, Ser Davos, my wife understands all too well.”

Davos snorted. He’d heard the tales of the beauty of Queen Sansa. How could a woman that beautiful possibly understand the scars and disfigurement that Shireen lived with daily?

Ser Jerrod, who up until this had remained quiet, let his commanding voice ring through the dining Hall. “The first time I met the Queen, she was being beaten by King Joffrey’s two most vicious and loyal guards, leaving bloody welts across her back.” Stannis and Davos looked shocked and sent a look to the King, whose face had tightened in rage at the memory. “She is the kindest woman I’ve ever met, and has won the loyalty of all her subjects,” Jerrod continued. “You would be wise to trust your daughter in her company, my Lords.”

Stannis nodded. He knew there must be more to the story of Tywin and Sansa and admitted to being curious. He had heard she’d gone toe to toe with the flesh sellers of Kings Landing, and having outlawed prostitution on Dragonstone, he wondered if he could lend her aid in her endeavours. And Tywin was correct; if he wanted his daughter to rule in his stead one day, she needed to stop being so isolated. He knew his wife was not up for the task of training Shireen, and that he had been lax in certain areas of her education. His daughter was brilliant, but he had kept her secluded and alone, her only friends Maesters, sailors and her bastard cousin.

Stannis nodded at Tywin and Ser Jerrod. He would send Selyse to Strom’s End and take Ser Davos and Shireen to Kings Landing. Soon the dinner broke up, and Tywin said he’d been sailing back to Kings Landing tomorrow.

When Stannis arched an eyebrow at that, Tywin said, “My wife’s pregnancy draws to an end Lord Stannis, and I promised her I would return promptly.”

Stannis almost commented, about a man allowing himself to be ruled by a woman, but he wisely refrained. Given the fact that the King’s wife was close to giving him an heir, perhaps the King was correct in his need to be close to her.

Stannis himself planned on leaving Dragonstone quickly. He did not trust the Imp and worried that the deal they had struck would somehow be undone if he did not come to the Capital and bend the knee sooner, rather than later. And he needed that spot on the small council. Grave concerns were facing the realm and not just the Greyjoy’s who were still in open rebellion or the Wildling Army. Tywin Lannister might not believe in the Lord of Light, but Stannis knew what he had seen in the flames. There was a greater enemy North of the Wall, and the best place Stannis could be was beside the King.

Tywin awoke the next morning and departed early. Gods willing, the journey back would be quick and easy. Standing on the beach, Stannis clasped his hand and said he would be in Kings Landing in a fortnight to bend the knee and agree to the terms reached. Tywin nodded at the stern man, pleased that they had both gotten what they had needed from this meeting. There was more to discuss, and issues to be worked out. Mace Tyrell had been the one to lead the attack against Stannis during Robert’s Rebellion, and that bad blood would not simply disappear. And then there was Tyrion to think about. In many ways, Stannis was precisely the type of son that Tywin had always wanted. The man always did his duty, no matter how distasteful, if marrying that Florent woman was any indication. Tywin had heard the rumours that Tyrion had spread about Shireen, in retaliation for Stannis claiming Cersei’s children were all bastards.

Just before Tywin turned to leave, a slip of a girl darted forward to stand beside Ser Davos. She sent the King a bright smile and Tywin saw the cracked and greying skin that flaked one side of her face. One look at the girl and Tywin knew immediately his wife would take her under her care and protection. Sansa was unable to see anyone suffer or be an outcast.

“I wanted to see the King,” Tywin heard the whispered excitement and could practically hear his wife’s voice, scolding him if he ignored this child. Had Sansa been standing there, he inevitably would have been forced to address her. Sighing, he turned and walked back to the two men and the girl standing there.

“My Lady Baratheon,” Tywin said and gave her a slight bow.

She blushed on one side of her face and dropped to a perfect curtsey. “Your Grace,” she said, then smile. “I hear I am to meet the Queen.” Tywin could see the excitement in her face and tried to recall ever having a feeling like that as a child. He’d been forced to grow up so fast, his incompetent father almost ruining their house, that he couldn’t remember anything of the sort. But he knew that Sansa’s allure to young ladies of the realm was enormous.

“You are,” Tywin said and nodded to her once more. He saw Stannis’ shoulders relax slightly as if he were always worried about someone attacking her or mocking her. Once again, a feeling of comradery with Stannis washed over Tywin. He knew that feeling well, being the father to a dwarf. He’d had to defend his family name against slights and japes about Tyrion his entire life, and he’d be the first to admit he did not do it willingly or well.

Shireen then presented him with a piece of parchment. “A poem, for the Queen, Your Grace. I wrote it myself.” Stannis went to berate his impertinent daughter, but Tywin shot him a look. Tywin reached and took the parchment and saw the neat writing. He nodded once again at the girl.

“I will give it to the Queen,” he promised and then turned and took his leave. The three stood and watched until the King’s ship sailed away, and then turned to go back to the Castle. Shireen would come to Kings Landing, and his wife would get to Storm’s End and everything must be packed and readied for them to take their leave in ten days. Stannis would not delay when what he wanted was so close.

When Tywin stepped off the dock at the marina in Kings Landing, he was greeted by Ser Marbrand and Tyrion.

“Where is she?” he asked immediately, and Tyrion suppressed a grin.

“In the gardens with Genna, Catelyn and Margaery,” Tyrion said and saw his father’s stride lengthen. He’ d been gone eleven days, and Tyrion knew nothing would be accomplished until the King had seen his wife.

Soon enough, Tywin entered the gardens and spotted her. She must have been told he was coming, for she saw him immediately and tried to rise to her feet, but her size made her struggle.

“Sansa, sit,” Genna admonished. “He’ll come to you.” Still, she couldn’t help but grin when she saw the two of them lock eyes. Sansa had tried her best, but she’d been miserable with Tywin away, and Genna knew her brother would have been a very growly lion during his visit to Dragonstone. Genna sometimes wondered if Ty had even loved Joanna as much as he did Sansa. She’d rarely seen two people who were so meant for one another.

In a matter of moments, Tywin’s long strides had eaten up the distance, and he was in front of her. He wanted nothing more than to fall at his feet before her, but he was the King, and he knew that many already commented on how affectionate he was with her. His need for her was so great that he needed to be with her in the privacy of their rooms, afraid to show too much emotion even in front of their family.

“Wife,” he growled, and Sansa blushed before she held out her hand so he could help her to her feet. Hand in hand without a backward glance to anyone else, they walked towards their rooms. Once there, Tywin slid the bolt shut on the door and turned to see her standing there, a smile gracing her beautiful face. She was the most beautiful thing Tywin had seen, and his heart had ached each moment he’d been away from her.

He came to her quickly, need driving each step and smashed his lips to her, taking her face in his hands and pressing himself as close to her as he could despite her large stomach.

“Tywin,” she moaned and sought his mouth, her hands pinning his head to her. When they finally drew apart, they were both breathing heavily. “I missed you,” she told him softly, and he grunted. He couldn’t put into words how much he’d hated being apart from her. He knew it was madness, to feel so much for one person, but he was unable to stop it. He was truly and deeply in love with his wife.

Seeing the look in her husband’s eye, Sansa took his hand and led them to the bathing rooms. Making love had become more complicated the further she got in her pregnancy, but she could see the need in both their eyes. They could play and clean themselves and then slip into their large bed. Tywin was creative, and she knew his demands would be great, as were hers. She also knew she would have his undivided attention for the rest of the afternoon and evening. He would not deal with any business of the realm until tomorrow.

They filled the largest tub, the one they used the most, added the scents and oils that Sansa loved and that Tywin had come to associate with her, and then stripped each other down, clothing laying in a discarded pile at their feet. Naked, Sansa’s form was stunning; she’d grown even more abundant in the time he had gone, and he knew she was close to eight months gone. He could see his children moving in her stomach, and overcome, knelt before his Queen to place his hands and lips reverently on her stomach. He saw the tears come to her eyes, and they both sunk into the water, where Tywin let his hands roam over her as she washed him. Contentment unlike he’d ever known stole over him, being back here with her like this.

When they finally exited the bathing chambers, Tywin watched as she used the stool she’d had placed beside the bed to climb up. He knew she was ready for him; he could smell her arousal, but let his fingers test her core to make sure. Sansa lay on her side, and Tywin groaned when he sunk into her warm, wet heat from behind and pressed soft kisses long her neck.

“I dreamed of you,” he told her, his voice low and quiet and soft. Sansa let all the sensations wash over her. He told her how much he missed her, how much he loved her, how he’d hurried back to her. When Sansa was close, Tywin found her nub and let her break apart in his arms before he followed her over. He would have to be so careful with her now and his need for her. Everything was about her safety and bringing their heirs safely into the world. Still overcome with emotion, Sansa kept his arms wrapped around her before she fell asleep.

As he let his hands drift down, he felt his children roll and kick, moving and responding to his hands that pressed gently on her stomach. He loved to feel them, and in this incredibly private moment, Tywin could admit to his excitement about becoming a father again. He never thought he would have this chance, and now he knew they were mere weeks away from Sansa giving birth. Happiness like he’d never know washed over him, and Tywin, King of the Seven Kingdoms, held his wife in his arms, thankful to be back by her side, and vowed not to leave her again until he’d met his new heirs.

The day after Tywin had arrived home, he’d convened a special small council meeting and disclosed some of what he had agreed too. He saw Mace Tyrell’s face sour, and he knew the man would be further upset when his position was changed, but Tywin was the King, and he would do what was best for his realm.

Privately, Tywin had told Sansa everything he had agreed too, as well as told her about Lady Shireen Baratheon. Sansa was excited to meet the girl, and even more so once Tywin gave her the girl’s poem of her. It was very well written, and Sansa treasured it. Things meant little to Sansa; her House and her husband could afford the very best in the Kingdom. Sansa valued true gestures of affection or intent. She asked Tywin how bad the girl’s face was, not because she cared, but only so she could prepare herself not to react and school the ladies of the court that might give her a difficult time. There were still some that were bitter that Sansa had managed to secure the marriage she had, and even though she was loved by many, jealousy for her youth, beauty, position and power was still apparent in some.

Tywin also informed Tyrion precisely what he had negotiated away for the loyalty of Stannis Baratheon. Tyrion was a bit stunned, truth be told, and wondered if his father meant to replace him as hand. Tywin snapped out a no to that statement and then growled for Tyrion to not be so insecure. The two men couldn’t have been more different, Tywin thought.

Ten days after their meeting on Dragonstone and true to his word, Stannis Baratheon sent word that he would arrive in Kings Landing in four days.

Tywin and Tyrion were in the throne room listening to petitioners when word came that Stannis had arrived.

“Fetch the Queen and bring Lord Stannis to the Throne Room immediately,” Tywin barked out orders. He would hear the last man who was complaining about his neighbour stealing his sheep, and then clear the room. They would arrange for a formal ceremony, with the full court and small council present when Stannis went to bend the knee officially. For now, he would meet the members of Tywin’s family.

Sansa, Catelyn, Margaery, Genna and Ser Marbrand arrived before the Baratheon’s. The Great Room was cleared of all but Ser Jerod, Tyrion and Tywin. Sansa approached her husband and could see the faint trace of anticipation on his face, but only because she knew him so well. Bowing slightly to him, he smiled at her when he saw her wearing her crown, and she took her place beside his in her seat. Knowing it was the only family, Tywin reached out and grabbed her hand. He’d limited himself to her body since he’d been back, and Pycelle confirmed that he might have to stop altogether to give the babes the greatest amount of time to grow. Her discomfort grew daily, and she’d just entered her eighth month, and Sansa had been told they could come at any time. Her and Tywin had not told the court or the small council members that they were expecting twins, even though she was larger than most women with one. Any number of things could happen between now and their birth, although their family knew. Margaery had also begun to show, a tiny swell to her otherwise slim frame, and Tyrion was more often than not found with a grin on his face.

The Lannister’s whispered until the great doors were pushed open, and Stannis Baratheon entered, Shireen at his one side and Ser Davos on the other. A proud, strong man, Stannis walked with his head held high. He heard his daughter gasp when she caught sight of the Great Lion on his throne, and couldn’t help but think of his reaction the last time he’d seen the man sitting there. Now a crown of golden lions adorned his head, and he was not the hand but the King himself.

For a brief moment, Stannis almost stumbled. He caught sight of the King holding hands with the Queen before Tywin rose to greet him. It was the Queen herself that had captured Stannis’ attention. He’d heard the rumours of course, but none could compare to the reality of her beauty. She went to stand, and he found himself shaking his head. Any fool could see she was large and deep into her pregnancy, although that did nothing to detract from her beauty. Whereas Melisandre had a sexual appeal and sophisticated elegance that no man could deny, Queen Sansa was simply one of the most stunning women that Stannis had ever seen. And then she smiled radiantly at her husband as he helped her from her throne and Stannis watched the look of pure adoration and devotion that crossed Tywin Lannister’s face when he gazed upon her. It was fleeting, and when she stood, Tywin turned back to address him, and his hard and implacable mask was back in place. But Stannis knew then that all the rumours were true. Tywin Lannister was deeply in love with his Queen. It made them a powerful force; Robert had hated Cersei, and Stannis knew that she had worked continuously to either undermine his rule or isolate him from those that might help him. Such would not be the case with the Great Lion. Stannis almost shuddered to think what Tywin would do to someone who came between him and his Queen.

Stannis made his way to the front of the room, noting the Lions that had lined up, and startled a bit to see Catelyn Stark there, until he remembered he’d been told she’d married the Lord Commander of the City Watch. It was impossible to reconcile the fact that Tyrion had married Margaery until Stannis saw it for himself, and even though Stannis was partial to Sansa’s beauty, Margaery was an attractive woman and a massive boon for Tywin’s second son. And pregnant if Stannis guessed correctly. He had a brief thought that they’d be overrun by lions in the Capital if this kept up. It made him think of his lack of heirs. Finally, standing at the bottom of the steps, Stannis, Shireen and Ser Davos stopped and bowed to the King and Queen who stood in front of their thrones.

“Lord Baratheon,” Tywin’s voice rang out, and Stannis nodded to the King.

“Your Grace,” Stannis replied and then turned his attention to the Queen. “May I present my daughter, Lady Shireen Baratheon, and my trusted advisor, Ser Davos Seaworth, Your Grace.”

Sansa smiled and then reached for Tywin’s arm. He gave it to her, and they descended the steps, so they were standing on the same level as the small family.

“Your Grace,” Shireen said and curtsied prettily. Sansa beamed at her. She had schooled herself for the girl to have a horrid face, but Sansa thought about how often she’d looked at Sandor’s scars and thanked the gods that this child’s scars weren’t as bad as his. She would never be a beauty, but she had a prettiness about her, and Sansa would defend anyone who sought to shame her for her appearance.

“My Lady,” Sansa said and bowed back to the delightful girl. “I thank you for your poem. It was well composed and a delight,” Sansa said and smiled at Shireen, who beamed at her.

“My father says you will teach me how to be a proper lady at Court,” Shireen said, and Stannis gasped at her forwardness before Sansa laughed prettily and waved a hand. Stannis had seen first- hand the bitterness and vitriol with which Cersei Lannister had conducted herself, and was worried Sansa would be much the same. After all, both women were tied to Tywin Lannister, and he was not a warm or generous man.

“Well, I shall try, along with my family,” Sansa said. She longed to hug the child. She knew that her father couldn’t possibly give the girl the affection she craved, but didn’t know if that was her place. Tywin, as if sensing her need, squeezed her hand. Knowing it was fine, Sansa opened her arms. His wife was a lioness when someone came under her protection; gentle and loving with those who needed it, fierce and protective of those she cared about. And Tywin could see she had already decided that Shireen was someone she cared about.

“Come here, child,” Sansa said softly, and Shireen left her father’s side and threw herself into Sansa’s arms. The Queen was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, and she smelled like lemons and lavender. Shireen was beside herself with excitement that she would get to spend time with her.

“You’ve very beautiful,” Shireen whispered into Sansa’s ear, and Sansa felt her heart explode at the sincerity of the words.

When they drew apart, Sansa pressed a kiss to her forehead and cupped her scarred cheek. “Welcome to my home,” and Shireen beamed at her. Almost everyone was afraid to touch her; but not the Queen who was a lion. She was braver than many men Shireen had met. She curtseyed once more to her and went to stand beside her father and Ser Davos.

Both men were stunned. Stannis had hidden his daughter away from court life, protecting her from those who would ridicule and harm her. He remembered that Tywin had said his wife would take her under her wing, but this was beyond any expectation that Stannis had. Sansa was nothing like his vile daughter, and a kinder and more caring woman in her position, Stannis could not recall. Ser Davos coughed and shuffled his feet, almost undone by the Queen’s beauty and grace and compassion for a scarred little girl that he loved like his own child.

Sansa turned to them and smiled. “Lord Baratheon, Ser Davos, welcome to Kings Landing,” and they bowed once again to her, both a bit too stunned by her to react appropriately. Tywin grinned and grasped her hand once more. He had seen Sansa have that effect on more than one person, and it never failed to make his ego swell. She was an exquisite woman and a consummate Queen. And she was his.

Tyrion stepped up to tell them where their quarters were and that the ceremony to pledge their loyalty would take place tomorrow, followed by a special small council meeting.

“And Ser Davos? He is my most trusted advisor and as knowledgeable as I am about ships,” Stannis asked, and Tywin nodded. It was unusual for additional members of a Lord’s household to attend small council meetings, but trust needed to be rebuilt with the Stag. Additionally, the Royal Fleet was a mess, and Tywin needed it rebuilt immediately.

Ser Jerrod stepped forward to lead the small group to their rooms, and Tywin decided that they

would hear no more petitioners today. He needed to prepare for tomorrow and spend time with his wife and knew if he worked from his solar, then she would rest, and he could keep a close eye on her. Tomorrow would be busy enough.

A full-court the next day watched as Stannis Baratheon swore allegiance to King Tywin and bent the knee. In exchange, Tywin named him head of House Baratheon of Storm’s End and the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. A cheer erupted from the crowd, and Stannis bowed once more to the King. A peculiar sense of rightness settled over him. He had what he had longed for, perhaps even more than the crown if he were candid with himself. He tried to imagine his wife as the Queen by his side, but compared to Sansa, he could see how he would have never stood a chance. Everywhere they went in Kings Landing, from the nobles to the commoners, her name was praised. Stannis saw at once that she softened the Great Lion of Casterly Rock, and Stannis’ lack of charisma had been his biggest weakness in winning people to his cause. He could never have hoped to compete with Tywin’s new marriage; it truly was a stroke of genius.

Later, in the King’s small council room, Stannis retook a chair at the King’s table. Present today were the King, his hand, his wife, along with Varys, Pycelle, Lord Tully from Riverrun, Lord Tyrell from Highgarden, Prince Oberyn for Dorne, Lord Wayward for the Vale. Additionally, Ser Marbrand, Ser Jerrod and Ser Davos were there.

Tywin cleared his throat.

“Lord Tyrell, in light of your service to the Crown, and your House and region’s continue contribution to feeding the citizens of the realm, you are named as the Master of Coin,” Tywin said. Mace looked momentarily shocked before he realized that with Stannis back, Tywin would put a much more experienced person in his old position. There was nothing to be gained by protesting such a move. It was the King’s discretion where members of his small council served, and truth be told, Mace was not the best war commander. Still, it rankled slightly, and the history between him and Stannis sat uneasily in the room.

“Ser Marbrand, in the absence of Kevan Lannister, and in addition to your position as Lord Commander of the City Watch, you are named as Master of Laws.” Addam swallowed hard and nodded at the King. He was overcome that such an honour had been bestowed upon him.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Ser Marbrand said.

“Stannis Baratheon, with your superior knowledge of the seas and military battles, you are named Master of Ships and Lord Admiral of the royal fleet,” Tywin said. No one was shocked by this turn of events, and Stannis nodded.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Any word from Jaime?” Tywin asked the group. His son had left a month ago and was he was anxious for news.

“We’ve received a raven that all their forces have just crossed Moat Cailin,” Tyrion said, and Tywin nodded. They would arrive in Winterfell within weeks with fifty thousand men. Other matters were talked about, and once the meeting had ended, Sansa approached Ser Davos and Lord Stannis.

“Your Grace,” Stannis said, and Sansa waved a hand.

“I’m hoping we can be less formal than that,” she said and smiled at both men. “I was hoping to spend some time with Lady Shireen today,” she said and asked if that were possible.

“Of course, Your... Lady Sansa,” Stannis said, still a bit undone by her. He cleared his throat and looked at her. “I heard about your initiative. In Flea Bottom,” he clarified. “I must say, I approve, and any help that I can lend I would do so willingly.”

Sansa beamed at him.

“Thank you, My Lord,” she said, and he gave her a look, one that reminded her of her husband. Of all the people Sansa had met, if she had been asked, she would have said that Stannis was Tywin’s trueborn son. Except for his dark colouring, the Lord of the Stormlands who was only a few years younger than Jaime conducted himself in a very similar manner as her husband.

“That would be most appreciated,” she told him. As they went to leave the room to find Shireen, Sansa’s guards fell in beside her. As always, her constant shadow was Dacey Mormont, and today there was a Karstark guard as well. Ser Davos startled a bit at the woman warrior, and then both men frowned at the cloaks both wore with the Lion and the Direwolf sigils.

“My Queensguard,” Sansa explained. “Tywin insisted that I have guards from each Northern House that had pledged to House Stark. Dacey Mormont is the Commander of my guard.” Davos nodded at the fierce northern woman who didn’t return his look. She didn’t know these men, and they had not proven their loyalty yet.

“The King insisted?” Stannis said, a note of incredulity in his voice that Tywin would give up any control, especially something as traditional as the Kingsguard.

“I did,” Tywin said, joining his wife. He’d seen her approach Stannis and Ser Davos, and while they had pledged themselves to him, he didn’t entirely trust them yet. He had an idea what Sansa wanted, though. She was relentless in her quest to make the lives of the poor better. As was her custom, she smiled at him and told him what they were discussing, and her frustrations with the current flesh peddlers that continued to use those who had no other options for survival.

“Perhaps I can be of some assistance, Your Grace,” Ser Davos said. He’d spent more time than any other man in the room in Flea Bottom and knew many of its rotten secrets. Sansa beamed a smile at him and drew him to the side to talk more privately as they left the small council room to find Shireen, which left Stannis and Tywin to walk beside one another.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the two men. Like most, they had a problematic history with one another, most recently the Battle of the Blackwater. Luckily enough, the rooms they had been given were not that far, and soon enough, they entered to find Shireen beaming at seeing Sansa and Tywin again. She had told Ser Davos that when she grew up, she hoped her husband loved her as much as the King loved the Queen. Stannis had frowned slightly at that statement, knowing his daughter would have a duty to fulfill above all else. She needed to marry the right man to ensure the Baratheon name lived on. Davos intervened, pointing out that Sansa married for the good of her house as well as her heart and Shireen nodded sagely at that statement.

Sansa explained how she held court in the gardens most days and wondered if Shireen would like to join her tomorrow, and the girl eagerly agreed after looking towards her father who nodded. He was still a bit shocked by Sansa’s easy acceptance of his child; even her mother did not treat her in such a kind manner. He was no fool and could see how starved she was for female attention. So far, nothing the Queen had done had indicated her to be anything but the loving and kind woman that people said she was.

Sansa had asked for a few of her favourite books to be delivered to Shireen, and she was happy to see them on the table. Sansa walked to them and lovingly ran her hand down them, some of her favourites

being tales of brave knights and fair maidens. Even though she knew there was so much wickedness in the world, she did not think it necessary to expose a child to it before they were older.

“I love to read,” Sansa confessed, and Shireen’s eyes lit up.

“I taught Ser Davos,” she mock whispered to Sansa, and the Queen praised her for such a task. “I think everyone should be able to read, Your Grace,” the girl continued, and Sansa nodded, agreeing. She thought of the orphans and how lacking they were in basic education, and how so many could only be concerned with filling their bellies. Reading was a luxury afforded only to the nobles of the realm. While the two of them spoke, Stannis turned to Tywin and asked about the status of the royal navy.

“Abysmal,” Tywin ground out. “Mace was not up to the task. I take it you will not dally in your efforts to rebuild it.”

“And financially?” Stannis had learned long ago not to trust Petyr Littlefinger; all he had done as Master of Coin was borrow from the man in front of him.

Tywin grunted. “Better. There is a repayment plan from the Crown to both House Lannister and the Iron Bank. I will not be in charge of a Kingdom that is indebted to Braavosi bankers,” Tywin spat, thinking of Baelish and his underhanded tactics. “The realm is essentially at peace, which means trade and commerce are finally able to begin again. I had word from those that travelled for my coronation that merchants and travelling sellers were back on the Kingsroad, no longer fearing death or capture.”

Stannis grunted. He’d heard similar tales, now that the seven Kingdoms were at peace. He knew he’d need to visit the Stormlands to take stock and reassure the people and houses loyal to House Baratheon that their rightful lord was back. But first, work needed to be done in the Capital.

Tywin, seeing Sansa tiring, coughed slightly and she sent him a sheepish glance. She enjoyed Shireen’s company and knew she was pushing herself too hard.

“When is your baby due, Your Grace?” Shireen asked, and Sansa smiled at her before placing her hands on her prominent stomach.

“Within a month, Shireen,” Sansa replied, and unable to help herself gently drew one of the girl’s hands and placed it on her stomach where one of the babies was kicking. Shireen gasped in delight and then clapped her hands.

“That is so exciting,” she said, awe in her voice. Her entire life she’d wanted a brother or a sister, but she knew her mother was too sickly ever to give her that. Thinking of her mother made her frown before she pushed that thought away. It was better like this; with Ser Davos and her father and the Queen. And better since that red priestess left her father as well. Shireen did not like how that woman looked at her.

“Sansa, come,” Tywin commanded, but his tone was gentle and loving with her and she walked back to his side, reminding them that she would see them in the garden tomorrow. Stannis watched it all with a detached look, but was secretly envious of the Great Lion. Him and Sansa had only been married for just over nine months; he’d clearly gotten her with child immediately and if the size of her were any indication, she would give him two children in this pregnancy. And she was young, almost twenty-two. It was conceivable the Great Lion could fill these halls with his offspring. He saw the look in his daughter’s eyes and knew she longed for a sibling, much in the way he longed for an heir.

Once the King and Queen had left, Davos let out a sigh.

“My gods, My Lord, what a couple,” he said and sunk into a chair.

Stannis had to agree. The impressive man that Stannis had seen when he was a child was every bit that man today, even though almost thirty years had passed since that moment. Being away from Dragonstone, back in Kings Landing and with a title and inheritance, he’d always wanted, along with a position that respected his talents and interests was almost too much to conceive. Added to that was the immediate bond the Queen seemed to have with his daughter and the genuine goodness of her.

For years Stannis had begged his brother to clean up Flea Bottom, but his pleas had fallen on deaf ears; Robert had been too busy whoring to put an end to such a practice. The entire feeling of the Capital had changed dramatically, and Stannis could not imagine a more different place than when his brother or that vile bastard Joffrey ruled. Stannis suspected most of that was due to Sansa’s tempering influence on her fearsome husband. Still, time would tell, and for now, Stannis had done the seemingly impossible; secured his future and ensured his House would carry one while gaining a seat in the game again.


	26. Chapter 26

_ The Road North  _

Jaime Lannister loved to be on a horse and with his men. He loved to be away from the city and the smell of shit and decay and waste of King’s Landing. The further away they rode, the happier he was. Of course, he had his Uncle, his son and his friend with him, so that helped matters immensely. And they were not at war; at least not yet. As they travelled up the Kings Road, signs of recovery could be seen everywhere; in each village and market, they passed, in the travelling merchants selling their wares and the inns that they stopped at occasionally.

Tyrell forces had come from the Reach and were led by a stern man named Randyll Tarly and his son Dickon. Of course, Bronn couldn’t help but jape at the man daily about his name, and even Jaime had to admit it was rather unfortunate. Brienne kept shooting Bronn death looks each time he took a swipe at Dickon. Brienne did not like Bronn’s childish japing at the young Knight, and Jaime half worried she would take her sword out and run Bronn through.

The majority of the Lannister forces that did not stay in the Capital or at Casterly Rock were stationed at Harrenhal. Of the entire journey, it was this castle that Jaime was looking the least forward too. He and Brienne had a troubled history with the Castle, and around the campfire one night, Jaime learned that Arya did as well. Jaime had been aware that there was some history between his father and Sansa’s sister but was stunned to learn that Tywin had her there as his cupbearer before he’d abandoned the Castle to ride to King’s Landing the night Stannis attacked. He was further stunned to learn that his father seemed to like her; perhaps it was her acerbic tongue and sharp wit. Jaime shook his head. It would be just Tywin Lannister’s way to give more time and attention to someone that was not his flesh and blood than his real children.

Regardless, the closer they got to the Castle; the quieter Jaime became. Here they would meet the Knights of the Vale as well as those from the Riverlands. The Blackfish himself was leading those forces, and Jaime wondered how that would go. Lords and Kings could bow and bend the knee, but soldiers rarely forgot who had clashed steel on the battlefield. He was glad for his Uncle Kevan. He’d developed a relationship with these people, and he knew the man had been present when the Lannister’s had given the Stark’s back their family sword. Sometimes Jaime still couldn’t believe his father had followed through on that promise to his wife. It was still shocking to realize just how much his father loved his new wife.

For Sandor, there was a sense of urgency to the journey, and he lasted only a week with the main Lannister forces before he cornered the Kingslayer one evening.

“We’re moving too slow. I’m taking the wolf bitch and going ahead,” Sandor told Jaime, and the Kingslayer startled a bit at that announcement.

“It’s an army Clegane, with thousands of men. We’re making good time,” Jaime argued back, and Sandor waved a giant hand his way.

“Not saying you’re not. But when you get to that shithole Harrenhal it will take even more time. My allegiance is to the North, to Lord Stark,” Sandor said, and Jaime could see the man’s frustration.

“You have enough provisions?” Jaime asked, and Sandor scowled. “Not a fucking child, Lannister,” he barked at him.

Jaime nodded. Tommen would be disappointed as he often could be found sparing with the Hound and the Stark woman each evening, but Jaime knew there was nothing he could do to keep Sandor with the retinue. He was pledged to the Northern house, and even Jaime could see he was anxious to get home.

“Go,” he told him, and Sandor nodded his thanks and went to discuss the matter with the little wolf. He found her with Brienne and Tommen and Bronn beside another fire.

“Pack your shit and be ready to ride tomorrow,” he told her and saw Arya’s eyes light up.

“Yeah?” she asked, and he nodded.

At first light, or perhaps even moments before, the two left the camp of Lannister’s and Tyrell’s. Sandor set a punishing pace, riding with the Stark banners, but Arya didn’t complain. They made it through to the Twins days ahead of the forces that were slowly coming behind them and were welcomed into the Castle by the Reed’s that held the Castle since Robb Stark had taken it from House Frey. The Reeds were loyal bannermen to House Stark and warmly welcomed the two travellers into the caste. Sandor gave them two day’s rest before he pressed them onward, to Winterfell, and home. He felt it in his bones the moment he crossed Moat Cailin; he was home, and he shot a look to Arya who grinned wildly and whooped out a holler. Like him, she’d been uncomfortable in the South, and now that they were back in the North, she was happy; free and wild.

It was on night three when they had made camp, only a week away from Winterfell, that Sandor thought his life was going to end. The two of them had started the camp chores the moment they stopped riding, relaxed and comfortable with each other. Arya went to find wood when Sandor saw the horses startle and whipped around, sword out and spotted the wolf. 

He might have pissed himself if he could have moved, but he just stood there. He remembered the two direwolf pups that the Stark girls had. He knew what had happened to Sansa’s wolf, and he’d heard Arya cry over having to send her away. He knew he was staring at her wolf now. She was huge; at least as large as Robb Stark’s grey wolf and bigger than Ric’s black one.

“Hey girl,” Sandor rumbled to the wolf and saw her snap her jaws. He hoped Arya would come back to camp soon, else he’d be her wolf’s dinner, and what a miserable thought that was just as he’d finally pledged himself to House Stark; eaten by their House sigil come to life and having been accepted by the other two wolves currently at Winterfell.

As if Arya had heard his plea, she came walking back into camp and saw him standing still as a statue.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she snarked at him but with little heat. “Arya,” he ground out, and she followed his eyes where they landed on the wolf.

“Nymeria?” Arya called softly and dropped the load of sticks and wood she had found for the fire. For a moment, Sandor feared the wolf had forgotten her former master. Then he saw the wolf dip her head and step towards Arya. Before he could stop her, he watched as she flung herself into the wolf’s massive body, and the wolf almost curled herself around the young woman. He saw Arya’s shoulder’s shaking and knew that she was sobbing into Nymeria’s fur.

Shaking himself from his paralysis, Sandor kept a wary eye on the pair as he prepared the fire. He hated doing this task and would leave it to one of the other’s too light the damn thing.

“Sandor, come here,” Arya’s voice rang out, and he gave her a skeptical look. She wasn’t fucking serious, was she?

She nodded, and he grumbled and lumbered over to the pair of them.

“He’s my friend, Nymeria. He kept me safe. He’s family,” Arya said, and Sandor saw the wolf curl her lip again before she tentatively sniffed at him and then licked his hand.

_Fucking hell_, Sandor thought. The other two direwolves were almost tame compared to Arya’s, who had lived alone for years. But he could see the acceptance in the wolf’s eyes as she licked him. He ran a tentative hand over her massive head and heard a soft woof. “Aye girl, I’m your friend,” Sandor murmured to her, enthralled by her size.

Arya laughed, and Sandor had never seen such joy on her face. “This is my wolf. Nymeria,” she said proudly. “She’s mine, I have been without her for years.”

Sandor snorted and gave the wolf one last scratch before he looked at Arya.

“Can we please fucking get the fire going. I’m starved,” Sandor complained, to cover the emotion he felt at seeing Arya so happy. He’d spent enough time with the Starks to know that these animals were more than just pets; he half expected them all to be wargs or some such fucking nonsense. There was magic, old and deep and powerful in the North, and Sandor felt it in his bones. He would never admit that to anyone, but the bleeding godswood trees, and deep forests and fucking wolves, along with the old whispered stories of a Night King and the dead were enough to convince any man with half a fucking brain that the North was unlike any other place in Westeros.

Nymeria stayed with Arya that night and ran beside them the next day. She would dart off, to hunt or rest and catch up with them over the next seven days. When Sandor asked Arya if she was worried that she would leave again, she shook her head and then bit her lip.

“She’s back for good,” she said softly. Arya had caught Sandor rubbing Nymeria’s belly the other night, and rolled her eyes at the wolf as her tongue lolled out.

“Told you that, did she?” Sandor japed at her and Arya nodded. He raised his one eyebrow to her. She was as close to him as anyone; her odd uncle/brother/father figure.

“I had a dream,” she told him and then glanced at him to see if he would make fun of her. When he didn’t, she continued, “I’ve had them since I got her. Sometimes she would be hunting; sometimes she was running, free and wild.” Arya paused. “And so I was. I was her, with her, in her, experiencing what she was.”

Sandor fucking knew it. These Starks were wargs with their wolves. Or at least Arya was. He could see the worry on her face.

“I won’t say a fucking word,” he told her, and she nodded, grateful and relieved.

When they finally crested the hill to Winterfell, they both gave each other wide grins. It was so different from the last time he’d come here. Then he’d been unsure of his place, knowing that he only wanted to be here for Arya and ensure her safety. Now he was welcome; now this was home.

Kicking their horses, they raced each other the Keep, Nymeria keeping pace beside them, until they saw the South gates open and Robb and Rickon with their two wolves spilled from the Castle to meet them.

“How?” Robb said when he spotted Nymeria. Arya happily told him how she’d found them in the woods, just North of Moat Cailin. The wolves were sniffing and jawing and playing, not having seen each other in years.

“Incredible,” Robb said and then shook his head and smiled at Sandor. “Welcome home,” he said and saw the big man grin.

“Aye, about fucking time as well,” Sandor grumbled, but Robb could see the pleasure in the man’s face.

“Welcome back, M’Lady,” Robb japed with his sister, wondering how she’d done with Sansa in the south. 

“Don’t be an ass, Robb,” she scolded him, and then they all entered the yard, where Jeyne was waiting with little Ned, bundled up. Arya instantly went to her and cooed over the baby. She had been so happy when she’d heard that Robb had a son, and though he looked like a bug, even Arya could see the pride on Robb’s face.

“Well done, brother,” she said, and Sandor nodded at him as well.

Then a slight cough sounded, and Arya’s eyes popped open as she spotted Theon Greyjoy, standing just to the right of Jeyne. She saw Robb and Rickon stiffen a bit as if they were afraid of her reaction.

“Theon,” Arya said, voice flat and almost cold. She saw him swallow nervously, and Nymeria appeared by her side and let out a low rumble.

“Arya,” Theon said and then nodded. “I want to apologize to you personally. I’ve already done so, to Robb and Rickon. But what I did.....” he trailed off and swallowed hard again. Then he straightened and met her gaze. “Nothing will make up for it, but I’ve pledged myself to House Stark, and I won’t betray you again.”

Arya was sizing him up when Sandor stepped forward and into Theon’s space. He glared at the Ironborn.

“See that you fucking don’t. They’re honourable, these Stark’s, but I’m not so much. You do one thing fucking wrong, and I’ll finish what that fucker started with you,” Sandor told him and watched the young Lord nod. He had to give the boy credit; he met his gaze.

“Sandor,” Arya said and stepped up beside him. Then she flashed him a grin. “Thanks.”

Sandor nodded to her and then turned to take the horses to the stables. Problems for fancy Lords were beneath him until he heard Robb call out, “You’re still my Master at Arms, Clegane.”

Sandor whipped around to see a shit-eating grin on Robb’s face. He grumbled again and heard Robb laugh, but he knew it was all for show. He was finally back home, and he felt a sense of rightness settled into him, now that he was here.

Days later, when everyone had finally settled in, Sandor found himself sitting in Robb Stark’s family solar, with his wife and small son, Arya and Theon. Robb hadn’t stopped grinning since the moment they had returned, and Sandor felt the pure pleasure at being accepted wash over him. Robb wanted to know everything that had happened in King’s Landing, and between the two of them, they managed to cover all the critical parts.

“So she’s happy? Sansa?” Robb asked instantly.

Arya rolled her eyes. “Ridiculously. Even if she is married to Tywin.” Robb glanced at her. “What does that mean? Is he a bad man for her?”

Sandor grunted and waded in. “The Little Bird is fine. Happy and in love and has the Great Lion wrapped around her pretty little finger. She has everyone in the whole fucking Capital wrapped around her little finger, Robb.”

The Young Wolf nodded and looked relieved. “Tywin Lannister is a cold and calculating bastard, but he loves your sister and would do anything for her. He’d kill anyone who hurt her, and he’d never lay a hand on her.”

“And mother?” Robb asked.

Arya shrugged and told him about Ser Marbrand and their mother and how Sansa had stood up for her when she had fought the others down in King’s Landing. She frowned and told Robb she thought it was best that she stayed down there, and Sandor didn’t miss how Jeyne let out a relieved sigh.

“What about the threat from the Wall?” Sandor asked, and Robb nodded.

“All I’ve heard is that a Wildling army is amassing. I’m still waiting on word from Jon. When will Jaime Lannister’s army arrive?” Robb asked anxiously.

“A week most likely,” Sandor said, and they all nodded.

Eventually, they all left the solar until it was only Robb and Sandor. The Lord of Winterfell pinned the man with a look.

"You're pleased to be back here?" Robb asked, letting his youthful worry come through for once.

Sandor nodded and grunted. "Fucking can't stand the Capital anymore," he said, and Robb saw the truth in his eyes.

It was a relief to have Sandor back in the North, and Robb hadn't been sure that he would return.

"I need you training the men. Tomorrow," Robb said, and Sandor nodded, a warm feeling of almost contentment settling over him. This was his place and his home, and he was pleased to be back.

"I can't believe Arya's wolf came back," Robb muttered, and Sandor barked out a laugh at that.

"Two Starks, married now," Sandor said, shaking his head, and Robb nodded.

"She's really happy down there, with him?" Robb asked almost shuddering at the thought when he thought about Sansa's marriage.

Sandor nodded. "I wouldn't fucking lie to you, Robb. I spoke with her privately. For some fucking reason, she loves him. And he loves her. That she-bear she has guarding her won't let anyone harm her," Sandor reassured Robb again, and he swallowed hard and nodded.

"That's good," he said, almost too himself.

Grey Wind had curled up by Sandor's side, and the big man had let his hand drift down to pet the wolf.

"Ric's gonna be on you like a burr to a tree," Robb told Sandor, and he grunted. He'd missed the littlest Stark, and had wondered how he'd done with him being away.

They sat in companionable silence, both glad that the Hound was back in the halls of Winterfell until Sandor could feel his eyes drift closed. He heaved his massive form from the chair, and before he left the room, Robb called out.

"You're new quarters are just down the Hall, Sandor."

When he turned to look at Robb, the lord shrugged. "My wife insisted. Says you're family." Then he grinned at Sandor's cursing, knowing that no matter what, he could alway count on Sandor Clegane's foul mouth. He's missed hearing the liberal use of the word cunt when they'd been away. Then he sobered.

"Thank you for bringing Arya home safe, and checking on Sansa, Clegane," and Sandor nodded one last time before he went to find his rooms; rooms that were too spacious and too generous for a bastard like him, but the room that he'd take since the Stark's insisted. He took one look at the massive bed, and sent a silent prayer of thanks to Robb's kind wife, before completely exhausted, he collapsed into his new bed and dreamless slumber. There were battles ahead he knew, but as far as Sandor Clegane was concerned, he'd left the dog behind in the South and become a wolf of Winterfell for good.

* * *

_ King’s Landing  _

True to her word, the Queen came to the Baratheon apartments the next day to escort Lady Shireen to the gardens. For the first time since they had come back to King’s Landing, Stannis had the opportunity to observe Lady Sansa without her husband hovering protectively by her side; she had only her fearsome Northern guards with her today. His daughter was overjoyed at the prospect of spending time with the Queen, and it was all she had talked about since Sansa had left the previous afternoon.

Stannis warned her about getting her hopes too high, as he found people were a constant disappointment in this life. But Sansa appearing today as promised made his words seem harsh and overly negative. Shireen gave him a look as if to say that Queen Sansa would never renege on a promise to her, and as she was currently standing in his apartments, he conceded the point to his daughter.

Stannis valued someone who followed through on their word, and his respect for the Queen rose incrementally.

“What are we doing today, Your Grace?” Shireen asked Sansa.

A small frown appeared on the Queen’s face, and she sighed. “Planning Lady Margaery’s birthday in the gardens.”

Stannis arched an eyebrow at that statement. The impression he’d gotten from both Tywin and Sansa was that the Queen was an integral part of the King’s inner circle and worked tirelessly, often sitting beside him during both small council meetings and when he met with petitioners in the Great Hall in the smaller throne, the King had commissioned for her. This task seemed somehow beneath her. Stannis never liked the Tyrells even before he had become trapped at Storm’s End during Robert’s Rebellion. He especially did not like Margaery Tyrell. Stannis was still unsure of exactly what had happened between Margaery, Renly and her brother, but he knew it was something untoward.

“She’s feeling.... old,” Sansa said and then blushed as if she’d revealed a terrible secret. The Queen’s eyes darted to Stannis’s. He raised an eyebrow and tried to assure her that her secret was safe with him. He could see her frustrations at having to deal with Margaery Tyrell, and he could sympathize. Being in a position of power often meant you had to interact with people you found distasteful. Once again, Stannis was pleased that the Queen seemed honour bound to be there for her good sister. Too many people lacked a sense of duty these days.

“How old is she?” Shireen asked eagerly, and Sansa laughed gently.

“Older than me,” was all the Queen would say. In truth, Lady Margaery was turning twenty-three and lamenting her age to anyone who would listen. Sansa had tried to be supportive, but when Margaery also complained about her pregnancy, Sansa had become fed up. She was busy, hugely pregnant with not one but two children, and the Queen. Still, she tried to be gracious, and Shireen was a welcome addition and a pleasant diversion for Sansa from Margaery’s constant complaining.

Stannis had decided to accompany them to the gardens this afternoon, having spent the whole morning with Ser Davos and Tyrion in the harbour taking stock of the Royal Fleet. It was a mess and would require extensive repairs and attention, of which he had ordered to begin immediately. He had left Ser Davos down there to begin to oversee the work. It gave him a sense of satisfaction to see the looks of respect and deference as they had strolled through the streets of King’s Landing. Word had spread that he had taken back his family seat, and had been named Master of Ships. There seemed to be a sense of relief by those who served in the Royal Navy as if having a competent and experiences commander back in charge was what they had been waiting for. Tyrion grunted his displeasure at the reception that Stannis Baratheon received, but Stannis couldn’t care less what the dwarf thought. It was his father that was King, not the stunted little man. Stannis was sure his first report to the King would be met with acceptance; Stannis would produce nothing but the best for the King.

There was a small part of Stannis that could admit to being intrigued to serve a King that wasn’t mad, drunk or a whoremonger. Tywin Lannister was the consummate ruler, and never acted impetuously or stupidly, the way that Robert or Aerys had. Stannis acknowledged that he had more in common with Tywin Lannister than he had ever had with Robert.

Stannis watched as Sansa and Shireen chatted happily, mostly about books they had read, and Sansa's newest project, teaching orphans in Flea Bottom to read. He knew that after spending more time with Sansa, that he had no worries about how the Queen would treat his daughter. She had been nothing but kind, open and caring with her. The real test would come when she was presented to the other ladies of the Court. As if the Queen had read his mind, she stopped before they entered the gardens and turned to look at his daughter. Her face was serious, but kind, and Stannis was sure that she would have kneeled to speak to Shireen had her size not been such an impediment.

“I want you to tell me immediately if anyone says or does anything that is cruel or makes you feel uncomfortable, Lady Shireen,” Sansa said in a solemn voice. Stannis appreciated her straight forward manner. Too many people either shied away from his daughter or pretended half her face had not been decimated by the greyscale infection. Stannis always preferred the truth even if it were harsh and uncomfortable.

Shireen nodded wisely if a bit sadly. “It’s my face, isn’t it?” she asked in a tiny voice.

Stannis watched as Sansa sighed and grasped his daughter’s hand. “Too many people see only beauty on the surface and can be cruel and intentionally mean. I cannot protect you from all those who might say hateful things, Lady Shireen. But I can promise you that sometimes a beautiful face hides a monster inside. It is not what our outside looks like, but our hearts and actions that define us.”

Shireen nodded at Sansa, and then the Queen cupped her cheek. “It is a miracle you survived, Shireen, and a testament to your strength. I too have scars, not seen by most, but I have also been marked. One day, someone will come along, and they will see that your scars make you unique and strong.”

Shireen couldn’t help herself; she threw herself in Sansa’s arms, and the Queen hugged her close. Her father had warned her about acting too rashly around Sansa, but she was starved for female attention, and each time she met the Queen, she felt more and more comfortable with Sansa.

Sansa looked over the girls’ shoulder and met the eyes of Stannis who nodded and turned his head, lest she saw the emotion there. He had never been a man who expressed himself easily, but somehow, Sansa had said what he’d always wanted to convey to his daughter.

“Now, I can’t promise there won’t be mean, vicious harpies in the garden today,” Sansa told her and Shireen giggled a bit. “But, I will be there, along with my good sister Genna and my mother, Lady Catelyn, and you are to tell us if anyone is unnecessarily cruel.”

Shireen nodded again and snuck her hand into Sansa’s who let it stay there, while the three of them entered the gardens. There was a full-court of Lords and Ladies today, and as Sansa walked with Shireen to her seat beneath the shaded benches that had been set out for them, Stannis could hear the shocked whispers and gasps. He hoped that some of it had to do with his re-emergence in King’s Landing, but truthfully he knew most of it had to do with his daughter’s appearance. His pride swelled as he watched his daughter hold her head high, and he knew that it had been the right course of action to bring her here, to King’s Landing. She needed to know how to deal with these superficial nobles sooner rather than later.

When they reached their place, Genna Lannister and Catelyn Marbrand, along with Margaery and Tyrion Lannister were already sitting there. Genna had a generous serving of sweets on her plate and soon swept Shireen up into a hug, enfolding her in her ample bosom.

“Don’t pay any mind to those toads,” Genna told the girl, cupping her face. “Most of them are too fat and too miserable by half to be of any concern to a smart young woman like you.”

Shireen giggled and settled between the two older women, happy to be so easily accepted. Shireen liked the King’s sister. She was warm and cuddly and smelled lovely. Catelyn went into mothering mode and offered her a selection of sweets, and then discussed different parts of her education. She was pleased to learn that the girl was well-read and very smart but lamented her lack of needlework and dancing lessons. She shot a scandalized look to Stannis, and he stiffened before Sansa interrupted gently.

“Mother, Lord Stannis has done an admiral job of raising his daughter. The entire country has been in such turmoil the past few years,” Sansa admonished her gently.

While Stannis appreciated her support, he was more than capable of defending his choices to this woman. He didn’t need the Queen to fight his battles for him. Still, Catelyn Marbrand had a point, and it was why Shireen was here, with him in the Capital. And why he was willing to expose her to those vultures of court. He nodded stiffly to her and acknowledged there were areas where he had been remiss in Shireen’s education.

Catelyn coloured slightly and then waved a hand. “I only offer my assistance, Lord Stannis. It would be my pleasure to oversee a proper Septa to help her. She is a lovely young woman.” Stannis nodded stiffly at the woman, and thanked her formally, and watched as Catelyn and Genna got into a heated debate about the best tutors for his daughter. He almost intervened until he felt a soft hand on his arm. When he looked, the Queen had placed her hand there and shook her head softly.

“They will help her, trust me, Lord Stannis,” she told him. “They bicker like two sisters, but they have a deep friendship and will only do what is best for her.”

Stannis stayed by the Queen and watched as the two women dazzled his daughter with all that she could learn. He saw Shireen smile and giggle and when she saw him watching she sent him a small wave, and then went back to eating sweets and listening to the advantages of one dancing instructor over another. He shook his head and nodded to Lady Sansa.

“Thank you,” he said formally, and she sent him a smile that stunned him. She was, indeed, a remarkable woman. Soon enough, she was enlisted by Lady Margaery, and her never-ending list of complaints and Stannis watched her go, more pleased than ever with the King’s insistence that Shireen came under the protection of the Queen. He could imagine no better teacher for a noble young woman of the realm than Queen Sansa. 

The rest of the afternoon was interminable for him; gossip and mindless chatter. His daughter flourished under the attention, but he chafed at being kept from meaningful work. Stannis was just about to take his leave, confidant that Lady Sansa would see to Shireen to his chambers when he spotted the King enter the gardens.

Tywin’s face was set in a severe and stern line, his lean body clad entirely in black; he looked every inch the commanding ruler that he was and nothing like Robert Baratheon. He’d only come today to ensure that Margaery Tyrell’s demands did not harm his wife in any way. If they did, he would be speaking to Tyrion about his wife.

As soon as Stannis spotted the King, he thought he might be able to salvage something useful from this visit beyond merely introducing his daughter to the court.

As was his custom, Tywin came to Sansa’s side immediately. Even though he knew that they were always on display, he indulged his wife and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. He was rewarded with a loving smile from her, and Tywin grunted, knowing it was worth the gossip that such a gesture would inspire. In the way that they had had since the beginning of their marriage, they communicated silently, and Sansa nodded at whatever unspoken question was asked between them. For a brief moment, the King pressed a hand against the Queen’s stomach, before he straightened and sought someone to speak with that might be worth his time.

When his eyes landed on Stannis, Tywin let out a sigh of relief. Here was something that could be done that was useful, and he moved purposely to his side. When they found a seat, Tywin asked for a proper update on his ships. With the King’s undivided attention, the two men settled in to discuss the state of the Royal Navy, as well as the concerns about the Wildlings beyond the wall.

Neither man noticed Tyrion’s frown as they separated themselves from the group and spoke privately, but Sansa did. She worried a bit that Tywin seemed so involved with Stannis, and she would bring it up for discussion at some point. Still, she understood Tywin’s reluctance to stay on the dais with her and the endless chatter about Margaery’s birthday. Even Sansa was beginning to wonder when she could make her excuses and slip away.

After they were done with the update on the ships, Stannis realized he must disclose to the King what he was shown in flames by the Red Priestess. He knew that Tywin Lannister was not a religious man, and Stannis was reluctant to speak his association with the Red Priestess. But there were things that Stannis saw in the flames that he knew posed e a threat to the Kingdom; things beyond a mere wildling army. Stannis felt a slight skitter of shame slide down his spine at his close association with Melisandre, but he none the less described what he was shown. The danger that was lurking was more critical than his temporary embarrassment in giving the King this information. Thankfully Tywin did not dismiss his outrageous claims.

“And where is this Red Priestess now?” Tywin ground out, his jaw ticking and Stannis told him she has gone North.

“And you believe what you saw?” Tywin asked him, his cold green eyes pinning Stannis’ blue ones.

Stannis straightened and looked the King in the eyes. He would not cower in front of this man, nor would he make any excuses for the magic and seduction that he had succumbed too. Free from Melisandre’s presence, Stannis could only be grateful things did not go further with her; she had done enough damage. But he could not deny her power and told the King this, risking his mockery and ridicule.

_For gods sake,_ Stannis thought, _there were dragons now alive in this world. Surely an army of the dead wasn't too farfetched?_

Stannis was a man that was not prone to the fanciful, but even men like him and Tywin could not pretend any longer that some dark magic may not be at work.

“And her power over you?” Tywin asked bluntly.

Though it grated on Stannis’ nerves to be questioned, he couldn't blame the King; had their positions been reversed, he too would have suspected a man’s single-minded devotion to a foreign religion and his ability to act rationally. Before Melisandre, Stannis had never been one that prayed to the Gods to save him.

Ser Davos and the willingness to eat every horse, dog, cat and rat in Storm’s End had saved his men; not some fickle god.

“Gone, Your Grace,” Stannis stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

Tywin nodded and then he sighed and ran a hand down his face, before allowing his posture to relax by a fraction and sink back into the comfortable seat that he had taken.

“I need to speak with my Northern wife,” Tywin muttered and shot another look towards Sansa. He could see her start to tire, and if he heard one more complaint about the fucking name-day party for his son’s wife, he’s going to fucking throttle Olenna and Mace Tyrell. Sansa could not be made to bear any additional burdens right now, and Margaery’s childish behaviour was grating on his very last nerve. He didn't give a fuck about her name day, and neither should Sansa. She was the fucking Queen, not that Tyrell woman.

“You would seek her opinion on such a matter?” Stannis asked the King, a bit startled by that bit of news.

Tywin barked out a short laugh. “My wife is one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever met, Lord Stannis. We have no secrets from each other. And she is from the North. If anyone can lend us insight into what may be happening beyond the Wall, it is her.”

Stannis nodded and allowed his eyes to observe the Queen again. It was not just her beauty, then, but her intelligence that had bewitched the Great Lion. For some reason, this made more sense to Stannis. It was no secret that many eligible women had practically thrown themselves at Tywin Lannister over the years. He had rejected them all. There had to have been more than just a pretty face that made the King willing to marry again. With each interaction with the two of them, Stannis felt like he uncovered more of the puzzle that was their marriage.

“Give us some time, but in a few nights, bring your daughter and your advisor to our chambers, and we will discuss this in more detail,” Tywin said and then rose.

Tywin needed to get Sansa back to their chambers and resting. The Grand Maester had told her that as the time approached for the babies’ birth, she may need to be on bed rest. The more she pushed herself, the closer that became a reality. Already, they had been told to stop their intimacies in the marriage bed. Tywin was not happy about that, but he would respect it. He was not an animal, and he loved his wife. Right now, he would do everything in his power to ensure his heirs are brought safely into this world.

Standing abruptly, he left Stannis and walked towards Sansa. As if knowing her husband had decided that she has spent all the time he will allow in public, she flashed him a small, grateful smile and he helped her to her feet.

Stannis watched as the King was careful with her; gentle and loving and soft, while not evident about any of those things. It is a remarkable sight to watch a King and Queen who genuinely care and love each other rule over Westeros again. He’d spent too many years watching Cersei and Robert hate each other, and caught a look of pure adoration in his daughter’s face as she observed the King with his wife.

Gathering Shireen, Stannis was treated to a litany of observations and remarks as he took her back to their apartments. Once they enter, his daughter declared that she loves the Queen and cannot wait to meet the baby and Stannis nodded, trying to recall the last time such words left her mouth about her mother. They both know that Selyse was never fit to be either a wife or a mother to either one of them. While it would be honest to admit that, it would also be cruel, so they let the statements about Sansa be the last thing they said before Stannis told Shireen they had been invited to the King and Queen’s chambers in a few days to discuss an important matter. Stannis also promised to find Shireen a proper Septa to begin to make up for the areas of her education that she was missing. Happier than she has ever been, his daughter hugged him and thanked him for bringing her to King’s Landing. For a single moment, Stannis cannot even fathom why he wanted the Iron Throne in the first place if all of this had been in his grasp.

Three evenings later, Stannis, Shireen, and Ser Davos joined Sansa and Tywin in their dining room for supper. It is a casual affair, and startling how comfortable everyone is with one another. Later, when Sansa settled Shireen with a book in the library, the four adults sat to discuss what Stannis saw in flames.

Sansa frowned and shifted, uncomfortable and heavy. She has started to swell, and Grand Maester Pycelle threatened her with bed rest just this morning. That was another issue. She told Tywin this morning that she was uncomfortable with the Grand Maester, especially when he touched her. She can’t even imagine that man seeing her naked and vulnerable and exposed.

“He looks at me... funny,” she told him, and a blush stained her cheeks. Tywin saw the truth in her eyes and promised someone new. He too worried about the Grand Maester’s abilities, and would request a Maester that was schooled in childbirth; and not a pervert. Tywin knew the reputation of Pycelle. It would be a better fit. Sansa’s midwife, Chelan was a cheeky woman, who grated on Tywin’s nerves, but Sansa loved her, and that was all that mattered.

“There were always stories,” she said and shot a look to Tywin, who nodded at her. Her husband was not a fanciful man, and these were tales told to scare young children. She sighed again. “They called them white walkers or the army of the dead. A Night King commanded those who have fallen, who can reanimate corpses. And not just people; animals as well.” Sansa shrugged. “There have always been tales like that; giants and ice spiders and ice bears. Most of it sounded like nonsense, but...” Sansa paused, and Tywin and Stannis had both leaned forward, encouraging her to speak.

She met her husband’s eyes and saw suspended disbelief there. He was the type of man that would need proof, but he could no longer deny the odd occurrences happening in the North. He was more relieved than ever that he had a strong army heading to Winterfell as they spoke.

“Before King Robert and Cersei came to Winterfell, my father executed a man who had deserted the Night’s Watch,” Sansa told them, men. She swallowed. “Arya and I were not allowed to be there. But he took my brothers, and they told me what the man had said. He said he’d seen them; the dead that walked again. And that he’d rather die by my father’s sword than turn into one of them.”

The room was quiet. And then she added. “I’ve heard stories about how the Wildlings burn their dead. There has to be a reason for that.”

Sansa sunk back into the chair, and let her eyes drift closed as her hands rested on her prominent stomach.

All three men exchanged glances. Tywin knew his wife; she was not prone to exaggeration or lies. He was troubled by the reports. Any day Jaime should be arriving at Winterfell, but he knew they’d need to press North. The real battle was at the Wall.

“Why would a hundred thousand Wildlings attack the Wall?” Davos asked, bewildered.

“They’re fleeing. Someone or something” said Stannis and Tywin nodded at the man. He’d drawn the same conclusion. There was no reason to attack an impenetrable wall of ice unless whatever was trapped on that side of the wall with you was worse than sure death. He sighed and looked at Stannis, grateful more than ever that the man was on his side.

“If it’s true, any of it,” Tywin stated, low and urgent, “then what do we do with a hundred thousand wildlings?”

Stannis grunted. “They will never kneel, Your Grace, they are the free folk.”

Tywin ground his jaw. He would allow them through, but they had to bend the knee. He would demand no less.

“What about the Castles along the wall?” Davos asked, and then men looked at each other.

Tywin grunted. “Undermanned and under fortified. For years.” He pinned Stannis with a look, and the man got a worried look on his face.

“I tried to convince Robert for years to send better men, but it’s too far away for any southern King to see the need,” Stannis said, and Tywin heard the truth in his voice. He’d primarily avoided court when Robert had taken the throne. It had been a mistake; he could now see, to think that he’d given Cersei the ability to rule the Kingdom and she’d wasted it by fucking her brother and undermining Robert’s rule. He could only imagine how frustrated a man like Stannis would have been with Robert as a King.

“And what men we do have there are rapers and thieves and bastards and second sons,” Tywin ground out, hating that they were most vulnerable in a place where they didn’t have enough good men.

“Years ago, I begged Robert to make each house send men. Two years on the wall before any man in the Seven Kingdoms could become a Knight,” Stannis said and saw the interest in the King’s eyes at that suggestion. “He didn’t have the strength to enforce such a decree, nor the stomach.”

Tywin nodded and muttered, “It could work, but for now, we are faced with a greater problem. How many ships could sail to White Harbor within a few weeks?”

Stannis shrugged. “With a full crew and men? Twenty currently.” Tywin nodded.

“We need more information. I’ll send word to the Citadel. All Maester’s will work on this problem, immediately,” Tywin said, and Stannis approved.

Seeing how tired Sansa was, Tywin then dismissed the two men from his chambers and helped his wife to her feet. She had a frown on her face that she saved for him when they were alone.

“What have I done now?” Tywin asked and gave her a look.

“If I didn’t know better, I would say that Stannis was your hand, and not Tyrion,” Sansa said. “You spent a long time speaking with him in the gardens the other day, Tywin. And each day since he has been back. And now this dinner.”

He grunted. In truth, it was a move he was contemplating. He knew it was too soon, but Stannis was the type of Hand that could make his reign easier, better, and stronger. He was the type of hand that Tywin had wanted and didn’t have a few months ago. And despite their history, he was fast coming to trust the man. He was a man willing to do whatever it would take to keep the realm safe if this latest threat was any indication.

“I won’t lie and tell you the thought hasn’t crossed my mind,” Tywin told her and saw her frown deepen.

“Has Tyrion done something to anger you?” she asked as she donned a large tunic she had made for herself and climbed awkwardly into bed. The Maester and midwife would be by to examine her in the morning, and he was sure she’d be ordered to remain in bed. It would mean she would have to miss Margaery’s party, but Tywin thought that might be a good thing. Gods knew he

wanted to avoid it at all costs. Being around a stern and practical man like Stannis reminded Tywin how much the simpering and brashness of the Tyrell’s grated on him.

Joining her, he allowed herself to position her body on his in a way that relieved some of the pressure on her sorest spots. When she was finally comfortable, he answered her.

“He has not Sansa, and it is not a punishment. I must do what is best for the realm, and Stannis has a superior military brain, as well as honesty that is lacking in many other advisors.”

Sansa nodded, at once understanding of the situation, and slightly sad for her friend. She knew Tyrion was trying hard, but any fool could see how well-matched Stannis and Tywin were for each other.

“I was thinking of giving him Dragonstone,” Tywin said and saw her eyes pop open at that. Everyone knew that the Targaryen princes were given Dragonstone, those who were next in line to be the King. Then Tywin sighed. “I won’t decide anything until I’ve heard from Jaime, and even then, it is more than likely I will send Stannis North as my representative to deal with the threat beyond the wall.”

Sansa nodded and then cuddled deeper into his embrace.

“How are you feeling, Sansa?” Tywin asked and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Sore. Tired. Huge,” she grumbled sleepily. “I probably won’t be able to leave this bed after tomorrow,” she said, and Tywin grunted his agreement.

Then her small voice came floating up to him. “I’m a bit scared and nervous,” she said, and he tightened his grip on her. He was as well. He knew first-hand the dangers of childbirth. Everything was prepared for the children. They had decided on names, the nursey was complete, and Sansa had several wet nurses that she trusted. Still, when it came down to it, the work would fall on her shoulders. Tywin had never witnessed a woman labour and birth children before, but the Grand Maester had tried to prepare him when he discovered the King would be present. They had once again discussed the importance of saving Sansa if anything went wrong. He supposed he would now have to consider these worries with the new Maester that would attend her.

“I will be with you the entire time, my love,” Tywin told her and felt her nod into his chest where she tucked her head. Eventually, she fell asleep, but it was restless, and each time she moved, she dragged him from his slumber. Tywin would not complain; she was carrying his heirs, but he knew they both needed to rest.

The next morning Maester Poole, who was much younger and much less touchy, and her midwife, confirmed that she was to be on bed rest. Tywin had never seen his wife pout, but she did so now. Within three days, he was cursing this pregnancy and praying that her labour started soon. Sansa was miserable and snappish, and then by equal turns weepy and scared. Her mother and Genna saved his sanity when they spent endless hours than her, and Tywin almost kissed Shireen on her scarred cheek when the girl would come and read to the Queen. It was only through their combined efforts that Tywin was able to remain calm and supportive of his wife.

He had put his foot down absolutely that she would not attend Lady Margaery’s name-day party, and Sansa almost looked relieved at that. It didn’t stop her from coming to their apartments afterwards and driving Tywin into his solar to escape her constant chattering. He had no idea how Tyrion put up with that woman’s drivel and thanked the gods that Sansa was nothing like her.

Finally, twelve days after she had been forced to stay in bed, Tywin woke in the middle of the night to her moans. She wasn’t even awake, but he could tell she was in pain. Gently stirring her, her eyes met his. When she was fully awake, he could see how scared and worried she was.

“What is it Sansa?” he asked her, and she just whimpered that it hurt. His heart clenched. He had always known that this would be a next to an impossible task; to somehow be there for her while she birthed her children and not let the fear seize him.

“What do you need?” he asked, an urgent tone to his voice, although he tried to keep the worry and concern he felt for her from her. She needed him to be strong; to be a lion. Not a simpering fool who was worried she would die.

“Can you call the midwife?” she moaned, and he hollered for his steward. Soon, Genna, Catelyn and Chelan joined him in their bedroom. He thanked the gods that the midwife was down to earth and practical. She quickly got Sansa out of bed and into a large warm bath, determining that her labour had started, but they most likely had hours to go. Because it wasn’t even dawn yet, Tywin paced, allowing the women to comfort his wife at this time. The midwife ordered the bed stripped of all but the essential bedding and brought bowls of water, herbs, needles and thread and other implements that Tywin didn’t want to think about. Somehow a birthing chair appeared in their bedchambers, and Tywin blanched at the sight of it, before reprimanding himself. He had dressed hastily in his doublet and boots, and Chelan gave him a look and told him dryly to get into more comfortable clothes if he intended to help.

Eventually, Sansa came back to their bedchamber, and her face was pale and drawn. Poole had arrived, and together they examined his wife as Tywin sat beside her and stroked her face. She sent him a grateful look.

“You have got a ways to go, my dear,” Chelan said and indicated Sansa should walk. Tywin thought the woman was mad, but she silenced him with a look. “Walking with get everything moving,” was all she said.

So Sansa walked. She walked with her mother and Genna. Shireen came, and she took a turn walking with his wife. When Sansa insisted on leaving their rooms to walk to halls, their guards at either end closed down the entire wing of the Castle so the Queen could labour as she needed. Her guard, Dacey, was patient and careful with her, and even Jerrod and Addam Marbrand took turns. Sansa walked for what felt like hours. When she would stop, exhausted, she rested on their bed in Tywin’s arms and drank copious amounts of water. The labour pains continued, and Tywin could see the effect they had on her. Finally, the evening came, and another examination concluded that she was closer.

What the fuck did that mean? Tywin thought, sure this hell couldn’t go on any longer. His wife had been in pain for almost a day, and he could see her exhaustion on her face. Still, Sansa persevered, and he would never question her love or devotion to him or their children. Ever.

It was with a significant amount of embarrassment to her, and after several additional hours of pacing, that Sansa’s water finally broke and her face reddened, thinking she had made water. With a rough laugh, Chelan waved a hand and stated it was time to begin. If Tywin had felt his wife had been in pain before, that was nothing compared to what the next few hours brought. Her labour intensified, and the contractions wracked her body. After a particularly brutal one where Sansa almost squeezed his hand off, Chelan pinned him with a look.

“Are you serious about helping her?” He nodded tightly at the impertinent woman. He would do anything to help his wife.

“Get behind her, in the bed. She won't be comfortable on the chair. Two babes are too much,” Chelan

said and Tywin scrambled to obey her, the only time a woman other than his wife could give him an order.

Tywin braced himself against the headboard on their bed, and Sansa settled into his arms as he wrapped himself around her. He pressed a kiss against her sweaty forehead, and let a litany of praises fall from his lips. How much he loved her. How strong she was. How incredible she was doing. Genna had taken to wiping her face with a cool cloth, and Catelyn stroked her stomach, helping ease some of the pain.

Sansa whimpered and cried and yelled her way through her labour, each contraction more vicious than the last. Tywin was a rock and held her tighter, willing all his strength into her. Catelyn was stunned at how close they were. Unless Sansa was listening to the midwife, the moment her labour had intensified, the only person she would focus on was Tywin. And he never let his words or his strength falter, coaching her, loving her, and encouraging her.

“I want it to be just us, Tywin,” she whispered to him at one point after a particularly brutal set of contractions. “When they come, I want it to be just us, please,” she pleaded, and his eyes shot up. Genna had heard and nodded, and went to take Catelyn from the room.

“No,” Catelyn protested. “She’s my daughter.” Her eyes flashed in fury at Tywin that he would exile her from the room when her daughter needed her most.

Just then Sansa whimpered in pain and gripped Tywin’s hand hard.

“Out, now,” he barked at the woman, and he saw her mouth compress into a thin line. He had no idea why Sansa had chosen this path, but he would do whatever she wanted.

“Please, Mother,” Sansa said, and finally Catelyn relented.

Once the women were gone, Sansa settled a bit and looked at Tywin’s eyes.

“I want them to know us, first,” she told him, and he nodded. “They are ours, Tywin.”

He was overcome with his love for her at that moment. He knew she thought herself wolf, but all he could see was a lioness, already protective of her cubs.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, “They are ours,” he agreed.

Finally, Chelan announced that the time had come and Sansa sobbed out in relief and worry and anxiety. She had been in labour for thirty-six hours and didn’t know if she had the strength left to push. When she whimpered this to Tywin, he reassured her she did.

“Sansa, love, you are so close, and then they will be here,” he told her, looking into her eyes and willing her to see his belief in her. More pain wracked her body until Chelan told her to push. Sansa wanted to be embarrassed by how undignified this entire process was, but at this point, her legs splayed wide, open and exposed, she wanted to meet her children.

“Push girl,” Chelan grunted, and Sansa grasped Tywin’s hand and bore down with everything she had. Chelan seemed excited when she announced she could see a head, but Sansa barely heard her, as she had collapsed back against Tywin.

“You are so close, Sansa,” he whispered to her and gripped her tighter. She could only whimper; she was so exhausted until another wave of pain hit her, and she bore down again and pushed with everything she had. A great pain, then a sense of pressure releasing ran through Sansa’s body until they both heard a hearty cry and gushing sound and the first child of the King and Queen made its way into the world. Within moments, a loud cry filled the room, and Sansa collapsed back against her husband, tears in her eyes. She looked to him and saw a stunned expression on his face, and then he kissed her.

“A boy, Your Grace,” Maester Poole announced triumphantly although the man had done hardly a single thing to ensure the child’s birth. It had been all Sansa, Tywin and Chelan. He scooped the child from the midwife’s hands to clean and measure him after the first cord had been snipped. Tywin’s eyes filled with tears. He had a son. An heir. This child was a prince and would inherit a Kingdom.

The Maester tended to the newest lion while Sansa had a moment of pure joy; her son was here, and he was safe and alive. Then another wave a pain hit her, and she remembered he was only the first. Chelan was massaging her stomach and encouraging Sansa that she had another one to bring into the world.

“Tywin, I can’t,” she moaned, and he squeezed her harder.

“You can my love, you can,” he told her and praised her again and again. She had given him a son. And another child was on the way. He was unable to comprehend the onslaught of emotion he felt right now, longing to see his heir, but knowing his wife needed him at this moment. She had wanted him above all else; chosen him to be by her side, and he would not fail her.

As before the urge to push overwhelmed Sansa, and she repeated the process of birthing her first child for a second time mere moments later. Again, Chelan saw the head, and again Sansa bore down until a second cry filled the room.

“A second son, Your Grace,” Chelan said, her voice almost reverent as if she too realized what a monumental event that had just taken place. The Queen had just given the realm not one, but two heirs.

Tywin was stunned. Two sons? Two heirs? He had convinced himself this entire pregnancy that it would be like his first set of twins; a boy and a girl. This was beyond any of his wildest expectations.

He pressed a kiss to Sansa’s forehead, still holding his wife cradled in his strong arms. “Two sons, Sansa,” he whispered to her and saw the joy and love on her face.

Sansa’s work was not done, as the second prince was passed to another set of hands to be washed. Chelan encouraged the afterbirth from Sansa with another grunt of pain, and then examined it, seeing it healthy and whole. Then she set to cleaning up the Queen, as the Maester brought the two princes to their parents.

Sansa was sobbing, unable to believe that her sons were finally here. Gently, Poole placed the first babe in Sansa’s arms and the other in Tywin’s.

They were stunned, speechless at their perfection. Both had identical features, and no one would deny these were Tywin Lannister’s children with fuzzy blond hair gracing both their heads. Then their eyes opened, and two sets of Tully blue eyes looked at their parents.

Chelan, ever practical, shooed everyone out of the room as the servants worked to clean the bedding and finish cleaning Sansa. The King and Queen needed privacy. Finally clean and tended too, Tywin settled back in the bed, Sansa perched between his legs and their two sons cradled in her arms. She was naked from the waist up, below having been packed with towels to control the bleeding, and exhausted.

And yet, her eyes lit as her first son rooted around to find her breast. She let out a tiny gasp when he latched and swung her face in wonder to Tywin. He was looking at them with such astonishment and love, that it warmed Sansa all the way through. She was so glad these first few moments were for them only. That is why Sansa had wanted them to be alone, so Tywin could be himself around his sons, with no one to judge him. Not to be outdone, their second son found her other breast and Sansa delighted at the sensation of having her children feeding from her, the feeling of them drawing milk from her, unlike anything she had ever felt.

Chelan nodded, pleased to see them both latched and greedily sucking from the Queen. There was a small part of Chelan that was proud of her; too many highborn women passed this task off, and the old midwife had seen the benefits when a mother could bond with her children from birth. “If you don’t make enough milk, you’ll need a wet nurse,” she said, practical and logical. “But both Princes seem to know what to do.” Chelan slipped out of the room then, into the nursery. Some servants had been hired to tend to the children, and she had instructions for them, but for the moment the new family needed privacy

Sansa nodded, overwhelmed with her sons. The both suckled on her, and she could see their tiny jaws moving, little fists balled up against her. She felt the tears come again, so overwhelmed that they were finally here.

“Sansa,” Tywin said, breathing into her ear and watching his sons nurse.

_His sons_.

He still couldn’t fully wrap his head around what had happened here. He went to touch one of them, then withdrew until Sansa said softly, “Touch them, Tywin, they are yours.”

His. Two new lions to add to his pride. _Sons_.

Sons that would grow up with a mother who loved them, who would defend them, and a father who would teach them how to be the men they were destined to become. He gently traced a finger down each of their soft cheeks. His hands had spilled so much blood, done so much damage, written ravens that had destroyed lives. And yet, like when he touched her, his hands were gentle and loving with his sons. Sansa saw the tears in his eyes, which he rapidly blinked away.

Sansa turned her head to Tywin’s and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” she told him, and he gaped at her. What in seven hells was she thanking him for? She had done the impossible and brought him, two new heirs, into the world. And now his sons, _his sons_, were here and in her arms.

“Sansa,” he said, overcome by what he felt for her and them. She hadn’t died, and neither had his children. She was safe and alive, and they were all in his arms.

“And their names, my King?” Sansa asked softly. It had been discussed, of course, but now they were here; it was time for him to name his heirs.

“Tysan and Jason,” Tywin said, and Sansa smiled brilliantly. Their heir would share their name, and everyone in the Kingdom would know that the next king was of the North and the West. And Jason was a perfect name for the heir to Casterly Rock. Both knew it was this son that would inherit the magnificent Castle.

“Hello Tysan,” Sansa said a look of pure love and adoration on her face as she gazed at her first child. Then she swung her eyes to the other. “Hello, Jason.” She felt the tears of joy once again come to her eyes. She could never have imagined it was possible to love someone as much as she loved her husband. And then along came her sons, and she felt her heart rapidly expand to fit them all there- all her lions.

“There will never be enough words for what you’ve given me Sansa,” Tywin told her and pressed a

kiss to her forehead. “I will never love anyone as much as I do you, wife.” Sansa felt her eyes fill with tears. She knew that childbirth was a massive fear for him, and now that they had all survived, he would be less worried. And she knew without a doubt that he loved their sons as much as she did. She could see it in his face.

“They’re here, Tywin, and they are perfect,” Sansa whispered, still in awe of them. He nodded, agreeing with her entirely. They were perfect.

“Two new princes of the realm. Two new Lannister lions,” Tywin said to his sons reverently. He felt the pride in his accomplishment in bringing them into the world and his already considerably massive ego swelled.

He’d heard the whispers when he’d married Sansa, that he was too old, that his seed was not strong, that his seed produced monsters. His virility would never be questioned again by anyone in the realm. He had two new sons in his twilight years and would be the envy of the entire Kingdom with what had happened here today.

He’d also lived with the rumours that he had produced a dwarf as his last child. For over three decades he had to live with that shame, unable to escape the taint that Tyrion’s birth had brought to House Lannister. But looking at these two perfect sons in Sansa’s arms, he was more convinced than ever that Tyrion was not his. His seed did not produce dwarf children; his seed produced perfect lions for House Lannister. And because he was Tywin Lannister, he could not help but realize that in these two children he now had his heir to the Crown and his heir to Casterly Rock. If Jaime never married, never did his duty, then Jason would. In a single moment, Sansa had secured the Lannister legacy.

She caught the look in his eyes and knew his ego would be enormous and almost impossible to manage now that she’d given him twin sons. She briefly wondered if she would need to let out his tight doublets to fit the swell of his chest. But she couldn’t help but share some of his pride. She had taken a chance, almost a year ago, when she had approached him, and now her son would sit on the Iron Throne, while her other was set to inherit the wealthiest kingdom in the country. It was a heady lineage and a massive amount of responsibility for two babes, not even an hour old to have heaped on their heads. But it was the way of the world they lived in.

They watched as the babes tired and sleepily let go of her nipples and Sansa blushed a bit when she saw a dribble of milk leak from her. Tywin grinned and wiped it away.

“Gods, I love you, Sansa,” he told her, and she could hear the emotion in his voice. She had no doubts about her husband’s feelings for her.

Tywin could see Sansa start to tire, and called for the midwife, who scooped the children up and changed them and swaddled them. The bassinets were brought into the room, along with the two women who had been put in their care, and Tywin helped Sansa move so she could change and then sleep. Chelan rechecked her, happy that the bleeding had slowed and packed her again with rags and towels. Sansa was young and healthy, and Chelan had no doubts that the Queen would bear the King more children. For twins, the birth had been relatively easy and uncomplicated.

The King would not be leaving her side tonight, but needed to get a message out. Word had spread through the Red Keep that the Queen had been labouring, and everyone would be anxious for news. He pressed a kiss to Sansa’s forehead and told her he would be back. Chelan was staying the night as well, and he knew she was in good hands for the few moments he had to leave. Both women were fussing over his sons.

Tywin made his way to his solar, more dishevelled than he had ever remembered being. It was an indication of what a monumental few days it had been that he had allowed his appearance to become such, but he didn’t care. Tyrion, Margaery, Genna, Catelyn, Addam, Dacey and Jerrod all waited in the family solar.

“The heir to the Iron Throne has been born,” Tywin said, and delighted gasps rang through the room, before Tywin added, “Along with his brother.” Shocked faces met that announcement. “They are healthy and strong, as is Sansa. They are all resting quietly.” Everyone in the room knew that meant normal, and everyone avoided Tyrion’s eyes.

Tyrion gaped. Of course, his father would produce not one, but two heirs in a single pregnancy. He felt a wave of jealousy coursed through him before he ruthlessly tapped it down.

“And their names? The Princes?” Catelyn asked, tears streaking down her face.

“Tysan and Jason,” Tywin announced and Catelyn nodded at him, overcome with emotion. She knew that Sansa’s children would never have Northern names, but her husband had given the heir to the Seven Kingdoms a mix both of their names. No one would ever doubt who his parents were and that the next king had Northern blood.

Tyrion was stunned by it all; by everything that had happened in the past year. His father, his very rigid, very stern, very demanding father, had somehow managed to secure the Lannister legacy in one birth. He knew he would never inherit Casterly Rock and he highly doubted Jaime would now either. It was as his sister had predicted; Sansa’s sons would inherit the Iron Throne and the most magnificent castle in the Kingdom. These sons would be Tywin Lannister’s legacy.

This pregnancy erased the taint that Cersei and Jaime had leftover House Lannister, just like it erased the ignoble birth of him, a dwarf to the great Tywin Lannister. Now his father had produced twin sons. Normal, healthy sons. Sons that were not hideous monsters. Sons that had a mother that had survived their birth and that would be beloved by an entire realm of people, because their mother was, and their father was so fearsome that no one would dare harm them. Sons who already had more than Tyrion ever had. And no one in the realm would question their parentage.

After congratulations rang through the room, Tyrion promised his father he would make the announcement. He could already see the man swell with pride. As well he should, Tyrion thought bitterly.

In the year since his father had saved King Landing from Stannis’ troops, he had married Sansa, ended a war, deposed of a king, took the Iron Throne for himself, united the seven kingdoms and produced two new heirs for the realm. By anyone’s standards, it was an incredible legacy to live up too, and Tyrion knew that. And he was done trying. He grabbed his wife’s hand, relieved for his chance at happiness; at least he had that. No one would ever match his father’s legacy. He was indeed a god amongst mortals, Tyrion thought.

After mere moments with them, Tywin turned from the room and went back to the bathing room. He needed a quick wash, and then he would rejoin Sansa. He would not leave his wife’s side in the next few days. They all needed him, and he planned to be there with Sansa. He slipped back into his bedchambers after he had cleaned himself and saw Sansa wake sleepily and smile at him. He snuck under the covers to hold her, wondering at her fortitude. Their children were in bassinets beside the bed, and the midwife and two other girls asleep in beds in the nursery adjacent to their bedchambers. He pressed a kiss to her lips and murmured how much he loved her.

Then he gave her a box from the Royal Jeweler that he had hidden away. He saw her eyes tear. “Tywin,” she protested, and he hushed her with a kiss.

“There is nothing in this world that I can give you that will ever compare to what you have given me Sansa. This is a mere token of my love,” he told her, and she smiled at him, love shining from her eyes.

She opened the box and nestled inside were two golden lion torque bracelets. She gasped as he settled them on her wrists and thanked him. He watched as she gently ran her fingers over them, and then looked at her children and then to him. It was incredible that she had everything she had ever wanted as a child, and that it had come from this decidedly harsh and demanding man.

“I can’t believe it was almost a year ago we first met,” she murmured, and he nodded, thinking back to that first meeting. She smiled softly at him. “I am so glad you decided to marry me Tywin,” she told him and he saw the twinkle in her eye.

They had managed to keep their beginnings a secret from only a handful of people, and it made their connection even stronger to one another. A year ago he had been victorious against Stannis, but the victory, he could now admit was hollow. Disappointment in all three of his children had eaten at him, and until Sansa had come to his solar to blackmail him for his hand in marriage, he could now look back and realize he had been lonely. Of course, not any woman would have done for him; it was pure good luck that he and Sansa were so well matched; he could not imagine being tied to a simpering fool of a woman such as Margaery Tyrell, or a country mouse such as Roslin Frey. He knew that his wife was truly a spectacular testament to her gender.

She humbled him with the love she had for him, for the second chance she’d given him, the risk she had taken when she had approached him. She’d given him everything; happiness, love, a legacy and a kingdom. And now two children that they would raise to be the next great men of Westeros and House Lannister.

“I love you, for all of my days, Sansa,” he whispered to her and with one last kiss, implored her to sleep, knowing that their sons would need her again soon.

The next few days were a blur of feedings and sleep and recovery. True to his word, Tywin did not leave her side, and to his pleasure, Sansa took to mothering like he knew she would. She instinctively knew what their sons needed, and she produced ample milk to feed them. She looked aghast when the Maester once again suggested a wet nurse. She looked to Chelan who shrugged. The babes were eating and voiding fine, and both slept well, so the midwife saw no need for it now. Poole shook his head at her, but Tywin understood.

One evening when she had been feeding them, she explained how close she felt to them when they were latched to her. Thankfully, they seemed to take turns, which made feedings easier. Genna and Catelyn hardly left the nursery, and Tywin thought they might have competed for the chance to change and cuddle the young Princes. He already made mention of people spoiling them, but Sansa shot him a glare, and he relented. That notion was further dismissed when she cradled and cuddled them for hours and urged him to do the same. Often when one had finished feeding, Sansa would pass one to him while she fed the other. Both of their eyes were still blue, and they would pop open and watch him, owlishly almost as he stared at them for hours in awe in the privacy of their rooms. On the fourth evening after their birth, exhausted and finally free of visitors, Sansa laid their sons down between them on the bed after she had finished nursing them and Tywin arched a brow at her.

“Tell me there isn’t a better place for them, between us?” she demanded, and he could not. When one of them would whimper, Sansa would roll over and let him feed. Of course, as soon as he was done, the other would start, but soon they developed a rhythm, and after a while, she would feed one and then hand him off to Tywin, and then latch the other one. Tywin had never been this hands-on with Joanna. After she’d had the twins, she’d handed them off to wet nurses and servants as she’d recovered. And they’d never shared a bed with the twins, not like Sansa insisted. Sansa was so different from his first wife, and this entire experience was almost brand new to him. He had no wish to repeat any of the mistakes he’d made with his first children, so he went along with her instinct; which it seemed, included sharing a bed with his wife and sons for now. He thanked the gods that they had a huge bed.

Even he could admit, this method worked for them, and Tywin could lie for hours in the evening merely gazing at his sons. He knew that they looked like him and that they were identical. They had found tiny differences in them; Tysan had a small mark one shoulder, and Jason was slightly smaller and less demanding than his older brother. Sansa and Tywin soon became the only people who could tell them apart.

Sansa had laughed one day and said they hardly had any of her features. He worried that she was upset about that and she waved a hand at the look on his face. She knew he sometimes worried that he was too old for her, but Sansa found him as handsome as ever.

“We will have to keep them away from the ladies as they get older,” she almost purred to him. She had healed fast and was feeling more and more like herself. The thought of having two handsome, strong sons that resembled their father made her deliriously happy and her husband preened under her compliment and nipped at her neck as she moaned into him. The birth of their twins had meant that she had his undivided attention for the past week, and she was always happiest when he was by her side.

Tywin already wondered about the trouble they may cause as they grew, and wondered if their personalities would match each other or if they would be as different at Jaime and Tyrion.

Margaery and Tyrion had come by one afternoon, and Tywin saw the excitement in his second son’s face and knew he was looking forward to having his child. Margaery, who Tywin barely tolerated most days, was a fountain of tears and he knew it was her pregnancy making her weep so much. Still, they only lasted a few moments before he shooed them out of the nursery. Her blubbering was upsetting his sons.

Finally, a week after their birth, Tywin dragged himself away from his new family. He knew he was needed at the small council meeting. Word had finally come from Jaime and the Wall. When he entered the small council chambers, hearty congratulations rang out for the King. His legend grew, and he puffed up under the attention. As Sansa had known, his ego was massive at this point. Even the threat beyond the wall seemed manageable, and Jaime and the fifty thousand men had arrived at Winterfell. Word had come from the Wall; they had just over a hundred men, to defend against over ninety thousand. Tywin’s army would push North and secure their victory.

Tywin looked to Stannis and saw the man nod. They both knew what the King would require of him.

“I need you to go North, to White Harbor, Lord Stannis. You will go as the King’s envoy and discover what is happening in the North. We cannot simply rely on ravens, not if the threat is this great to the realm,” Tywin commanded.

Stannis nodded at the order. He didn’t want to be away from his daughter or King’s Landing, but he knew where he was needed. And he knew he had the King’s trust and confidence.

“What about my daughter, Your Grace?” Stannis asked, and Tywin looked straight at the man.

“She will stay with us, Lord Stannis, if that is acceptable. The Queen insists,” Tywin said and saw

Stannis startle a bit at that news and then nod. “Even with the new princes, Your Grace?”

Tywin nodded. He too had asked Sansa the same question, but she was sure that Shireen would be a help with their sons and not a hindrance. Lady Catelyn and Genna had also indicated they would help with the girl if needed. After the small council meeting, they retrieved Lady Shireen and brought her to their chambers. Stannis explained where he needed to go, and when she questioned where she would stay, her eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect of staying with the Queen. Stannis briefly considered sending her back to Storm’s End but was reluctant to admit that he trusted Lady Sansa with his daughter more than his wife. There was something unhinged about Selyse these days, and he’d been receiving increasingly alarming reports that her worship of the Lord of Light was taking a serious and potentially deadly turn. One raven even indicated she’d tried to sacrifice live animals to her god, before being stopped and locked away. He wanted his daughter nowhere near that madness.

Any lingering doubts he had evaporated the moment he observed the Queen in the nursery with her two sons, and his daughter. Shireen gasped as she saw the tiny babies and strolled to where Sansa sat in a chair, rocking them, one in each arm.

“Oh my, they are so tiny,” Shireen whispered. She darted a hand out to touch one of their blond heads and then jerked it back as if burned. Sansa smiled at her.

“You can touch them,” she said softly, smiling at his daughter and Shireen gently stroked that babe’s head. “That one is Jason,” Sansa told her and Shireen whispered, “Hello Jason,” before turning and greeting Tysan.

“How can you tell them apart?” Shireen asked, and Sansa smiled.

“Little, tiny differences that only a mother knows,” she told the girl and then asked if Shireen wanted to read them a story. The girl nodded eagerly, and Stannis and Tywin left the room.

When they had settled in the solar, goblets of wine shared between the two men, a companionable silence fell between two. Neither felt the need to fill the voice with useless chatter, and if pressed neither would be able to say how this tentative friendship had come about, but somehow Stannis Baratheon had become a trusted member of Tywin’s inner circle. If Tywin truly had to determine how this had come about, it would once again come back to his wife. Her instant bond with Stannis’s child had let those first, few tentative bonds of trust blossom, along with her insistence that a man like Stannis would be good for his reign. No one knew more than Tywin that inflexibility was the death of too many great men. He’s been in that rut himself until Sansa had catapulted him out of it when she’d demanded he marry her instead of Tyrion. He shuddered to think what might have happened had he continued on his planned course of action. She’d forced him to view things differently, and that had continued throughout their first year of marriage. Even the man sitting before him was a result of his wife’s encouragement.

“It’s obscene, really,” Tywin stated, conversationally after a time and Stannis raised an eyebrow at him. “Two sons,” he murmured then looked at Stannis. He knew the man had done his duty, married and tried to produce an heir. But he too had heard the rumours of the madness of Selyse Baratheon and the failed pregnancies.

“I could end your marriage,” Tywin offered to the stern man in front of him. It would free him to find another wife. A wife that could give him a son. He knew there was no love between the two of them.

Stannis schooled his features to not react. The King was correct; two healthy male sons was an absolute abundance of riches when it came to children. And he did long for his heir; a true heir like Tywin now had. But he would not cast aside his wife, not now that he had broken free from the Red Priestess and her magic. He was a man that lived by a code, and duty and honour were two things he held in high regard.

He shook his head, and Tywin nodded. The King seemed neither pleased, nor displeased, and Stannis was grateful nothing more was said. Privately the man’s answer reassured Tywin. He knew that above all else, Stannis Baratheon was a man ruled by duty and honour. If his children had a quarter of this man’s will, he would never have had to clean up the monumental messes they had left behind.

They discussed military options and tactics, going over what they knew about the Wildlings and these so-called white walkers and army of the dead. There was a pregnant pause, and then the King coughed.

“I am entrusting you with more than simply delivering a message, Lord Stannis. If even half of what Sansa says is true if anything like that exists, this is a threat to our very existence,” Tywin said gravely. He wasn’t getting much sleep these days with Tysan and Jason, but thoughts of an army of dead men marching on King’s Landing haunted his daytime hours as well.

Stannis nodded. He too had thought of nothing but what he had seen in the flames and what Sansa had almost seemed to confirm.

“I will not fail you, Your Grace,” Stannis replied and Tywin nodded.

“Upon your return, we will discuss a different position for you,” Tywin stated and Stannis startled and then cursed himself for outwardly reacting to the King’s words. He’d worked himself tirelessly as Master of Ships and had heard no complaints. He had believed that the King was satisfied with his work. A lifetime of being second best in Robert’s eyes had left Stannis on the defensive. His entire life he’d supported his brother, only to be constantly overlooked. First when Jon Arryn became his hand, then Ned Stark. Not to mention Robert giving Renly Storm’s End instead of him.

He opened his mouth to protest and Tywin waved a hand, having seen that Stannis had misinterpreted his words. “I want you to consider becoming the Hand of the King,” Tywin stated. He knew that Stannis was not a man for coy games and subterfuge, and he needed a strong hand at his side.

“Your Grace?” Stannis said, shocked.

“I will say what you cannot. My son is not the right person for the job. At the time, my options were limited, and I worked with what I had. Now they are not,” Tywin said and gave the man a look.

Stannis nodded and then said, “He is not the correct man for the job, Your Grace, on that I will agree. Are you sure I am?”

Tywin grunted, appreciating the man’s bluntness and honesty and knew he would be the better hand. “I will not have my Kingdom fall into ruin due to simple nepotism and blind loyalty to family. The best man for the job is sitting before me. That is the truth.”

Stannis nodded, his respect for the King growing. He would willingly serve a man that was able to put the good of the realm above the blind desire to see his family in positions of power.

Stannis left the King’s chambers soon afterwards, gathering his daughter and giving the Queen his best wishes on the birth of her children. She smiled benevolently at him, and he quickly peaked at the babies and saw two small blonde heads.

Three days later, Genna and Tywin Lannister stood with his daughter as Stannis and Ser Davos boarded a ship with loyal Baratheon men to sail to White Harbour. Stannis was not prone to public displays of affection, but he knew that Shireen needed his reassurance. Stannis kissed his daughter goodbye and whispered for her to be good and she’d clung to him and reassured him she would be. She pressed her small body to his and told him to be safe and to come back to her and then he’d stood and walked away. He had a task, given to him by the King himself, and if his instincts were anything to trust, a realm to save.

Tywin and he had met again over the past few days, and he knew that the King was counting on him to determine the threat to the Seven Kingdoms on this trip.

Word had come just this morning that the Jaime and Robb’s armies had arrived at the Winterfell, to help defend against the Wildling attack. The army would leave for Castle Black and Stannis could not get to the North fast enough as far as he was concerned.

Tywin allowed them to remain in the marina until the ship passed from sight, and then Genna gathered Shireen to bring her back to their chambers. His sister had worked to have a room readied for her, and Sansa chirped happily that the girl would be a help. Personally, Tywin thought they needed no more help, between Catelyn and Genna who hardly could stand to be away from the princes.

It has been almost fortnight since his sons were born, and Sansa had recovered nicely. The midwife had already remarked that she’d healed fast, and he could see her body begin to retake its shape, her slim waist having returned. Chelan remarked it was the fact that she was nursing two babes; whatever the reason, Sansa’s vanity thanked the gods for the return to her previous trim form. The only area that was still large were her breasts, which her husband was endlessly fascinated by, and his comments made her blush on more than on occasion. Still, he could see the heat in her eyes and that pleased him, even if they had been told they still had a month to go before they were allowed to resume their intimacies. It seemed Sansa was one of those women whose body was meant to bear children, which Tywin thankful for. Shockingly when he entered his bedroom, he found only his wife and his sons cuddled up in the large bed with no extra visitors.

“Tywin,” she exclaimed happily and he felt his heart thump just a bit faster whenever he was around her. He took off his doublet and his boots and joined them in the bed.

“Is he away?” Sansa asked quietly as she stroked a hand down Jason’s cheek. Tysan much preferred to be swaddled tightly, but her other son needed space to fling his small arms about.

“Yes,” Tywin said and settled back against the headboard where he scooped up his heir to hold him in his arms. Sansa encouraged him to touch and hold them as much as possible, insisting it was imperative for the children to bond with him as well. He would admit it to no one outside this room, but he treasured these moments with his new family. They had already changed so dramatically, and Tywin could hardly believe how big his son now felt compared to only a few days ago. In a few weeks’ time, they would be presented to the Court in a formal ceremony, but for now, they were still much too small and much too precious to allow them to be viewed by just anyone.

Sansa brought Jason to her arms and settled against Tywin, both of them looking down in awe at their children, making them a family.

“I want more children, Tywin,” Sansa’s soft voice reached him. He felt his eyes tear and he nodded, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“As do I, my Queen, as do I,” Tywin said. Now that they were here, and she had survived, he could picture more of his children in the Red Keep, laughing and running through the halls, in a Kingdom that he had made safe for them. His blood chilled when he thought of the threat far to the North, and he prayed as he never had before, that Stannis Baratheon, Jaime Lannister and Robb Stark were up to the task of defending the realm against the looming menace that threatened them all.

* * *

_Winterfell  _

It turned out it was ten days, before the first banners of the Lannister’s, the Vale, the Tully’s and the Reach were spotted by the watches at Winterfell. In that time much had to be done to ready themselves to ride North. Robb had pulled Sandor to the side that afternoon before the Kingslayer arrived.

“I need you to stay at Winterfell, Sandor,” Robb said and saw the big man startled. Before he could protest, Robb held up a hand. “You’re the only man I trust and the only man capable of defending my castle, my family and my heir, Sandor. I left this castle vulnerable once before. I can’t do that again.”

Sandor saw the plea in the man’s eyes. In truth, he had no desire to go North, but he willingly would have ridden out with Robb’s army. He nodded and the Lord clutched his arm. Then they went and found Arya, and Robb asked the same of her. He saw the stubborn glint come into her eye, but when he reminded her what had happened last time, and how vulnerable both Rickon and little Ned were, Arya nodded.

Then both men readied themselves to meet the Kingslayer, walking to the South Gate to await their arrival. This time though, Robb Stark would not be boy enamoured by the Golden Knight. This time, he was a Lord, a husband and a father, and if Ser Jaime did one thing to anger him, Robb vowed he’d pay with steel.

When Jaime Lannister rode through the gates of Winterfell two weeks after Sandor and Arya had arrived home, he had Tommen, Kevan, Lord Tarly, Lord Royce and the Blackfish with him. Robb and Sandor met them in the yard, and with a look of urgency, the men dismounted.

“Gather your Lords, we have much to discuss.”

Jaime startled at the seriousness of the tone, but the Young Lord Stark, standing there with his massive Master at Arms by his one side and his direwolf at the other, brooked no argument. Then Jaime startled a bit to see two more massive wolves within the yard. It confirmed that the rumours they’d heard as they’d travelled North were true; that the wolves had well and truly returned to the North, and that the new Lord Stark ruled with one by his side and two others at his back. It made him a fearsome opponent and Jaime was glad that they were not at war.

Jaime nodded and barked out orders for the Lords to gather.

Once all the Lords from the Houses that had come to fight had gathered in the Great Hall, Robb shared news, from both North and South. He sat at the head table, his wife, sister and brother at his side. The three direwolves had also sensed something was happening and slunk into the hall. More than one southern lord startled at such a sight and Arya grinned, wild and feral and delighted at their reaction to the direwolves. She wanted every southern lord to know that House Stark was back and in charge of the North.

Then Robb stood, and looking every inch the Lord he was in his Northern clothing and warm cloak, addressed the Hall.

“First, Stannis Baratheon has bent the knee to Tywin Lannister,” Robb told the gathered lords. The Hall was packed with most of the Northern Houses sending bannermen to fight against the wildlings, along with those from the south. There wasn’t an inch of space to spare. Shocked gasps rang the hall. “Lord Stannis has been named Lord Protector of the Stormlands, given Storm’s End and has been named Master of Ships. He sails to White Harbor and will come to Winterfell and then North to the Wall. The King believes there may be a greater threat than the Wildlings.”

Jaime glanced at Tommen when that news had been delivered. On the ride north he’d spent a considerable amount of time with his son, and knew he had no desire to be a Lord; of Storm’s End or any other castle. Thankfully Jaime saw no regret on his son’s face and perhaps even relief.

“What could possibly be a greater threat than a hundred thousand wildlings?” someone called out.

Robb answered, voice grave. He had read Tywin’s raven again and again as the King asked what the Wildlings were fleeing. Robb too had recalled the stories from Old Nan, and the deserter that this father had beheaded. He’d been there and seen the fear in the man’s eyes.

“Perhaps you ought to ask why a hundred thousand wildlings would risk certain death by attacking the wall?” That shut everyone up.

“The King also has announced that his heir has been born,” Robb continued and looked right at Jaime as he spoke. Jaime felt a wash of warmth rush over him. He knew both Sansa and Tywin would be pleased.

“The King Tywin and Queen Sansa welcomed twin boys, Tysan and Jason Lannister,” Robb continued and noted the shocked looks on the faces. He, for one, was pleased. His sister had ensured that the next King would have Northern blood. And when Robb had a daughter, she would marry Jason Lannister and be the Lady of Casterly Rock. A hearty cheer then rang from the hall, raising cups to King Tywin and Queen Sansa.

Once the commotion had died down, Robb’s serious voice rang through the halls.

“Men, you have travelled long, and hard and I wish nothing more than to welcome you to Winterfell and ply you with Northern hospitality. But my brother writes from the wall; the attack is imminent and their need is dire. A hundred men defend Castle Black against a hundred thousand. We ride tomorrow at first light for the Wall.”

Cheers rang through the hall. These were touch men; soldiers and knights that had trained to fight and make war. They had not come all this way to the bitter North to drink Robb Stark’s ale or flirt with Northern women. When the commotion simmered, Kevan approached Robb and held out his hand, until the two men finally quit that nonsense and embraced one another.

“I hear congratulations are in order for you as well, Lord Stark,” Kevan said, a sparkle in his eye. He had missed the young Wolf Lord during his time in King’s Landing and was happy to lend his support in this latest war.

“Aye, Lannister, they are,” Robb said, grinning wildly. Even though his son was almost two months old, Robb was still as proud of him as the day he was born. Kevan clapped him on the back, and then formally brought Jaime over. To say that Jaime Lannister and Robb Stark hated each other, would be like saying that Arya loved sewing and being a lady. They loathed each other; but they were now bonded by pledges of loyalty, marriage and family. Still, Jaime couldn’t help the arrogant swagger as he approached the Young Wolf.

“Wolf,” Jaime sneered and Robb snarled, “Kingslayer.”

Then Jaime sighed, practically hearing Sansa’s voice in his head, berating him for making this more difficult than it had to be. And for being an ass. “Your sister is a lovely woman, Lord Stark, and I am honoured that she is my new mother.”

Robb looked for the jape in the man’s face and seeing none nodded. “I’ve heard your father loves her,” Robb said and saw a true, honest grin spread across Jaime’s face. He threw back his head and laughed.

“My father would burn the entire Seven Kingdoms to the ground for her, Stark,” Jaime said and Kevan nodded.

Robb grunted. He knew that Sansa deserved to be loved like that and he was happy to hear that she was. “And the twins? Your inheritance?”

Jaime held up his hands; one normal and the other golden. He pondered that for a moment and wondered if now that Cersei was gone he should look into a nice practical hook. This golden hand was utterly ridiculous.

“I suspect that Jason Lannister and not Jaime Lannister will inherit Casterly Rock, Lord Stark,” Jaime said and saw the wolf lord nod. Then he held out his hand, and Jaime clasped him with his one good hand.

“Welcome to Winterfell, Jaime Lannister,” Robb said and Jaime knew that he had passed whatever test had been put before him.

He nodded, then glanced around the hall. “How far to the wall?”

“A hard two and a half weeks ride,” Robb said. Then he swallowed. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more rest,” but Jaime waved away the worry.

“We are here to fight, Lord Stark.”  
“Robb.” Jaime arched an eyebrow. “We’re family,” Robb ground out, although the words pained

him and Jaime simply nodded. “Jaime,” and Robb Stark nodded.

“Tomorrow. First light. Be ready to ride hard and fast to the Wall. Tell your men to dress warm,” Robb said after a pregnant pause and Jaime nodded again before he took his leave to pass word amongst the men.

A part of Jaime was excited; he’d never been that far North before, while another part dreaded what they would find. What could possibly cause a hundred thousand wildlings to flee towards a Wall and a Kingdom that guaranteed certain death? What was worse than death? Then shaking his head at that morose thought, Jaime Lannister turned to do what he did best; ready his men to ride to war.


	27. Chapter 27

_ Castle Black  _

Jon Snow had always known there was something more than a simple bond of friendship between him and his direwolf Ghost. He could hardly recall how many times he had slipped into his wolf’s mind when he was unusually tired. The first time it had happened, Jon had been so scared to go back to sleep he’d kept himself up for three straight days. But as it happened more frequently, he’d learned to enjoy the feelings that came when he was one with his wolf; running and hunting and simply being free.

Free from all the shit responsibilities and crap that men heaped upon other men. Free from the expectations put on him. Free from being a bastard. Free from having to fight and battle and free from the vows he’d sworn.

When he’d been with the Wildlings, he’d met Orell and learned that men could warg into animals, and he’d felt a profound sense of relief. His father was a Stark, and their family sigil was the direwolf. He’d bonded with his direwolf, so knowing that he could share his consciousness made a fascinating kind of sense to Jon. That was until the dreams changed, and he was suddenly flying. These dreams scared him almost as much as the White Walkers did. He had no fucking clue why he’d gone from running through the forests beyond the Wall to soaring over a desert-like landscape with a giant stone structure in the background. Still, when he had time to examine those dreams, he’d realized that whatever he was in, he felt an affinity with; almost the same he felt for Ghost, which was strange. He had no idea what type of bird would make him feel like that.

The ability to warg always seemed to be strongest when his body was weakest and having survived the three arrows that Ygritte had shot into him; he’d barely made it back to Castle Black before he had collapsed off his horse. His brothers had dragged him to his bed, and Sam had tended his wounds. But in the days following when he didn’t wake right away, he flew. And it was only before he woke up that last time that he realized it wasn’t a fucking bird he had warged into, but a dragon. He knew this because two other fucking dragons were flying beside him: one black beast, and a smaller cream and blue one. When Jon finally startled awake, Sam was relieved that his friend was back with them. Jon gasped to catch his breath, and his eyes darted around the room, before Sam insisted, he settle down.

Sam smiled at him, a bit tentative, but then broader as Jon’s breathing slowed and regulated. When Jon finally knew where he was, he looked at his best friend.

“I’ve got some news for you,” Sam said, “From down south.” Before Jon had left to go beyond the wall, his brother had been at war, his one sister a captive of the Lannister’s and the other one had disappeared after their father had been executed by King Joffrey. Jon felt his stomach drop and nodded, prepared for the worst. Sam knew how much Jon’s family meant to him.

“Well you see, apparently your sister, Sansa, married Tywin Lannister, and they made a pact with your brother Robb,” Sam said, and Jon startled at that bit of news. Sansa had married Tywin Lannister? What on earth was Robb thinking? As if Sam could read his mind, he shook his head. “By all accounts, it’s a good marriage. Word throughout the Kingdom is that King loves his wife. So, um, Sansa married Tywin, and then that brought peace to the West and the North. Robb took back Winterfell, and then King Joffrey died, and Tywin became the King.” Sam looked quite pleased with himself as he’d summed up the events succinctly. It was an incredible amount of information in just a few sentences, and Jon was having trouble processing everything his friend had said.

“So Sansa’s .... Queen?” Jon said, raising his eyebrows. “Of the seven kingdoms?” He wasn’t surprised his voice squeaked at the end of that sentence. Last he’d heard, Sansa had been a virtual prisoner of the Lannister’s. He’d always known she’d dreamed of marrying a prince one day, but this was beyond anyone’s expectations he was sure.

Sam nodded. “Oh, and your other sister and brothers are alive as well,” Sam said cheerily. Jon felt the tears come to his eyes. Robb was home at Winterfell, the war in the south was over and everyone was safe and alive. It was almost unbelievable. “Even Bran?” Jon asked and Sam frowned. He’s sent a raven to Robb as soon as Jon had come back, and Robb had written back letting him know everything that had happened.

“Well no. Apparently he was headed for Castle Black, or is beyond the Wall.” Sam frowned, “No one is quite sure where he is. But Rickon and your sister Arya are at Winterfell,” Sam said eagerly but Jon frowned, worried about Bran beyond the Wall. What could his brother be thinking? Then exhaustion claimed him and fell asleep again, content knowing that some of his family was safe.

“What do you know about dragons, Sam?” Jon asked days later when it was just the two of them alone in Jon’s room. Jon was waiting for his trial in front of Aemon, Thorne and Slynt. He’d have to tell them everything that happened beyond the wall, what he’d done and why, and what was coming for them all.

Sam startled a bit and then broke into a lengthy speech about the lore and history of dragons, how they’d belonged to House Targaryen and the legend of how they had tamed them.

“Only someone with Targaryen blood can ride them, you know,” he said and sounded almost whimsical.

Jon barked out a harsh laugh. “Do you want to ride a dragon, Sam?” he asked his friend with a smirk on his face and saw Sam blush.

“Oh no, not me. But it’s said that each dragon only ever had one rider, you see. For their entire life, they only bonded with one person.” Both men thought about that for a time.

“Fuck me, dragons,” Jon muttered, shaking his head, unable to comprehend what it would be like to see one alive, even though he was sure he spent countless hours warging into one. He was as close to Sam as his brother Robb, but there were some things he couldn’t share with him. Sam would think him mad for sure.

“Everyone’s heard the stories about the Dragon Queen,” Sam said conversationally and Jon gave him a dumb look. He’d heard no such stories. Sam told him what he knew and Jon swallowed hard. How was it possible to hatch three petrified eggs into real fucking dragons? Such things were surely tales from the past. But then Jon reminded himself of what he’d seen North of the Wall.

“And where is this Dragon Queen now?” Jon asked curiously and Sam frowned. Maybe she could help him figure out why he warged into a dragon; not that he had any way of contacting her.

“Last I heard, dead,” Sam told him. “We received word from King Tywin that he had taken care of her.” Jon felt his stomach drop at the news. Now there was no one left in the world that might be able to help him with his dreams.

“And the dragons?” Jon asked, almost urgently. Sam gave him a funny look and shook his head.

“No one knows,” Sam said and shrugged. They were curiosities for sure, but he’d be in no position in his lifetime to ever see a dragon. “I believe their riders would speak ancient Valyrian to them,” Sam said conversationally.

Jon laughed and then noted the look of determination Sam’s eyes.

“Are you telling me you speak ancient Valyrian Sam?”

He blushed. “Well, no. Not really.”

Jon gave him a look, and Sam coughed. “Well, you see, Master Aemon does, and he’d been teaching me a few words,” Sam explained, and Jon laughed a bit.

“Of course you do Sam,” Jon said and gave him a small smile. “I guess if a dragon ever does turn up at the Wall, we’ll all be looking to you to speak with it.” Both men laughed at such a ridiculous thought, before Jon’s face turned serious again. Sam was worried about him; his broody friend seemed extra serious these days.

“Are you alright Jon?” he asked, concerned and Jon waved a hand. Before he could answer, his time to speak about his actions was upon him. Sam clapped him on the back and wished him the best.

Apparently telling the truth, trying to connive Thorne to put down the mutineers, along with the boy Olly’s report that the Wildlings had raided villages in the Gift, meant that Jon was the one to head back out to Craster’s Keep to put down the men that had killed the former Lord Commander. When Jon returned from that thankless mission, he told Throne that Mance was weeks away with his army.

The acting Lord Commander assured him that help was on its way; King Tywin was sending his army, along with men from the North under Robb Stark’s banners. Despite the relief he felt at that news, Jon knew they wouldn’t get here in time. It would come down to a hundred men versus thousands. The most they could hope for was to hold the Castle until reinforcements arrived. It didn’t help that Tormund had attacked Mole Town, and even though there were those who argued they should go to help the people there, for once Thorne and Jon were in agreement; every man was needed to keep Castle Black.

Nothing could have prepared Jon for the night the Wildlings attacked Castle Black; not the cold, not the fighting, not the viciousness and not the heartbreak. He watched in horror as Olly loosed an arrow and Ygritte fell. He held her as the life faded from her eyes, tears streaming down his face and his heart break. He might have been a man that had taken the black, but he was still just a man, and he had loved the Wildling.

It was as he’d predicted; they’d held the castle but only just barely. Janos Slynt had fled in terror, and though Thorne had admitted Jon was right about the gates, his advice had not been heeded, and countless pointless deaths of their brothers were on the man’s head. When the only Wildling left fighting was Tormund, Jon channelled the rage he felt at his lover’s death and beat the man until they hauled him away to the cells. Edd and his men had forced the rest of the Wildlings back through the gates, and the Castle was safe; for now.

The next morning, Jon and Sam huddled together talking. Jon tried to convince Sam that the only way to break apart the Wildling army was to kill Mance. When he revealed his plan to Sam, his friend looked ill.

“It’s suicide, Jon,” Sam whispered. “Wait for the reinforcements,” Sam pleaded, but Jon shook his head. He trusted his brother, and in a way, he trusted his sister’s husband the King, to send help but he had no guarantee they would arrive in time. Leaving Longclaw with Sam, his friend walked him to the gate where they found Grenn and countless others that had died to defend the castle. If anything their deaths only confirmed Jon’s conviction to go and kill the leader of the Free Folk. The Wildlings would kill him, but without their leader, they would disband and no longer be a threat.

Sam pleaded for him to be safe, and Jon simply gave him a half-smile and slipped out into the true

North again. Jon chuckled softly to himself. Since coming to Castle Black, it seemed as if he’d spent more time North of the Wall than at the Castle itself. When Jon finally found Mance he sat and drank a toast with him; to those they had lost and those they would lose. Jon could admit that under different circumstances he could follow this man, live like a wilding; maybe even have a wife and child one day. Mance was honorable in his own way, and there was something about the free folk that appealed to Jon. Perhaps it was because he’d spent his entire life being an outcast in his own family, that he felt freer among these people who didn’t give a shit about titles or birth order or great houses.

It was only the sound of the war horn that prevented Jon from ending Mance’s life right there, and as he ran from the tent, he saw Stark and Lannister banners as mounted knights cut through the Wildlings, scattering them and making short work of the camp. Jon got turned around in the mess of men and horse and death until he heard a familiar voice call his name.

“Jon,” Robb shouted and slid from his horse. The two brothers embraced one another as others made sure those in the camp that had been captured were secured to take back to Castle Black.

“Robb,” Jon said. He couldn’t help the tears that ran down his face. It had been so long since he had seen his family, and he had been sure that Robb would die in his war with the south.

“Fucking hell, what are you fucking doing out here?” Robb demanded, clasping his face in his hands. For too long, his brother had been away from him. Robb had already decided to he would get Tywin to excuse Jon from his service with the Night’s Watch. Jon should be by his side, and there was an empty castle in the North that needed a Lord. Robb would get Tywin to legitimize Jon, making him a Stark and give him the Dreadfort.

“Trying to end the war,” Jon said, almost sheepishly. Robb held out a sword to Jon, the wolf pommel prominent.

“I believe this is yours, brother,” Robb said, and Jon took Longclaw back. Robb had looked at the sword and knew there had to be a story behind his ownership of it. Valyrian steel was uncommon, and he desperately wanted to know how his brother had come to own one. Jon saw Ice strapped to Robb’s side and raised an eyebrow at that.

“A gift, from our dear Queenly sister’s husband,” Robb said and almost rolled his eyes. “Tywin Lannister.”

“Fuck me; she’s Queen, huh?” Jon said, and Robb barked out a laugh and nodded.

“She just gave the realm twin boys as well,” Robb told him, and Jon’s eyes widened at that. “Stark blood will be on the Iron Throne,” Robb said, and Jon could see the glee in his brother’s eyes, and he shook his head. He could hardly imagine Sansa married, let alone a mother. And a Lannister.

It took time to round up the prisoners, Mance included. Jaime Lannister found them after a time and slid from his horse to clasp hands with Robb and congratulate him on a well-run campaign. Jon snorted at that and Jaime gave him a funny look.

“Ahhh the bastard,” the golden knight said. He remembered Ned Stark’s brooding bastard from his time at Winterfell.

“Kingslayer,” Jon returned. There had been a time when he’d been enamoured with the likes of Jaime Lannister. But Jon Snow was no longer a boy. And he’d met more impressive people than Jaime Lannister in his time in the Night’s Watch and beyond the Wall.

“You don’t agree with our victory?” Jaime asked, intrigued. He cocked his head at the dark-haired man.

“Oh, it’s a fine victory, Ser Jaime. Mounted knights against peasants,” Jon said mockingly. It was true he’d be dead if they hadn’t arrived, but mounted knights were no match for these people and hardly a cause to celebrate. And Jon knew what most of them were fleeing. He wondered just how difficult it would be to convince these men that the real threat was the Night King and the army of the dead and not these free folk.

By the next afternoon, Mance was in a cell at Castle Black, along with hundreds of Wildlings that hadn’t been killed. Before they left, Jon told the soldiers to burn all the bodies. A harsh looking man scoffed at why they would take the time, but Jon was insistent, and Jaime and Robb indulged him.

When they finally rode back through Castle Black, Jon knew he’d have to do the same for Ygritte. Tormund had asked it of him, and he knew it would destroy a part of him if he ever saw her come back as a wight. Sam had hidden her body for him, and he knew he’d have to do it tonight. As if sensing his brother had something on his mind, Robb watched as Jon left the hall where the brothers of the Night’s Watch and their combined armies were feasting, and followed him into the night. Turning, Jon pinned him with a look. Ghost and Greywind were beside each other; the wolves overjoyed at being reunited.

“Where are you going Jon?” Robb asked curious. He could tell his brother had changed. He seemed older and sadder. Jon had always been moody, but now he seemed almost defeated and like he carried a heavy burden.

“I have something to do, Robb. Stay here, where it is warm and safe,” Jon said, so used to being on his own, that this sense of family was almost grating.

“We’re family, brother,” Robb said, and Jon sighed, and turned to continue his task. He knew there’d be no getting rid of Robb now. His brother followed silently as he retrieved Ygritte’s body, and left the Castle, to venture in the woods beyond the Wall. He’d give her this honour; she was a free woman after all. Silent, Robb for once in his life, kept his comments to himself. Even when the tears tracked down Jon’s face as he lit her pyre, Robb simply stood by his brother’s side, the two direwolves flanking them.

“She was important to you?” Robb said, and Jon nodded.

“And burning them? Is that a free folk custom?” Robb asked. If he’d been sarcastic or japing, Jon wouldn’t have answered, but he heard the compassion in his brother’s voice.

“No,” Jon said, a bit raggedly. He coughed. “It’s so when the Night King comes; she won’t become one of them.”

Robb frowned. “One of who?”

“Another body in the Night King’s army,” Jon said and looked at Robb. Lord Stark wanted to scoff; to protest, to deny that such things existed. But he remembered King Tywin’s raven, and Old Nan’s tale and the man his father had executed. Why did a hundred thousand free fold flee towards certain death?

“So it’s true?” Robb asked, and Jon nodded. They turned to return to Castle Black. Jon felt his heart break one last time leaving Ygritte, but it helped to have his brother by his side when he’d done this difficult task.

“The King is sending Stannis Baratheon to the Wall, to find out why the Wildlings are fleeing,” Robb told Jon and could almost see him visibly relax.

“Fucking hell, thank the gods,” Jon breathed a mixture of relief and an overwhelming sense that protecting the seven Kingdoms from the threat of the Army of the Dead was no longer on his shoulders alone. Tywin Lannister knew something important was happening at the Wall, and Jon was grateful that help was arriving.

“He’ll be here in a day or two,” Robb said. They’d received word that Stannis had gone straight to Eastwatch by the Sea and was making his way to Castle Black even as they spoke.

“I’m going to ask the King to pardon you, Jon, to legitimize you and make you a true born Stark. You belong with us,” Robb demanded, and Jon shook his head.

“I took vows, Robb,” he told him, and his brother frowned.

“I need you, Jon. Arya and Rickon, the North, we all need you. Your place is with your family,” Robb insisted, and Jon shook his head and smiled sadly at his brother. Gods, he had missed him. Robb was just so good and so idealistic. He had no idea what was coming for them, even if he wanted to believe Jon’s words.

“Robb, my place is here,” Jon said and saw his brother’s face settle into a grimace. He knew this conversation wasn’t finished, but for now, Jon needed sleep, and he prayed that given the events of the past few days, he’d remain firmly on the ground tonight in his dreams.

The next day, even with the massive amount of soldiers camped outside Castle Black’s gates, the Night’s Watch held the vote for the next Lord Commander. To everyone’s surprise, including Jon himself, he was named the 998th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.

After, when his appointment was announced, Jaime Lannister clapped him on the back and congratulated him, while Robb gave him a sad smile. He knew then he’d never abandon his command, and in a way, he was proud of his brother. Still, Robb didn’t miss the look of malcontent on the face of Ser Alliser Thorne. When Robb asked Samwell Tarly about it, he was told how much Thorne hated Jon. Robb grabbed Jaime and explained the situation. A strange look came into Jaime’s eyes, and they hunted the man down.

“Ser Alliser,” Jaime said and saw the man’s eyes narrow when he called his name.

“Kingslayer,” he spat, hatred radiating from his eyes. Thorne was a lifelong devotee to the Targaryen restoration. He hated Jaime Lannister almost as much as he hated Jon Snow. More probably. The entire Lannister family was the reason that the Targaryens would never sit on the Iron Throne again. He too had read the raven from King Tywin about the Dragon Queen’s death and knew what Tywin Lannister had done.

“It’s fascinating,” Jaime said in that sarcastic voice he had that had made men want to run him through his entire life, “That a house such as yours that is sworn to the Crownlands and the Iron Throne would have such hatred for the brother of the Queen.”

Throne’s eyes narrowed on Jaime. “You’re all usurpers,” he hissed at them. “I was loyal to the true King of Westeros, and I retained my honour. Rather than sully my house and my name, I took the black. I’d rather be here than serve you cunts that don’t deserve the throne.”

“Perhaps. But still, right of conquest and all that,” Jaime said easily and shrugged. For twenty years he’d been judged by men like Alliser Thorne; it was nothing new. It stung less these days because his family knew the true reason he had killed the King. But a man like Thorne would never believe him. Jaime Lannister’s tone and insolence grated on Thorne. He’d refused to bend when Robert Baratheon had taken the throne, despite his houses’ pledge to serve the Crownlands.

“Let me make myself clear, Ser Alliser,” Robb said, seething at the disrespect this man was showing them. “My sister is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and her brother is now your Lord Commander. His word is law, just like my sister’s husband’s word is law. If anything were to happen to my brother....” Robb said and let the threat stand.

Jaime smiled, but there was no warmth. “I love my new mother, Thorne. Deeply. And she would be most distressed to hear of anything bad happening to her brother, even this far North. There may be an even number of men loyal to you in this Castle if the vote was anything to go by, but men loyal to our families will be staying. Never forget; the Lord Commander is brothers with the Queen.”

That statement, more than anything startled the bitter man. Robb and Jaime had discussed it at length. The raven from his father confirmed what they could all see. The Castle was far too undermanned. They had no solution, but each lord, from the Blackfish, to Lord Royce and even Randyll Tarly could see that something needed to be done at arming the Castle with better men. They had been lucky, nothing more in stopping this Wildling attack, but each man from the south knew that real soldiers were needed at the Wall.

“You can’t just....” Sputtered Thorne. “You can’t just make your own rules.”

Jaime threw back his head and laughed. “My father is the King, Thorne. Of course, he can make his own rules,” Jaime said. He was a Lannister. His natural arrogance was simply part of him, the same as his golden hair and his feeling of superiority. His entire life he’d lived by a different set of rules than most men. It happened when your father was the wealthiest man in the whole kingdom and you were the first-born son of Tywin Lannister.

Alliser Thorne shook his head in disgust at the two men and turned to walk away from them. Robb called out, “We’ll be watching you, Thorne,” and saw him hurry away. Then the two men turned to one another and smiled.

“Well that was fun,” Jaime said, and for the first time, Robb could see the appeal of the man. He was charming, sarcastic and too egotistical by far, but when he was on your side, he had a certain amount of charm. And Robb was still immature enough to be in just a bit of awe of the man. Jaime wasn’t like those other sour-faced old men such as Lord Tarly and Lord Royce; they were too stern and too serious for Robb’s taste.

Jaime and Robb knew that the vote had been close for Jon’s new position and that there were a significant number of men wearing black that would like to see him fail. They were even more committed to leaving men loyal to Jon Snow at the Wall.

The most fraught confrontation came between Randyll and Samwell Tarly. The intimidating Reach commander had hoped that his son had faded into the background up here, and was embarrassed when it seemed that Sam was well-liked in the Castle. Instead of being hidden away, Sam was often seen at the side of Jon Snow. Randyll wondered what the bastard wanted with him, as he was still clearly useless with a sword, and always seemed to be carrying around books.

Lord Tarly watched and when it seemed like Sam was alone, let a heavy hand come down on the books, scattering the books and Sam on the stone walkway.

“Still have your head in the books?” Lord Tarly growled as Sam stuttered and mumbled, looking up from the ground to see his father’s form towering over him. “Still fucking useless boy,” Randyll muttered, more embarrassed than ever that this was his son.

“I’m not, you see,” Sam started to say and Randyll kicked him in his fat stomach.

“Even this far North you haven’t lost your pudge,” he said and shook his head. He went to kick him again when he realized someone else was in the hallway with them.

“Lord Tarly, I’ll assume,” came the low voice, accent thick and angry. Randyll cursed himself for his lack of attention to his surroundings.

“Sam, why don’t you stand up now,” Jon said, and Sam nodded, gathering his books and looking between Jon and his father.

“So, you like to attack my men, Lord Tarly,” Jon said, his voice low and dangerous and Randyll swallowed hard. He could see the young Lord Commander had his hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Keep your steel sheathed boy,” Lord Tarly said, and Jon flexed his hand. Randyll could see the fire, hot and dangerous in the young Lord Commander’s eyes, and he approved. This was a man worthy of being a first-born son; too bad he was a bastard.

“He’s not yours to torment anymore, Lord Tarly,” Jon said and saw Sam stumble to his feet. “He’s a brother of the Night’s Watch now. A valued one,” Jon said and met Lord Tarly’s steely glare.

He scoffed at that.

“Do you take me for a liar, Lord Tarly?” Jon asked, voice low.

“He is as fat and as useless as ever,” Randyll spat and Jon nodded.

“Aye, he’s not much of a fighter, I’ll give you that. But up here, he’s got something almost no other man has,” Jon said. “He’s smart, Lord Tarly. Smarter than I’ll ever be. And he’s brave and loyal.” Jon knew that there was no point in telling this man what Sam had done, including killing a white walker. The man wouldn’t believe either that Sam had killed one or that they even existed. “I’ve plenty of men that can swing a sword, Lord Tarly, but very few who can read a book.”

Lord Tarly grunted at that. His first born was still an embarrassment to House Tarly, but he’d won the favour of the Lord Commander. And he’s survived up here, which was the most shocking thing of all. Randyll looked at the sword on Jon Snow’s hip, and his eye narrowed.

“Is that Valyrian steel?” he asked, and Jon nodded.

“Where did you get it?” Lord Tarly asked. He’d seen Ice back on Lord Stark’s hip, but he knew of no other great sword that belonged to House Stark. Randyll Tarly took an excessive amount of pride in his family’s Valyrian steel sword, Heartsbane and knew there were precious few of them left in Westeros.

“Lord Commander Mormont,” Sam piped up, looking at his father. “He gave it to Jon.”

Randyll didn’t even look at his son, keeping his eyes trained on Jon. He could see the temper was up in the young man, and he wondered if the stories he’d heard were correct about his skill with a blade.

“Men are sparring in your yard, Lord Commander. Perhaps we should join them and see if you are worthy of that steel that is in your hands,” Lord Tarly suggested doubt colouring his words and Jon rolled his shoulders at the insult.

Jon could feel the rage building in him. He’d went to Mance’s camp expecting to die, and was saved at the last moment by Robb’s army arriving. Then he’d come back, burned Ygritte’s body and been saddled with the Command of a Night’s Watch. A Night’s Watch that was severely undermanned, with half the brother’s hating him and the tantalizing idea of being a true born Stark dangled in front of his face before being snatched away again. He was itching for a fight, and Randyll Tarly had just given him the perfect opportunity to find one.

Word spread like wildfire through the Castle that the Lord Commander was spoiling for a fight and soon a large crowd had gathered, as Knights from across the seven Kingdoms were sparring in the yard. Jon was like a man possessed, and Knight after Knight fell before his rage and skills. That was until Lord Randyll Tarly stepped into the yard. He’d watched as the young Lord Commander dispatched man after man, relying on brute strength and speed. He saw the potential in him, but he was green and left himself open far too many times. It was time to teach him a lesson.

“Fuck me, Jon,” Robb said whispered, slightly in awe of Jon’s fighting abilities. Robb knew he was a great strategist, but even he doubted he could take his brother with a blade. Jaime Lannister slapped Robb on the back and then pointed to Lord Tarly that who stepped up to take on Jon.

“Now your brother is going to learn something,” Jaime said, a slight curve of a smile on his face. It brought back memories of when he’d been schooled by Ser Barristan Selmy, time and time again. This was just what Jon needed.

“Aye,” said the Blackfish, nodding sagely. They stood and watched as Jon Snow got a lesson from a seasoned and hard man.

The third time Jon picked himself up from the mud, his chest was heaving, and he knew he’d be sore for days. And yet, he’d never felt so alive. He’d never like the man that had taught him this valuable lesson, but he knew he’d learned something important here today. It was hard to remember, sometimes, being around the type of men that made up the Night’s Watch, that these weren’t the best men of Westeros. Jon had become cocky, because he’d arrived here with more skill and more training than most of these poor bastards. Had he been a true born son, a first-born son, he might have had a chance to learn more from men such as Randyll Tarly and Lord Royce, and even the Blackfish. Up here, being the best swordsmen meant fuck all when he was put to the test against these well-trained men from the south. Men who had spent their entire lives training for battle and war. Jon was lucky that Ned Stark had treated him as well as he had, but he lacked the disciplined skill of the best swordsmen of Westeros.

A spark of respect lit Lord Tarly’s eye. He’d come here expecting nothing, simply following the orders of House Tyrell. He’d expected the men of the Nights Watch to be nothing more than the worst scum in all of Westeros. But this Jon Snow, this new Lord Commander, he had a heart. And skill. And those were things that Randyll Tarly could respect. He held his hand to Jon, who was lying in the mud and heaved him to his feet.

“You’re green. Better than most up here with a sword, but you leave yourself too open for a counter-attack. And you swing too wildly. Those things will get you killed, Lord Commander,” Tarly said to him, and Jon nodded, and then they both heard a cry in the yard.

“Lord Stannis Baratheon, an envoy for King Tywin, is at the gates.”

All the assembled Lords and Night’s watchmen glanced at each other. Jon felt a sense of relief; now that Stannis was here, he would decide what to do with Mance Rayder and the rest of the Wildlings, as well as the Army of the Dead. Jon only hoped that he was willing to listen about the real threat to the seven kingdoms, and not leave him here, with too few men to guard the realm from a threat that would need all of them to defeat it.

* * *

_ Kings Landing _

Sansa had never been happier in her entire life. She loved her husband; she loved her sons, and she realized she loved Lady Shireen much the way an older sister would a younger one. Shireen was everything that Arya wasn’t, and even though Sansa had come to appreciate her wild sister, there was something about Shireen that called to Sansa’s heart. The day that Stannis and Ser Davos left, now sailing to Eastwatch by the Sea, Shireen had moved in with her and Tywin.

At first, she was worried about her husband and how he might be with the girl. While he’d more than demonstrated his skill and love for the twins, Shireen was not his, and Tywin was a very private man. This girl would see the King and Queen at their most intimate, and she wondered how he might react to that.

She needn’t have worried. It turned out that Shireen was very clever and Tywin liked clever people. He especially liked clever people that would take his advice. The first time Shireen had asked him a question, Tywin challenged her to find the answer in one of his many books. She eagerly applied herself to the task, so the next night at dinner, she was able to tell him the answer.

“Clever girl,” the King told her and a blush rose up on her cheeks. From that point forward, they made it a game. Shireen would find some obscure fact in one of her books and then she would quiz Tywin on it that night at dinner. If she were able to stump him, she would clap her hands in delight, and he’d be forced to read the passage where she had found it. But if he knew what she was talking about, then he would dictate what she would read the next day. Sansa saw both of them take immense joy in the game.

Tywin had been incredible with their sons and spent considerable time with them each day, including his evenings and nights. They were strong and growing so fast, that when their first moonday passed, Sansa cried that they were already a month old. They were due to be presented at Court within a few days, and Sansa fretted at the hands that might grab at them. Tywin smiled indulgently at how protective she was over them. As predicted, even though they were identical, they had started to develop their own personalities. Tysan could have been carved from Tywin himself. He was demanding, needy and forceful when something was disturbing him. He had no issue letting his mother know when he was hungry, or wet or wanted to be cuddled. There were no doubts that this was Tywin’s heir. Sansa giggled so hard she cried one day when her tiny son made the exact same face of perturbed displeasure that Tywin did.

“I do not look like that,” the Great Lion protested vehemently, and both Shireen and Sansa assured him that he did. He huffed and then scooped his son up from his bassinet and muttered to him that he would not allow these insolent women to mock the future King. Sansa’s heart melted when he did things like that. He was so involved with them; even Catelyn commented that it was remarkable.

Jason, on the other hand, was much more like Jaime in personality, Sansa suspected. He was her carefree and happy baby, content to be fed second, held second and changed second. Still, given the love that was showered on these two babies, there was hardly a moment that they weren’t in someone’s arms.

Shireen was a godsend, and Sansa could hardly imagine not having her stay with them. She willingly changed them, burped them, cuddled them, sang to them and read to them. Often when Sansa was exhausted, Shireen would curl up on the bed with the Queen and the two twins beside them and tell Sansa she would watch over them. Tywin had come upon all four of them in his bed on more than one occasion. It had warmed something in Tywin to see the girl asleep on the bed with his wife and sons, even though he would never admit it to anyone. He had grown fond of Stannis Baratheon’s daughter.

One night, when it was just the two of them, and after the twins had nursed again, Tywin told Sansa quietly that he hoped they had a girl if they were to have another child.

“Hmmm,” she said. She had seen him with Shireen and knew that his heart ached for his lost daughter.

“I wonder where it went so wrong,” he muttered, almost to himself after they had just got the twins down to sleep. Personally, Sansa thought that it was just the way that Cersei had been born. Shireen had an abysmal mother, but she was the least like Cersei of anyone Sansa knew. And her father was a hard and implacable man, much like Tywin. Sansa thought that her husband put too much of the blame on himself for his vile daughter.

Sansa cuddled closer to him. They were still weeks away from when they were allowed to be intimate, but she treasured being close to him.

“You’re a good man to me, Tywin. And a good father,” she told him, and he grunted but brought her closer. Sansa had regained her pre-pregnancy form, and he could tell they were both eager to resume their marital relations. He pressed a kiss to her lips, and she responded and moaned a bit.

“You will kill me if you keep this up, wife,” he growled at her, noting that she had successfully distracted him from his troubled thoughts about Cersei.

She laughed a bit and then settled back down into his arms. She knew her sons would be ready to nurse within a couple of hours, and she needed the sleep, but still, these moments with Tywin were special. Sansa should have known that everything was going too well, as the next few days would be some of the most dramatic they had experienced in their relationship when things finally came to a head with Tyrion.

It was Shireen who first noticed how upset that Tyrion seemed in the presence of the twin Princes. Where everybody else in the King and Queen’s family seemed to dote and love them, even Lady Margaery had commented on how adorable they were, Tyrion often either ignored them or glared at them. To be fair, he was mostly glaring at how his father was with his sons, and not at the two innocent babies, but still Shireen noticed. She had been fascinated with the dwarf, as he was someone different like her, and she had hoped that he would warm to her. Everyone else had; to the point that Shireen almost hoped her father would be away for a time. She had never had the sense of family that she did living with Tywin and Sansa, and even though she missed her father, she was extremely happy in Kings Landing. Catelyn and Genna had also ensured a proper Septa was found for her, and each day Shireen added to her growing list of talents.

It was after dinner one evening in the solar when Tywin was holding Jason and Genna had Tysan, that Shireen approached Tyrion.

“Why are you jealous?” she asked him directly, and Tyrion startled a looked at her.

He’d watched over the past month as his father had proven that he was willing to be a father; first to his two new sons, and then to this disfigured girl that had come to live in his household. Tyrion couldn’t remember a time in his entire life when his father had treated him the way he did these three children. He too, had been a clever boy. When he saw the game that Shireen and Tywin had engaged in, his heart had shattered. It seemed his father could care for children; just not him. It further baffled him, as Shireen was just as damaged as he was, and it didn’t seem to bother Tywin at all.

“I’m not,” Tyrion stated and Shireen snorted at him.

“I’ve seen that look. I’ve had that look on my face,” she told him, and Tyrion eyed her critically. He too, had heard the stories of her unhinged mother. He knew what it was like to grow up with a hard and stern man like Stannis or Tywin as a father. Perhaps he did have more in common with this child than he first though. He heaved a sigh.

“My father was never like that with me. Or my siblings,” Tyrion said, pointing to Tywin who was currently gently rocking Jason. He took a large gulp of wine. He wondered if his mother had survived if somehow Tywin would have found the ability to love his children, and not simply for what they could do for the family name, but because he liked them as people. Was it Sansa that made all the difference?

Tyrion could see his father’s love for his wife expand daily. They were never far from one another, and even though Tyrion was Hand of the King, Sansa might as well have been. Tyrion knew there wasn’t a single decision that the King made without consulting his wife; including, it seemed, making Stannis Master of Ships — and caring for his daughter — and sending the man North as his envoy. In the short time that Stannis Baratheon had been back in Kings Landing, he had been singularly successful in bending the King’s ear and getting his attention. Tyrion didn’t like it all.

“My mother hates me,” Shireen said, without reflection and Tyrion glanced at her.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Tyrion started to protest and she gave him a look that shut him up.

“I love the Queen and the King. And the two princes,” Shireen told him and then gave him a hard look.

Tyrion held up his hands. “No harm will come to them from me, Lady Shireen,” Tyrion told her and she nodded. It was the truth. As jealous as Tyrion was of the attention that Tywin lavished on his two sons, Tyrion would defend them with his life, if needs be. He loved Sansa too much ever to see harm come to her sons.

They were quiet for a time. “You should tell him how you feel, or else he will never know,” the child said before she took her leave.

Tyrion chuffed at such a thought. Tywin Lannister knew exactly how Tyrion felt. Didn’t he?

Two days later when they received word that Stannis had finally arrived at Castle Black and that the Wildling invasion had been stopped, for now, Tyrion watched as his father’s face settled into deeper worry lines, not fewer. Which was odd. Hadn’t Jaime been sent North to deal with the Wildlings? If the Wildling threat was gone, why did his father look so worried? Then Tyrion looked to Lady Sansa, who had also attended today’s small council meeting. She also looked worried. A pit formed in his stomach. Something more was going on.

“Everyone out!” Tyrion barked, dismissing the small council as was his right as Hand of the King. He needed to know what the King and Queen had been keeping from him. When everyone had left but Tywin and Sansa, Tyrion took a seat opposite of them.

“I find myself in an odd position. As the person who is supposed to know everything that is happening in the realm, I can’t help but think there are things that are happening of which I have not be made privy too,” Tyrion said, watching his father’s face tighten. His fist clenched, and Tyrion could see that he hated to be called out on such matters.

“It was not necessary to tell you,” Tywin stated and Tyrion barked out a bitter laugh.

“But your wife and Stannis Baratheon know?” Tyrion sneered his face a scowl.

“My wife and I have no secrets, and you will not speak to her or about her in that tone, Tyrion,” Tywin ground out, his jaw aching he had been clenching it so hard.

Tyrion sat back and let the rage and anger and jealousy wash over him. He’d thought things had changed between him and his father, but once again he was made to feel less than worthy to the Great Lion.

“I am the Hand of the King. It is my job to know what you know,” Tyrion stated, and Tywin snorted.

“You will know what I feel is necessary, and that is final,” Tywin said, and Sansa grimaced. This conversation was fast going somewhere; it shouldn’t.

“Tywin,” she said quietly, and he shot her a look. They were communicating silently when Tyrion interrupted them.

“Do you hate me that much that you will risk your reign as King by keeping your Hand ignorant?” Tyrion seethed.

Tywin startled. He’d never loved Tyrion the way he had Jaime, but he no longer hated him. He’d come to appreciate Tyrion for what he was. He’d simply realized that a better man existed for the job as Hand for him. He’d been struggling for weeks on how to tell Tyrion without having his son overact and become dramatic. Much as he was doing now.

Tywin slammed his fist down. “Do not tell me what to do, Tyrion. You’d be wise to remember your place,” Tywin fumed.

“Ahh Father, I will never forget my place and what you are. The man who was unable to love his monstrous son,” Tyrion snarked. “The whole realm sees how you dote on your twins. But never me.”

Tywin snorted. “Am I to apologize because you weren’t coddled enough as a child? Tell you I’m sorry that I wasn’t the type of father you wanted? That you weren’t loved enough?”

Sansa’s frown deepened. They were in perilous territory now, and she could see Tywin’s temper holding on by a thread. She was worried the two of them would say things they would regret.

“Coddled? Loved? You hated me. You made my life a misery. Since the moment I was born, you’ve hated me and done nothing ever to prove differently. I would have settled for mild indifference. Instead, I got your derision and vitriol my entire life,” Tyrion bellowed at him.

“I housed you, clothed you, educated you. I gave you every opportunity to be a good man, a smart man, a man with power. And you pissed it away on whores and wine,” Tywin shouted back at him. Then he scoffed. “Tell me why I should be proud of that? And now that you’ve finally done the proper thing that your station demands by marrying a noble lady, is that what should make me proud? Does six months of acting like a Lannister make up for years of acting like a common drunk?” Tyrion sneered.

“I am your son!” Tyrion shouted and pounded a fist on the table.

“You are NOT!” Tywin stood and roared back, and then a deafening silence dominated the room. Tyrion sat there looking stunned and then darted a glance to Sansa, and saw the devastating truth on her face. She reached for Tywin’s hand and grasped it.

“Tywin,” she pleaded with him, and he looked to her. His chest was heaving, and he sat down heavily.

“What?” Tyrion finally said, and Tywin sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Who?” he asked with deadly quiet. Tywin’s face settled into a grimace.

“Tywin,” Sansa said again softly and went to his side. She grasped his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his forehead. “It is time. He deserves to know.”

Tywin grunted.

“WHO?” Tyrion shouted, angry that they had kept this from him, reeling that he wasn’t truly a Lannister.

Tywin held his tongue for some time before he finally spoke again.

“Aerys,” Tywin spat and looked to Tyrion.

“Aerys?” he said, bewildered and then a horrified look came over his face. “No,” he mumbled, and Tywin nodded.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Tyrion was saying over and over again. Sansa went to him then and kneeled before him.

“Tyrion, listen, let Tywin speak,” she said, tears in her eyes and he looked at her and saw the devastation on her face for him.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” he told her, and she nodded.

“It is awful, but you must listen to Tywin,” she repeated, and he nodded, in shock when he looked back to his father, no wait... not his father. When he looked back to the Great Lion, he could see the pain on the man’s face.

“Aerys and I had a fraught relationship. As I grew more successful in my time as his hand, he grew angrier, jealous and paranoid. Eventually, I took my family back to Casterly Rock. We were summoned to Kings Landing a few years later, and even I couldn’t ignore the King’s command no matter how much I might have wanted too,” Tywin said.

He sighed. “I must start from the moment I married your mother. On the day we wed, the King told the entire court it was particularly disappointing that the practice of First Night had been outlawed, as Joanna was a fine prize. He had lusted after your mother for years, and I did everything I could to protect her from him. The year we had to come back to court, I failed. Your mother had been ill, and we hadn’t..... And then we were back at the Rock, and she was pregnant with you.”

Tyrion pushed himself away from Sansa and found a pot to heave into, and then stumbled to his feet.

“Why didn’t you kill me? When I was born and was this monster? Why not just get rid of me?” he asked Tywin, befuddled hurt on his face.

Tywin shrugged and looked at him. “Because you were hers. And I loved her, and I knew she would not want her death to be in vain.”

Tyrion felt his eyes fill with tears. His father had lost his beloved wife because the King had raped her and gotten her pregnant with a dwarf. And then his father had been forced to give him his name, to raise him as his own, to be mocked and ridiculed for producing such a loathsome creature, all while knowing he wasn’t his.

“Tyrion,” Sansa pleaded with him. He shook his head at her.

“How did you figure it out?” he asked her and she worried her lower lip.

“That’s not important,” she told him, and he spun away from her.

“My entire life, I thought you hated me simply because I was a dwarf. But it was more than that; I can see that now,” Tyrion was muttering to himself.

Tywin sighed. “Perhaps if your mother had lived, I would have been...... better at raising you. All of you,” Tywin conceded, and Tyrion snorted.

“You should have thrown me into the sea the moment I took her life,” Tyrion said, and Tywin pinned him with a look.

“You are a Lannister, Tyrion, no matter who your father was. I would not let Aerys sully her any more than he already had,” Tywin stated.

“I need to think,” Tyrion muttered and went to leave the room.

“You can tell no one, Tyrion,” Tywin called out and the dwarf nodded and left the room.

Tywin sighed loudly, and Sansa went to him. She knew she had to get back to the twins, but none of them had seen this coming today.

“Tywin,” she said, and he dragged her into his arms. She buried herself in his chest and simply held him.

They both knew that the fallout from this could be devastating, and Sansa wasn’t sure if she was happy or worried that Jaime wasn’t around. She also knew that Tyrion might tell Margaery, and she didn’t know if Margaery would tell her Lady Olenna. The consequences could be very detrimental to them all if the Tyrell’s thought this might give them a chance at the Throne. Technically, Tyrion was the last descendant of King Aerys and there were still loyal Targaryen supporters in the realm, despite the fact that Tywin and Sansa had brought peace to Westeros.

“Are you worried about what he might say to his wife?” Sansa asked Tywin, and he grunted. He would have to move swiftly if the Tyrell’s thought to take his crown. He would not hesitate to remind them of the alliances he had built. The Tyrell’s were not like the Starks; their family had only be in charge of the Reach since the Targaryen invasion, having willingly given up Highgarden to Aegon the Conqueror. Tywin would not allow them to jeopardize his reign; he didn’t care how many men and how fertile the lands were. He was the King; not Olenna and not Lady Margaery.

“We will have to see,” Tywin stated and then Sansa stood. She held out her hand.

“Come, my King, let us go visit your sons,” she said. Despite the heartache that had just happened, couldn’t help the joy she felt when she thought about them. Tywin willingly rose and allowed himself to go with his wife to the nursery. He knew he would have to find Tyrion later, but for now, he would spend time with his sons and his wife.

Once Sansa had nursed them and changed them, Tywin and her settled in with their sons, rocking them, a comfortable quiet between them.

“He’s not wrong,” Tywin stated eventually and Sansa hummed. She had been making faces at Tysan, and he was giving her such a Tywin scowl that she was grinning broadly at him. She loved how he was just like his father.

“Wrong about what?” Sansa asked.

Tywin sighed and looked at Jason. “I was never a true father. To any of them. Not like this,” he told her, and she nodded. She knew that he had regrets, and she wouldn’t make excuses for him. Her father had been so much different than how he had described raising his children, that she couldn’t even imagine growing up with such a cold and hard man. But he couldn’t undo what had happened over three decades ago.

“All you can do is be better now,” she said, and he huffed at that thought. She gave him her full attention then. “Tywin, he is still your son, and he needs to know that. Especially if you are planning on making Stannis your Hand, call him to your solar, and speak with him. Tell him about the White Walkers and the threat to the realm. Bring him back into the fold, husband.” Sansa fairly ordered him, and how could he deny her as he was holding his future in his hands. He huffed but did what she said and a day later, it was him and Tyrion sitting together in his solar.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion said, insolently and drumming his fingers on the chair, refusing to meet Tywin’s eyes, almost nervous.

“Enough,” Tywin said, but there was very little heat to his words. “You are my son, in everything but blood. I would not have made you Hand had I not trusted you.”

“Ahhh but how long am I to remain your Hand?” Tyrion sneered, and Tywin met his angry gaze.

“Why would a hundred thousand Wildlings flee towards certain death?” Tywin asked, not answering Tyrion’s question. Tywin saw Tyrion startled at the abrupt change of topic.

Then he saw his son’s brow furrow as he worked the problem.

“Because there is something after them,” he finally said. “What?” he asked Tywin his interest piqued despite still being upset with Tywin.

The King gave him a serious look. “We do not know. There are stories, tales told to Northern children. About a Night King and an army of dead men.”

Tyrion laughed until he saw his father was deadly serious. “You cannot be serious? You don’t mean to tell me you believe such tales?” Tyrion said, disbelief in his voice.

Tywin held his gaze. “I do not know what I believe. Only that the Wildlings would rather die than stay beyond the Wall. I’ve sent Stannis there because he is the best man in the realm to determine what is happening.”

“And when he returns?” Tyrion asked, and Tywin grimaced. He was like a dog with a bone. Relentless. He always had been. It was at once a great strength and a huge weakness in his personality.

“What makes a good King great?” he asked Tyrion and saw him frown.

“Power. Money. Armies. Land,” Tyrion stated blithely, and Tywin shook his head at him.

“Knowledge,” he countered. “A good King knows what he does not know. And he has the best advisors in place to tell him what he does not know.”

Tyrion frowned. “Have I done a poor job? Given you bad advice?”

Tywin shook his head. “You have not. Indeed, had you, I would have dismissed you from your post immediately.” Tywin paused. “But simply because you haven’t done a bad job, doesn’t mean there isn’t a person better suited for it.”

Tyrion nodded. He had seen the writing on the wall, and he knew that Stannis would be his father’s Hand. His father was a brutally honest man; if his job as Hand had been poor, he would have dismissed Tyrion immediately and replaced him with Kevan.

“And what of me? What am I to become?” Tyrion asked, trying to keep the hurt from his voice. His father hadn’t been condescending or mocking, which in and of itself was a surprise.

“Dragonstone,” Tywin simply said and took an inordinate amount of delight in watching Tyrion’s mouth fall open.

“Dragonstone?” he sputtered. Tywin nodded.

“It will be yours and Margaery’s. It is a critical strategic point, and I need someone I trust to occupy it,” Tywin said. He was unsure if he’d ever let the castle become Tyrion’s outright, but that didn’t matter. What mattered now was that Tyrion understood how important it was for Tywin to have someone he trusted there.

“And my position on the small council?” Tyrion asked, and Tywin nodded.

“Tell me truthfully, are you doing one job or two currently?” and saw his son grimace. Mace Tyrell was a terrible Master of Coin. And a terrible Master weakened the Realm. All Tyrion had to do was think back to how Baelish had run the Crown into massive debt to know that to be true.

“It seems my goodfather is terrible with gold,” Tyrion said and shared a rare smile with his father. Because, whether he liked it or not, Tywin Lannister was his father. Not in blood, but in name and deed. “Just because the Tyrells are rich, does not mean he knows a damn thing about how to spend money responsibly. And he is still bitter about losing his position as Master of Ships, so he and Ser Davos were battling about how much is needed to rebuild the Royal Fleet.”

Tywin growled at that and Tyrion held up a hand. “I settled it. Even I know we need a strong armada.” Tywin nodded then looked at Tyrion.

“You were good as Master of Coin,” Tywin stated, simply and without any falseness and Tyrion nodded. Then he sighed and looked at the man he’d considered his father his entire life.

“I haven’t told my wife about who my father is,” he said to the Great Lion and saw Tywin nod at that.

“Good,” Tywin said, happy to see that his son’s loyalty was still to House Lannister.

“I want to believe that had my mother lived; it would have been different. Perhaps you never would have cared for me, but she might have loved me, and that would have made it better,” Tyrion stated. “I see how you are, with the two new princes, and I am glad for you and Lady Sansa. Children deserve parents who love them,” Tyrion continued, and Tywin nodded.

“Tyrion, you are my son. Perhaps you are not my blood, but you are a Lannister, and you will always be a Lannister,” Tywin said. It was all he would say. No apologies would make up for how he treated his children and to be honest; they would most likely not be sincere. He’d blamed Tyrion for Joanna’s death for more than half his life. Things like that were undone with one conversation.

“I will do my best to be a good hand, until we know more,” Tyrion stated and then sent his father a look. “And I will tell you the truth. Do try not to dismiss it out of hand simply because it comes from me,” he said dryly, and Tywin barked out a laugh, and a tenuous understanding settled between the two men.

Sansa drifted into the solar after Tyrion had taken his leave.

“How much did you hear?” Tywin asked her as she settled herself on his lap. He happily adjusted himself, so she was comfortable, happy to have her in his arms. She smelled like lemons and lavender and the faint traces of milk he’d come to associate with her. To him, she smelled like home.

“Enough,” she said and kissed him. She looked in his eyes. “You did the correct thing, Tywin, being honest with him.” He grunted and wrapped his hands around her waist and kissed her again. For now, a situation that might have been determinantal to their reign was contained and dealt with, and once again, he had her advice and guidance to thank for that.

“I love you, Sansa,” he told her. It seemed easier and easier to say these days, especially when they were alone. It had been a year since she’d first approached him, and he couldn’t imagine his life without her in it. He certainly couldn’t imagine being King without her as his Queen. He’d gotten used to his wife being open and affectionate with him, and he knew she treasured those words when they spilled from his lips

“I love you, Tywin,” and smiled softly at him. She was content just to be held by him.

They were both anxiously awaiting word from the North, and both had more reason that ever to want to protect the Kingdom from the threat beyond the Wall at all costs. They had to put their trust in those that were there; Stannis, Jaime and Robb; Jon, who had been named the new Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and her uncle the Blackfish and Lord Royce who was there as well. Seasoned men who would tell them if the threat was real. Men who would do whatever it took to protect the seven Kingdoms if the Night King turned out to be more than mere legend. Sansa knew that a part of Tywin wished he could be there with his men, but he’d assured her his place was with her and the princes; that his time for leading men in battle had passed, and that he had full confidence in Stannis and Jaime. Still, she knew it was hard for him, and she was grateful that he was with her and not in the North.

* * *

_ Winterfell  _

Sandor Clegane was a happy man to be back in the North. Robb’s wife was the kindest woman he’d ever met after Sansa, and after a few days, it didn’t even feel odd to sleep in his new quarters in the family wing of the Castle. There was still work being done to Winterfell; some of the areas had been badly damaged, and Sandor was happy to bark out orders at the builders. 

Arya was in a snit since Robb had ridden away with Jaime Lannister and the southern army. Even though she had promised she would stay and help Sandor defend the Castle, she felt restless. She thought her place should be with her brother, not stuck at Winterfell guarding Robb’s son. Nothing was going to happen to Winterfell; everyone knew that Sandor Clegane was in charge of the castle, along with one hundred well-trained knights. It would be suicide.

Arya did train daily with Sandor and Rickon, along with Theon. He was still better with a bow than her, so she poured her efforts into that. She hated when anyone was better at her than anything, and even though she had years on Rickon, she could see her little brother growing stronger and more skilled by the day. It was unfair that as a woman, she would always be weaker than her brothers.

Arya was impatient; she wasn’t meant to stay in one place for very long, and as she watched Sandor settle into his position at Winterfell, she came to resent him as well. He had been her travelling companion for so long; on the move always with her that she couldn’t understand how this sedentary lifestyle appealed to him. He took joy in barking out orders each day to the men in the training yard and looked like a Northman as he sat at the head table with Jeyne and Ric and Theon. People here respected him and differed to his opinion on matters now that Robb was gone. It didn’t help that the two wolves, Shaggy and Nymeria also were loyal to him. He was supposed to be like her; craving adventure and action.

When she told him he was a sellout and a traitor one day in the training yard, he laughed at her and told her she was stupid.

“You’ve got a home, family, and security. Don’t be stupid, little wolf,” he told her.

She glared at him. How could he not understand? She had thought they had wanted the same thing, but even know she could see how content he was. It almost felt like a betrayal.

What no one had counted on was Yara Greyjoy’s determination to retrieve her brother Theon. Even though he had sent his father a raven telling him he’d pledged himself to House Stark, he’d been a prisoner of the wolves for too many years for Yara to believe that he had stayed willingly. Against her father’s orders, she landed one ship at a little-known bay outside of White Harbor and took thirty loyal men with her to retrieve her brother from the Starks.

The Stark family had gathered as they did most evenings in the solar, most of them happy to be together after the day. The wolves had been hunting for days and were currently content to lie before the fire, curled into one another. Sandor felt his eyes drifting closed as the mumble of voices float around him. Robb had sent a raven that they had made it to the Wall and had repelled the Wildlings for now, and awaited Stannis Baratheon who was coming from Eastwatch By the Sea. Better him than me, Sandor thought. He could tell winter was on its way; the days were shorter and colder, and there was always a bite to the air. Thankfully Robb’s lovely wife continued to provide him with proper winter clothes, and the walls of the Castle were always warm due to the underground hot springs.

Almost asleep, he jolted awake when he heard a horn blow.

“Stay here,” he barked to Jeyne, Ric, and Arya immediately tense and alert. Theon was on his feet, at Sandor’s side. He couldn’t say he trusted the Iron Born lord, but he hadn’t done anything to raise Sandor’s suspicions in the weeks since he’d been back. The wolves were at attention, poised and ready to fight.

“Let me come with you,” Arya pleaded, and Sandor gave her a look.

“Bolt the door. Let no one in but me,” he said, pointing to Theon. “Keep the wolves here until I come back,” he told her and didn’t wait for her response, slipping out into the Castle to see who had dared to attack Winterfell again.

The men that Yara brought with her were not here to raid the castle or kill any more than necessary; this was a mission solely to get Theon back. When they snuck into the gates, disguised as common merchants and tradesmen, no one had blinked an eye. Robb Stark had sent the call out to repopulate Winterfell for months, so strangers in the Castle was nothing new. Sandor had been working on ensuring he knew exactly who was in the Keep, but it was an endless task. He came upon the Ironborn fighting his men in the yard, and he willingly waded into the fray, evening the odds significantly.

Arya lasted five minutes before she stopped pacing and a determined look came over her face. She went to the door when Ric hissed at her. 

“Arya, what are you doing?” he snarled.

“I’m not going to sit here and wait for someone else to take my home. Not when I’m here, and I can fight,” she snarked back, annoyed that he would question her skill. She had trained for months with Sandor, and she knew she was ready for a real battle.

“Sandor said to stay,” Theon whispered, the only one in the room with a sword other than Arya. Rickon didn’t have a blade on them. “We have to stay Arya,” he told Arya almost pleadingly.

She shook her head and looked at Theon. “Keep them safe,” and then she and Nymeria slipped from the room and down the hallway.

Yara had darted into the kitchens where she had held a nasty knife to one of the serving girls throat and asked where her brother was.

“In the family solar,” the girl responded before Yara slit her throat. She knew the commotion in the yard would distract the men, and moved swiftly down the halls to find her brother

Before Theon could get the door bolted again, Yara and two Ironborn barged into the room.

“Yara!” Theon cried before he remembered his loyalties. Confusion marred his face. “What are you doing here?” he asked his sister.

“Rescuing you,” she spat at him. “Let’s go.” She tried to ignore the snarling black wolf that looked like it wanted to devour her, but it was next to impossible.

“I can’t,” Theon told her, his voice wavering but not breaking. He swallowed hard. “I am sworn to House Stark.”

Yara snorted and went to grab him when he darted out her grasp. “It can be easy, or it can be difficult, but either way, you are coming with us, Theon,” Yara told him, and Theon shook his head. Rickon stepped up to stand beside him, even though he had nothing to fight with Yara barely cast a glance his way before everything unravelled. Theon pushed Ric back, trying to protect him.

She went to punch her brother, but Shaggy launched himself at her, ripping into her arm and making Yara scream. Theon was forced to drive his sword into the other two Ironborn men, until it was him and Yara in the room, with Ric standing over Jeyne and little Ned, Shaggy circling dangerously.

“Yara, please,” Theon was begging. “Go. There’s no way to leave here alive if you don’t go now.”

She shook her head at him, stubborn and pissed. He was Ironborn. He belonged with them. The two other men she had with her outside the room, suddenly entered. They had heard the shouts from within and knew their time was up.

“Yara,” they hissed. “Now!”

Again, they lunged for Theon and Shaggy struck, pulling one man down and ripping out his throat. Theon was able to cut the other down before he felt the steel of Yara’s blade on his neck. Suddenly, Sandor Clegane’s massive form filled the room, and he swore before he moved swiftly towards Yara.

“No,” Theon cried, but it was too late as Sandor’s sword pierced his sister’s side at the same moment she drew the blade across Theon’s neck. Both dropped to the floor. Behind Sandor, a distraught Arya, lamely holding an arm that seemed to be hanging by a thread, let out an agonized cry at the sight of Theon’s crumpled body on the floor.

She spun to Sandor, and her face fell then, and she wobbled before she fainted, only Sandor’s large arms preventing her from hitting the ground.

“Find the Maester,” Sandor barked to Rickon who nodded and left.

“Seven fucking hells,” Sandor muttered at the mess that had been made. He looked to Jeyne. “Are you alright?” She was pale and looked like she might faint, but she nodded. Then he looked to Theon’s dead body.

“What the fuck happened?” he barked out to Rickon.

“Yara....” Then he swallowed, looking away from Theon’s dead body. “They just wanted him to come with them. He said no and then.....” he trailed off.

Sandor heaved a great sigh. This was a fucking mess. He’d run to the yard to see at least twenty Ironborn engaged with his newly trained knights. The Ironborn might have had a chance if he hadn’t intervened. As it was, it was only moments before he’d more than evened the odds. He knew immediately that they had been after Theon, but had felt confident that with two wolves and Arya and Theon there, they would be able to hold the room. He was needed here in the yard; if any of these cunts got through, he knew there would be Stark blood on their swords. It had been under control until he’d seen Arya and her wolf join the fray.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he raged at her and she sent him a grin. He shook his head, fear gripping him. If she were here, that left the other’s vulnerable. How could she not see that?

“Fighting,” she grinned wildly. Then he had no more ability to watch her as two men attacked him. Arya held her own for a time, but these were seasoned men that the Greyjoy’s had brought, and Sandor watched in horror as one struck her side, and saw her arm break. He would have finished her, had it not been for her wolf, who at the last moment ripped the man’s throat out. When they had finally put the men down in the yard, Sandor barely spared Arya a glance. His job was to protect Robb’s heir, and he sprinted to the family solar, only to see dead bodies littering the floor, including Theon.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, angry at himself and Arya. He drove his sword into Yara Greyjoy and then caught Arya as she fainted; either from the sight of Theon’s body, blood loss, or the searing pain in her broken arm. It was probably all three.

Now he was watching as a Maester tended to her, confirming that her arm had almost been severed off. If he were lucky, he’d be able to save it, but she’d most likely never swing a sword again. And her friend was dead; a man who had been like a brother to these Starks. Sandor loved her like his own daughter, but he was so fucking angry at her. She had defied his orders; leaving those she was supposed to protect the vulnerable. And now she had paid the ultimate price.

They had moved her to her room, Sandor’s men had removed the bodies from the solar. They’d lost only three men, and he’d need to reward them. In their first true test, they had performed admirably. He’d also decreed the gates would be locked. Robb Stark’s open policy was finished. If Sandor were in charge of Winterfell, he’d know every cunt that stepped foot in the Castle. Rickon was angry at Arya for her recklessness, which would have been funny given the state they’d found him in a few short months ago, but he’d learned to listen to Robb and Sandor and even his goodsister Jeyne. He’d told Sandor what Shaggy had done, and the big man had never been gladder for the fucking direwolves than he was at that moment. They had no doubt saved both Rickon, Arya and little Ned.

The problem was Arya. She had woken the next day in more pain than she’d ever felt, and she knew so much of what had happened had been her fault. Theon’s death was solely on her shoulders; Rickon had angrily told her what had happened when she and Nymeria had left them until Sandor had barked at him to get out of the room. He sat on a chair by her bed, and she refused to look at him, her wolf curled up by her side. She had been told if she were lucky she’d keep her arm, but she’d never swing a sword again, and that was a hard and a bitter pill to swallow. She couldn’t even begin to mourn Theon’s death, because she felt the crushing weight of it being all her fault. And to her horror, Sandor did nothing to debase her of that notion. He wouldn’t lie; her actions had endangered everyone, and she’d disobeyed a direct order.

A day after the attack, Sandor sent the ravens to Castle Black and to Kings Landing. Both Stark siblings needed to know what had happened. Sandor had no idea if this were a ploy by Balon Greyjoy, but King Tywin would want to know. As for Robb Stark, Sandor reassured him that his siblings, his heir and wife were safe, but that Theon was dead. He didn’t know if Robb would race back from the Wall, but Sandor had also written him bluntly that he’d locked the Castle down.

If Robb had an issue with that, he could come back and take care of things himself. Sandor wanted to blame himself for what had happened, but after days of analyzing the situation, he could only find fault with the one who hadn’t listened to him. Still, she was young, and she had paid dearly for her mistakes. He wanted to rage and berate her, but he knew that wouldn’t do any of them a damn bit of good. What was done was done and a good man had died because of her choice. She would have to learn to live with that and Sandor would try to help her anyway he could. He just hoped that neither Sansa, nor Robb blamed him for what had transpired here in their home.

It helped that he had Rickon and Jeyne on his side, and that their loses had been minimal in grand scheme of things. The attack could have been so much worse. For now, a pall of sadness hung over Winterfell, but it was safe and it had withstood its first attack since the last time the Ironborn had tried to take it. For that, Sandor was proud and as he settled in to watch over Arya, he waited on word, from both North and South, on what new threats awaited them from beyond the Wall.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stannis, Jaime, Brienne, Tywin... they are all going to get called out for their actions
> 
> I stand by the Jaime-Stannis interaction, but I struggled with Brienne's hypocrisy, along with Stannis'. 
> 
> I know these are beloved characters, and I am trying to do them justice, but none of them, save perhaps Sansa and Shireen are really all good. Many have made horrible mistakes... but I want to see if they can grow from those mistakes
> 
> Also, Theon's death does hurt, almost more. He survived a lot, and now Arya's actions have a bigger impact than just her

_ Castle Black _

When Stannis Baratheon rode into Castle Black, he flew both the King's banner as well as his own. He was here for both and would brook no argument about who was in charge. King Tywin was firmly in control of the Seven Kingdoms, and Stannis Baratheon was here to ensure that every man, lord or wildling knew that fact. Jaime Lannister and Robb Stark might have repelled the Wildling invasion, but there were more critical decisions to be made than how to kill the free folk. Any army in Westeros would be able to take care of those peasants. It was the threat beyond that Wall that worried Stannis and the King.

Within minutes of dismounting, Stannis ordered all the lords at the Wall to meet in the Great Hall of Castle Black. He needed to establish he was here as Tywin Lannister's proxy. He spoke for the King, and his word was law.

It took an hour but assembled before him were some of the most impressive Lords of the Seven Kingdoms representing the Great Houses. Jaime and Kevan Lannister for the West; Lord Tarly for the Reach; Lord Royce from the Vale; the Blackfish for the Riverlands; and the Young Wolf, Lord Stark for the North. Stannis, of course, would speak for the Stormlands; and it felt right that finally, that title was his. Not Robert's and not Renly's. Only Dorne hadn't sent men, but considering how south the Kingdom was, Stannis knew that they would be hard-pressed to convince them of a threat that was an entire continent away. The final man who took a seat at the table was the newly elected Lord Commander for the Night's Watch, Jon Snow.

That was interesting, Stannis thought. Ned Stark's bastard had risen quickly to the highest position in the Night's Watch. The young man could hardly be older than his sister Sansa; perhaps a year or two at the most. Still a pup then, Stannis thought, but he'd won some friends in this frozen wasteland that was the North. When the men and their retainers had gathered in the hall, Stannis asked for an update. He learned that the leader of the free folk, a man named Mance Rayder was being held in the cells here at the Castle, along with hundreds of other Wildlings.

"Will he bend the knee?" Stannis asked and looked directly at Jon Snow.

"He will not, Lord Stannis," Jon said and shook his head at Mance's foolishness. "But other Wildlings might. It depends on what they are offered. For years, free folk, northerners and Crows have fought and killed each other."

"And why do they flee now, Jon Snow?" Stannis had determined immediately that this was the one person whom could answer his questions. It was clear that he knew more than most.

Jon swallowed hard and looked directly at the stern man in front of him. How much would he laugh at him when he gave him the reason for why the wildlings fled?

"Speak, Lord Commander," Stannis demanded. They had no time to waste.

"The flee the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead, My Lord," Jon said and held Stannis' gaze. Instead of being ridiculed, he saw the man nod at him, as if this were the answer he was expecting. Jon felt a slight glimmer of hope at Stannis Baratheon's reaction to his outrageous statement. Perhaps Tywin Lannister's proxy was more open-minded than most.

Shocked gasps rang the hall, and jeers and japes could be heard. "Lies," someone cried. "Stories to scare girls and old women," another said.

Alliser Thorne snorted and stood. "My Lord, Jon Snow is young and inexperienced, and does not speak for the Nights Watch," he began before Stannis interrupted him.

"Who are you?" Stannis demanded.

"Ser Alliser Thorne, My Lord," he stuttered a bit and then tried to continue.

"Is he not the Lord Commander?" Stannis barked.

"He is, My Lord, but the vote was close," Thorn said, and Stannis snorted.

"Close does not matter, does it, Thorne. Only winning matters." Stannis paused for a moment and eyed the man. "Let me guess. You came second."

Thorne coloured and a look of pure hatred came across his face before he stumbled onwards with his initial statement. "The Wildlings seek to murder, rape and pillage every man, woman and child in the North. If we let them through, the destruction they will wreak on the North will be immeasurable. It is the sworn duty of the Night's Watch to protect the realm of men."

Stannis's cold blue eyes looked directly at Thorne. "Then why do they risk certain death by attacking the Wall?"

Thorne stuttered. "Winter is coming, My Lord. They seek the southern climate, that is all. If you let them through the will rape and pillage the North and all the people who live there."

Jon wanted to smash the man's face in. He had one chance to convince the King's man about the real threat beyond the Wall, and Thorne was destroying it.

Stannis could see Jon Snow's frustration with this man. Jon would have to act decisively to bring him in line. A Commander that allowed his men to question him openly risked mutiny at any time. Whether Ser Alliser Thorne liked it or not, Jon Snow was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and Stannis Baratheon spoke for the King. Neither man had any sympathy that things had not gone Thorne's way; either for the throne or the command of the Night's Watch. Stannis made a note to speak to Jon about the practice of leadership after this meeting.

"My Lord," Jon interrupted Thorne, anger and frustration lacing his words, drawing Stannis Baratheon's attention back to him. "With all due respect, that is not why the Wildlings flee. They've survived winter before and would do so again. They flee a greater threat than winter. They flee from death itself. That is the threat that faces us all; Wildling or not."

Stannis looked back to the Lord Commander. He could see the young man believed his words. "We will visit this Mance together, Lord Commander," was all he would say and stood to go and talk with the prisoner, dismissing Thorne.

As expected, Mance was not prepared to bend the knee; not even to save his people. Stannis sentenced him to death, and Jon closed his eyes; partly in relief and partly in sorrow. Before leaving the cells, Stannis caught the eye of a large red-bearded man. Curious, this Wildling didn't seem to be afraid of Stannis, and he walked closer to the Wildling's cell.

"You do not seem afraid of me," Stannis stated, and Tormund snorted.

Jon put his hand on the pommel of his sword, unsure what the Wildling might do.

"Seen worse cunts than you," Tormund muttered, and Stannis gave him a steely look, before turning and leaving, Jon Snow on his heels.

"Mance Rayder will die tomorrow morning," Stannis stated unequivocally and Jon nodded.

"When he is gone, will the other's follow him? I didn't come all this way to be butcher, Jon Snow," Stannis snarked, and Jon sighed. The thought of killing the Wildlings was an unpleasant one for both men.

"How much time do you have?" Jon asked the intimidating man standing before him. Randyll Tarly was a hard man and had taught Jon an important lesson, but he was almost too rigid for Jon to learn from. The man in front of him holding himself with a kind of intractable fortitude. He commanded respect, and he was decisive. And for some reason, Jon felt he was willing to listen to him. He reminded Jon a bit of his father. Ned Stark had been honourable and fair to a fault. Jon sensed the same core of duty in Stannis Baratheon.

Stannis arched a single eyebrow and nodded and allowed Jon to lead him to his solar. Once settled, Ser Davos produced two mugs of mead and Jon looked at the man before him. He was quiet for a time, and while Stannis did not have time for this, he sensed that Jon Snow was the key to understanding the North. Rushing the new Lord Commander wouldn't help and wouldn't hurry things along. There was something more to this young man; more than a bastard that had risen above his station in life. Stannis could see the weariness and the worry on his shoulders as if a physical weight were pressing down on him.

"I need you to listen to what I'm saying. All of what I say, even though I know what it sounds like. I need you to keep an open mind," Jon said. Because there was a plea in his voice and not a command, Stannis nodded. He would not share with him what he had seen in the flames, but he could tell that Jon Snow had a story to tell; more, he could see that Jon Snow had a story he needed to share. What followed was the single greatest tale that Stannis had ever heard. He wanted to dismiss it out of hand, but couldn't.

"And everybody that dies is another member of the Army of the Dead," Jon said and swallowed hard. "Imagine if he makes it below the wall. All those people are just meat for his army," Jon concluded bleakly, and Stannis felt a shiver of dread snake down his spine. Tywin had been correct to send him here. If what Jon Snow said was true, the real threat wasn't the Wildlings; it was these White Walkers. And each man, woman and child that fell would be added to his ranks and would only help his cause, swelling his numbers and making the threat that much more significant. They needed to get the Wildlings below the Wall and come up with a plan on how to stop such an unnatural creature.

"And these Wildlings? Where are they now?" Stannis asked almost urgently, and Jon shook his head.

"They scattered when the Stark's and Lannister's attacked their camp," Jon told him honestly. "Tormund might tell us," Jon said shrugging, and Stannis nodded. Silence dominated the room, and all three men took stock of one another. In a different life, this boy in front of him might have been Lord Stark, and Stannis might have been King. But now they were just two men saddled with the responsibility of stopping the greatest potential threat to the seven Kingdoms since the Long Night eight thousand years ago.

"What kills the dead?" Stannis asked after a time, almost contemplatively and not expecting an answer.

"Fire and dragon glass," Jon told him immediately and handed Stannis a dagger, one of a precious few they had made from the dark stone. He saw the man's eyes light in recognition.

"You've seen this material before?" Jon said incredulously. Suddenly the task before him didn't seem quite so impossible.

Stannis barked out a short, harsh laugh. "For years I was stuck on a miserable fucking island called Dragonstone. Nothing but this shit beneath the cliffs." He handed it to Ser Davos, and the man whistled.

"It's shit to work with. Breaks all the time and it's fucking useless," Davos said. "Until now, apparently."

Jon's face lit with excitement. "So you know where we can mine it? To make weapons?"

Stannis nodded, and all three men felt a glimmer of hope. Stannis found himself liking this Jon Snow. The young man was dedicated to saving the realm he guarded. How many would have never believed his tale? How would he have faced such a threat without the backing of the King? Somehow, Stannis knew that no matter what, Jon Snow would always do his duty. Stannis respected honourable men that did their duty even in the face of impossible odds. It was a grim fate to be assigned to the Night's Watch, and yet this bastard had risen fast to become the Lord Commander.

Before he took his leave, Stannis turned, "Tell me Jon Snow, has the Red Priestess arrived?"

Jon frowned and shook his head, having no idea who Lord Baratheon was talking about. Jon was so caught up in his own thoughts, he missed the look of mixed relief and dread that crossed Stannis Baratheon’s face.

The next morning Jon held a meeting with the Night's Watch to assign tasks. Thorne and Slynt openly mocked him; they japed and talked when he was. Jon let it all go until Slynt was stupid enough to defy a direct command to take over at Greyguard Castle. Shaking his head, loath because he knew what he had to do, Jon asked Slynt one more time to follow his order, before the ignorant man told him to take his order and shove it up his bastard arse.

Feeling the raging heat his blood, outwardly calm, Jon called for his sword and ordered Slynt to be taken outside. There had already been one execution that morning when Stannis himself had executed Mance Rayder, and now there would be another. Ned Stark's words thrummed through Jon's head. The man who passed the sentence must also carry it out. It was the honourable way. It was the Northern way- the Stark way. He may not have Ned Stark's name, Jon thought, but he was Ned Stark's son. Always. The burden of command had never felt so heavy, but as Slynt was dragged to the courtyard, Jon caught Robb's eyes and saw the approval there. Robb had done the same when dealing with Ramsey Snow. Straightening his shoulder's, Slynt was terrified and begging, but Jon refused to bend. He unsheathed Longclaw and let the sword's sharp edge take the craven man's head. Calmly, Jon handed his sword to his men to be cleaned and then turned to resume the meeting, but not before seeing the spark of approval in both Stannis Baratheon's eyes as well as Randyll Tarly's. Slynt was a hard lesson for those in the Night's Watch to learn, but a necessary one. Jon Snow was truly the Lord Commander now.

After, Stannis found Jon. Before they went to speak with the Wildling, Stannis voiced his approval for Jon's actions and warned him about Alliser Thorne.

"I don't know what to do about him," Jon confessed, and Stannis nodded.

"Send him to another Castle; you have the men to back you, including the southern lords and armies. There is no way any man will say no unless he wants to lose his head as well," Stannis told him wisely.

Jon nodded and thanked him, thinking on that advice, and they went to Tormund in the cells. This time, without his King beside him, Tormund was willing to talk as long as Jon Snow was present.

"Hardhome," was all he'd say when Stannis asked where the rest of the Wildlings fled. "They won't let you step foot off the boat unless I'm there," he called, and Jon confirmed that was most likely true.

Before Stannis could gather the Lords again to talk about the mission to Hardhome, he and Jon were approached by Robb Stark, who had a worried look on his face. Jaime Lannister was by his side. The two had been spending more time together, while Jon had gravitated to Stannis.

"What is it?" Jon demanded, grabbing at Robb, instantly worried for his family.

"The Ironborn attacked Winterfell, trying to get Theon back," Robb said, swallowing hard, crumpling the raven in his hand. "Sandor managed to put them down, but Theon is dead, along with Yara Greyjoy. Arya has been injured, badly."

"Fuck," Jon swore, and then Robb looked around frantically.

"I need to go home," Robb muttered, and Stannis reached out and stopped him. Robb wanted to swing wildly at the man, but one look into his stern face and he stilled.

"Lord Stark, your place is here, with your men," Stannis told the young Lord firmly, his piercing gaze looking straight into Robb's eyes. Robb wanted to squirm, to shake him off, but he held his gaze. Stannis's voice was low and intense.

Robb shook his head. "My family is in danger, my Castle attacked, My Lord," he started to protest, and Stannis gave him a sharp look.

"Your men repelled the attack. Your wife and heir are safe, along with your sister and brother," Stannis summed up. He gave him a penetrating look, his cold blue eyes not letting Robb escape his judgement. "Are you a worried boy Lord Stark, or a man willing to lead his men into war?"

Robb swallowed hard and looked at Jon, then at Jaime. Both were sympathetic, but he could see they thought he belonged here. He wanted to do nothing more than ride back to Winterfell, but he knew the real threat was in the North; that there was something else out there, something that was more dangerous than all the Greyjoys combined. And he trusted Sandor. The man had done everything and more to keep Robb's family safe, and now he had locked to castle down and would keep the people of Winterfell safe as well. And Robb feared if he rode how now, he’d kill his sister for her foolishness. His heart ached for all that Theon had survived, and warmed knowing he had died to protect Robb’s family. He could hardly process the implications of Theon’s death at this moment, but knew his place was here. There would be time to mourn their dead afterwards.

Robb nodded at Stannis and Jon clasped him to his chest. "Soon brother, and you'll be able to return to them." Then he followed Jon and Stannis into the Hall where the Lords had gathered again. Stannis stood with Jon beside him and told of the plan to rescue those at Hardhome.

Grumbling whispers echoed through the Hall before outright defiance wared with the stupidity of disobeying the King's appointed man. Stannis bellowed for any man willing to defy the King to do so openly, and ravens would be sent immediately to King Tywin who would pay a visit to their house with the Lannister army still in the south.

"House Reyne and House Castamere should be ample reminders of what happens to Houses that disobey Tywin Lannister," Stannis's low, deep voice whipped through the hall.

Every man shut his mouth. Jaime couldn't help but smirk. His father's reputation was fearsome, indeed, and no one wanted to be another footnote in history.

It was decided that Robb, Jaime, Kevan, and Randyll Tarly would accompany Stannis and Jon to Hardhome along with Tormund and Baratheon men on the ships. Jon would leave Edd and Sam in charge of Castle Black along with Lord Royce and the Blackfish. Jon saw Lord Tarly sneer when he heard the position his son had been given in Jon's absence but thankfully said nothing.

Lord Royce approached Jon after the meeting had broken apart, as he was walking gingerly to his rooms. He'd have to call for a bath; the beating he had taken the other day from Lord Tarly still had his muscles screaming in protest.

"Lord Commander," Royce called, and Jon stopped and turned. He recognized the Vale knight and nodded respectfully at him. Jon had come to realize that there were finally men at Castle Black that could help him be a better Commander; a better leader for his men than ever before and he meant to learn from all of them. They reminded him of the old bear, Joer Mormont, and all the lessons he had taught Jon.

"Lord Royce," Jon said and nodded at him respectfully.

"Before you leave, I wanted to impart to you, that my loyalties lie with you and your family, Lord Commander," Lord Royce said a bit stiff and formal. He too had heard the bitter and jealous rumours circulating the castle about the bastard's appointment to the top job. "Your sister, the Queen, she has my loyalty until my dying breath."

Jon looked at the man and saw the truth in his face. He nodded, happy to hear that Sansa inspired such devotion. "Tell me Lord Royce, is my sister's husband a good man?" Jon cocked his head and looked at the Vale knight.

Royce snorted at the thought of anyone calling Tywin Lannister a good man. When he saw Jon stiffen, he sighed. "Tywin Lannister is one of the coldest and harshest men in all of Westeros. He is solely dedicated to his family name and House Lannister, Lord Snow." Royce held up a hand before Jon could protest. "But, he is fully and deeply in love with your sister. No harm will ever come to her from her husband." He paused and thought about what he had witnessed in King's Landing. "They are a force, Jon Snow. Deeply dedicated to one another and the realm. I have rarely been in the company of such a couple."

Jon nodded, satisfied at the man's answer. He had never met Tywin Lannister, but his father had never spoken highly of the man, and Jon had been worried about Sansa. She was alone in King's Landing, and he feared for her. But everywhere he went, people said she was well-loved. Stannis. Jaime. Kevan. Robb's man Sandor. And now, Lord Royce. He had only their words to go on, but it seemed what they said was true. Sansa Lannister loved her husband, and he loved her. Now that he was Lord Commander, he would send her a raven. They had never been close as children, but she was family; she was his sister.

"Thank you," he told Lord Royce. The man hesitated as if he had more to say. "What?" Jon asked, a worried frown creasing his brow.

"Are you aware that there are men here whom dislike you, Lord Snow?" Royce asked, almost tentative and understating the problem.

Jon threw his head back and barked out a laugh; his first in quite some time. "I'm aware. I'm a bastard, I'm young, and I sympathize with the Wildlings. I'd imagine a fair number of them would drive a sword directly into my heart if given half the chance," Jon said, and Royce nodded glad Jon Snow understood how precarious his position was in the Castle with his own sworn brothers.

"We will hold the Castle while you are gone, Lord Commander," the Vale man said and Jon nodded and thanked him. He clasped his hand before he turned to take his leave.

Stannis was lost in his thoughts when he somewhat stumbled into Lady Brienne and Jaime Lannister after the latest meeting. His face settled into a grimace; here before him was the woman from his region who'd openly supported his brother. He sneered at the two of them; Kingslayer and this woman from Tarth that had supported Renley instead of him. Stannis wondered what she was doing here.

Before he could even ask, she spat at his feet, a sneer on her ugly face. "Stannis Baratheon, the man who murdered his brother."

Shocked outrage, before shame, lit Stannis's severe features. What did she know? Since the Red Priestess had left Dragonstone, Stannis had come to understand her influence had been evil and he was deeply ashamed of his part in his brother's death. But he had been reassured that no one would know his involvement.

Jaime placed a hand on Brienne's arm, uncertain what she was saying, but he wanted her to be careful. Stannis was loyal to Tywin and Jaime still wasn't sure that his father had forgiven Brienne for her lack of judgement when it came to protecting Lady Sansa down in King's Landing. Up here, well Brienne hardly had any backing.

"Careful, Lady Brienne," Jaime murmured, watching Stannis closely. It was fascinating, that quick brief look of shame that crossed the Storm Lord's face. Last Jaime had heard, Stannis had been holed up on Dragonstone, leagues away from his brother.

"A loyal house that was not loyal to the rightful King. Do not speak to me, Lady Brienne, of honour and duty when you did not do yours."

Brienne glared at Jaime and then spun, striding ardently away from the two men, who glared at one another. Simply because they'd both sworn themselves to King Tywin, did not make them automatic friends. Jaime hated the hypocrisy of the Baratheon's, and the way that Robert had treated his sister, and Stannis could not stand the arrogant firstborn son of Lord Tywin that had never taken his rightful place, instead content to fuck his sister and the seven kingdoms.

"Kingslayer," Stannis spat.

"Kinslayer?" Jaime said, making it a question and arching his eyebrow. He saw Stannis snarl and turn and stalk away, no closer to an answer than he had been when they'd first encountered Stannis Baratheon. Than Jaime shook his head; there was a clear history between the two, but one he had no time to figure out. They sailed for Hardhome at first light, and he had a son to prepare for his first battle.

* * *

The trip to Hardhome was fast, hard and cold. First, they rode to Eastwatch by the Sea, where they boarded Stannis's ships for the brisk sail up the coast. Jon spoke extensively with Stannis during the journey, rarely leaving his side. Jon loved his brother, but this was the man he had to convince to let the Wildlings through the Wall. And this was a man he could learn from.

"Will they listen?" Stannis asked Jon as they approached the seaside Wildling encampment.

Jon shrugged. "Some might. Others, no. The Thenns will be the hardest to convince. Mance was the one that held them together. They're free folk because they don't like rules and Lords and following orders."

"You sound as if you envy them, Jon Snow," Stannis observed, and Jon shrugged.

"I've been a bastard my entire life. My life was better than most; my siblings and my father loved me," Jon told Stannis. "But I spent time with them; lived with them, hunted with them. Most of them are just people, living their lives," Jon finished.

Stannis grunted. He was a second son and the brother of a man that had taken the Iron Throne in a fury over losing this man's Aunt, destroying a House that had ruled Westeros for three hundred years. Then he'd been passed over by his brother for the family seat, and given Dragonstone instead of what was rightfully his. And yet, he could not imagine existing in any world except the one he did. Stannis was a man that was comfortable with rules and etiquette and expectations. The idea of a free society sent a small sense of panic down his spine.

"But they know something is out there; something is coming for them?" Stannis persisted, and Jon nodded.

That night, as the group ate their meagre dinner together, Jon told them of the White Walkers, the dead men who were more than merely animated corpses. When pressed for more information, Jon got frustrated.

"We don't know more. I don't know if there's a leader, a Night King, of if these fuckers make the dead rise on their own. No one fucking knows," he was breathing heavy. "All I know is that fire kills the Wights and dragon glass kills the Walkers."

"And how do you know this about the dragon glass? That it kills these White Walkers?" Lord Tarly sneered.

Jon met the man's gaze and said, "Because your son killed one with that dagger you're holding, Lord Tarly." Jon was serious and watched the Reach commander startle. Jon held his gaze, and the man saw nothing but the truth there.

"Impossible," he spat, and Jon shook his head at his unwillingness to believe him. It was what Jon had expected from the southern Lord, so it wasn't that surprising.

Tormund was in a foul mood. It was one thing to deal with crows, but now the North was crawling with all these southern cunts. He knew that they'd have a hard time convincing the free folk to leave, especially with the group they were bringing. Tormund barged into the room where they were eating, and everyone turned to stare at him.

"What will you tell them?" he demanded of the one they called Stannis; the one they said spoke for the King.

Stannis gave him a cold look. Tormund was not deterred.

"The free folk. Do you lie? Will they be allowed South?" the Wildling persisted, and he saw the little crow's brother stiffen. Ahhh, the Young Wolf he thought. He turned to Robb. "You're Lord Stark. Are you going to let thousands of Wildlings in the North?"

"If they bend the knee to the King, then yes," Stannis said and directly, answering instead of Lord Stark. Robb sucked in an angry breath but didn't protest. It wasn't Lord Stark's call; it was the King's. They had discussed this and Jon had told them they needed to save as many as possible. Still, it would be Stark land and the North that would feel the weight of such an action.

"There's good land in the Gift," Robb ground out, then rose and walked to Tormund. "But there are rules."

Tormund scoffed, and Robb grabbed him, uncaring that the Wildling towered above him. "There are fucking rules, Wildling. And the minute they break those rules, they will be punished," Robb seethed at him. Tormund just growled at the little Crow's brother.

Stannis came to stand between the two of them.

"Fucking Kneelers," Tormund grumbled, and Stannis sniffed.

"For their lives, yes. That is the agreement. They get to live, but they live by the rules in the South," and Tormund shook his head.

"Wildlings have been raiding and pillaging and raping the North for centuries," Robb told him.

"And you fuckers kill us whenever you catch us," Tormund responded, standing eye to eye with Robb Stark, unwilling to back down in the least. Southern lords did not intimidate him.

"Enough," Jon said and broke the two apart. "We have a job. This can wait," he pleaded with the two of them.

Jaime and Kevan exchanged a glance and then looked to Stannis. "And my father, Tywin Lannister, agreed to allow Wildlings into his Kingdom?" Jaime said, his voice both incredulous and skeptical; this was not the Tywin that Jaime knew.

Stannis nodded curtly. He'd been worried Tywin's first-born son would challenge him, but so far, Jaime had allowed Stannis to act as Tywin's delegate here. Perhaps it was the letter he had delivered to him upon first arriving at Castle Black from the King himself; either way, it had made things easier not to be second guessed by Jaime Lannister openly. Stannis had never held him in high regard and even less when he'd learned of the parentage of Cersei's children. He saw the blond-haired boy at Jaime's side at Castle Black how anyone in the realm had ever believed him to be Robert's was beyond Stannis's comprehension. Baratheon's were dark haired; Lannister's were blond.

"There's no place for a squire on this mission, Ser Jaime," Stannis bit out and Jaime bristled under his command, the first time he has since Stannis became his father's proxy.

There was a part of Jaime that struggled with how to understand how that had happened. When he'd left with the Lannister army, Stannis had still been a self-styled King exiled on Dragonstone that Tywin held in wary regard; now he was his father's, right-hand man. That was quite a change for a man that had wanted the throne his father now occupied. It made Jaime's head spin slightly.

"My nephew is well equipped to handle himself," Jaime retorted, and Stannis snorted.

"Do not propagate your lies to me, Kingslayer. We all know who that boy belongs to. Just like your two other children you tried to pass off as my brother's as you and that whore of a sister cuckolded the King," Stannis spat at him. Jon and Robb glance between the two men, tension ripe and thick in the air.

"Your brother whored his way through King's Landing," Jaime seethed, "and beat his Queen, regularly. Such a noble king, Fat Robert Baratheon. Tell me Stannis, did you approve when he practically raped his wife?”

Stannis grimaced at that. He hated how weak his brother was; in wine and whores and temper. For a man that had won the Throne, he was never very interested in actually ruling. The man was given the seven kingdoms and pissed it away and treated his wife horribly.

It was a cry that they were approaching Hardhome that disrupted the tension in the small room, and Jon moved quickly to be with Tormund on the first boat. Before Jaime could leave, Robb stopped him with a hand to his chest.

"Did my father know about your children?" Robb asked, eyes glittering and hard.

Jaime nodded and then answered his next question. "Your sister knows, as well. She knows all the dirty Lannister secrets, and some Stark and Tully ones as well. She's one of the smartest people I know," Jaime told Robb and saw him assimilate this information. "And she still loves me, Lord Stark, so think on that before you judge either her or me."

After a moment, Robb nodded, and both men went above deck.

"You follow my lead here," Jon was saying, giving each man that would come to shore with him a hard look. He didn't give a fuck if Stannis spoke for the King, or if Jaime fucking Lannister was the King's son. Up here, his word and Tormund's would be the only ones that counted; at least at first. Jon was resolute and wouldn't move until each man nodded at him. Then he looked at Tormund.

"Ready Little Crow?" Tormund asked, and Jon nodded. The boat going ashore held Jaime, Robb, Stannis, Tormund, Jon and Randyll. Their men would follow; this was a mission to rescue as many people as possible, not get into a protracted battle with the Wildlings. It was all about to go to shit when Tormund beat the Lord of Bones to death, shooting a wild look to the rest of the Wildlings who then let them pass.

Stannis stood back and observed. He saw these people as nothing more than lawless peasants. They were like unruly children who refused to heed their parents and had moved away from the south to have no rules. But he could see the fear in their eyes, and he knew that something was coming for them. When Jon Snow showed them the dragon glass daggers, he noted the look of relief on their faces. As predicted, there were some willing to come, and some that outright refused.

He stepped in to promise their safety below the wall.

"And who are you to give such assurances?" a Wildling woman asked.

"I speak for the King," Stannis said.

"We don't follow no King," someone cried, and Stannis gave them a hard look.

"You will if you want to be safe in the south. King Tywin Lannister, first of his name, sits on the Iron Throne. You will bend the knee, and you will follow our customs and our rules," Stannis ground out and saw a murmur of discontent.

Jon sighed. "We hate each other. We always will. But right now, we don't have time for our hatred. There is a bigger threat; a threat to anyone who is living. And they're coming for us all," Jon said, and Stannis could see why men would follow this bastard. He had what Stannis never would; an ability to connect on some fundamental level with people. He was likeable and honourable, and people wanted to follow him.

A quick assurance from Tormund that Jon Snow could be trusted and a decision had been made. The Thenns stormed out, and Jon shook his head before he glanced at the Wildling woman who had begun to mobilize people to the waiting boats.

When Jon sent her a questioning look, she shrugged. "I have two daughters, Crow." He nodded, understanding her motivations.

Standing outside, by the shore, Robb, Jaime, Stannis and Randyll watched as women, children and elderly were shuffled down to the docks. Before he knew it, Tommen was standing by his side, fascinated by the Wildlings and the North and Jaime smiled indulgently at his son. This entire trip had been nothing more than an adventure for him.

Stannis watched everything, missing nothing, so when he saw Jon stiffen, he immediately went on alert. Jon had been trying to hurry the exodus along.

"What is it?" Stannis barked to him. He saw the fear in Jon's eyes. "They're here," was all Jon would say and looked around wildly.

Who is here? Stannis wanted to ask, but within a moment it became apparent that whatever was chasing the Wildlings had found them here at the edge of the sea. Jon and Tormund ran back into the village and Stannis followed them.

Stannis watched in growing unease as the wind grew colder, and ice formed with each breath. The gates to the village were closed, even though hundreds remained outside the protection of the wooden walls, and the screams that could be heard on the other side were otherworldly. And then a horror unlike any he'd been prepared for confronted him, as creatures that had previously been alive hurtled themselves at anything that was living. He watched as they scaled gates, climbed fences, dove from rooftops. They were relentless, like a wave in the ocean that would never stop. He saw children that were walking skeletons, and women with half their faces gone, and all with one goal. To make every living creature one of them.

The men who had come with Jon unsheathed their blades, and waded into the fray, determined to give as many as possible a chance to escape. When the giant broke from the hut, Robb gaped in astonishment at such a sight, before shaking his head and cutting down as many dead as he could. He had lost Jaime in the chaos and swung wildly at the creatures that were attacking them.

At one point, Stannis and Jon were fighting back to back, when a White Walker came towards them. Desperate, Stannis drove his sword into the creature, but nothing happened. It wasn't until Jon's Valyrian steel sword connected with him that he shattered.

"Retreat!" Jon Snow yelled, pulling Stannis to his feet.

"What the fuck was that?" Stannis was yelling at him, and Jon gave him a look filled with fearful incredulity.

"White Walker," Jon said.

On their way to the docks, they came across Jaime Lannister, who was cradling Tommen's dead body in his arms.

"Fuck," Stannis swore and went to drag Tywin's son to one of the boats.

"You have to leave him," Jon was shouting, helping Stannis get Jaime to the docks. Jon looked around wildly for his brother and saw him helping others into waiting boats, waving at them. Finally, Stannis slapped Jaime hard, and he shook himself from his grief, and the Kingslayer dropped his son, before crawling and scrambling back to the boats. It was only when they were aboard a small craft that they watched helplessly as the dead overran the living that was left. Then they all saw the Night King himself descend upon the shore.

"Fuck," Stannis said again and looked to Jon, who hadn't taken his eyes off of him. "Who is that?" Stannis said, and Jon shook his head.

"The Night King I'd wager if I had to guess," he said quietly, and they all watched as he let his arms rise and those who had previously been corpses on the ground, opened their blue eyes, stood and stared at them.

Jaime retched, seeing his son rise as an undead wight, and Robb went to him, overwhelmed by all he had just witnessed.

Stannis, Randyll, Tormund and Jon stood stoically at the front of the small boat and saw ice begin to form at the water's edge. They would be safe; for now, but the damage had been done. Fewer than five thousand had been saved, and the Night King added thousands more to his army today.

When they were finally back on the ship, Jaime was a shell of a man, and Robb handed him off to Kevan after explaining what had happened to Tommen. Kevan's eyes filled with tears. That's when Stannis grabbed Jon and shook him.

"What the fuck was that?" he almost yelled, his composure gone. Never had he imagined anything like that even after the stories that the Queen had told him and Jon had said what was coming for them. Tormund came and separated the two men, patting them both on the chest, which Stannis detested. He needed to get himself under control immediately. He turned and tried to slow his racing heart. He'd faced certain death before, trapped at Storm's End, but never something like this. The only good that came from this mission was now he knew exactly what they were facing.

"That's what's coming for us. All of us. Every living thing in the world if we don't fucking stop it," Jon yelled back, breathing heavy, sick at the loss of life they had just witnessed and Stannis turned back to the young Lord Commander. He could see the weariness on his face. "None of it fucking matters. Not your titles, and your fancy houses and your Iron Throne if we don't figure out a way to stop him," Jon roared, beyond tired.

Robb swallowed hard and looked at his brother. It was no wonder he had seemed as if the weight of Westeros was on his shoulders. He thought about his people and the North, who were in direct line for this Night King, and wanted to be sick himself. But he saw that he couldn't lose his composure now. Not when others were.

Randyll Tarly swallowed hard and pinned Jon with a look. "My son killed one of them?" he said, asking about the White Walkers and Jon nodded. Then Lord Tarly looked at Stannis, who shook his head.

"How do we fight something like that?" Robb whispered, horrified at what he had just seen. Stannis straightened and looked at Jon. "Dragon glass kills them?"

Jon nodded. A plan was beginning to formulate in Stannis' mind, but it would take time and a combined effort from the entire realm. He looked at Jon. "All these Wildlings will be given safe passed south of the Wall. We need to get back to Castle Black."

Jon nodded, knowing when they got to Eastwatch, they would send the Wildlings south. No one would argue now; not after what they had seen. Robb found his brother and gripped him hard. "How do we fight that, Jon?" Robb asked again, and he could see real fear in his eyes.

"With every man, we've got," Jon replied. He was tired, but he no longer felt alone. The burden wasn't merely his to bear. He didn't have to try to convince the south that the threat was real. They still had no idea how they might win the great war, but now he had allies.

Later, when everyone had retreated to their own space, Stannis found Jon, wrapped in his black cloak and staring out into the inky blackness of the sea. He stood tall and still beside the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Both men were comfortable with the silence until finally, Stannis broke it.

"Your sister told us stories," Stannis began, his voice low and rough. He shook his head, still trying to reconcile what he had seen a short while ago.

"Aye, Sansa loved Old Nan's tales. Used to get herself so scared. Arya'd make fun of her for days, but she always came back for more," Jon said, smiling at the memory. "Then she'd find books and read them until I thought her eyes would fall out." Jon gave Stannis a look.

"She's a remarkable woman, your sister and a good Queen for the realm," Stannis told him, and Jon nodded.

"Hard to believe that she married Tywin Lannister. Sansa always dreamed of a golden prince, but I suppose Joffrey turned out to be more monster than anything," Jon said, and Stannis snorted.

"He was a vile, cruel and useless man," Stannis spat. They were quiet for a while; both lost in their thoughts.

"She has my daughter," Stannis spoked quietly, and Jon gave him a look, arching an eyebrow at that statement. Stannis waved a hand. "Shireen is in love with Sansa, and your sister took her in when I was sent here." A pregnant pause extended between them. "The thought of that coming for her....." Stannis trailed off. He hated Jaime Lannister, but the horror the man must be feeling to see your child rise as such a creature was incomprehensible. Stannis barely kept the fear from showing on his face. Men would look to him to lead now.

"I need you, Jon Snow, by my side in this fight," Stannis said urgently and held up a hand before Jon could protest. "This is no longer about your vows, or the Night's Watch, or previous alliances. This is a fight for humanity, and you know this enemy better than most."

Jon thought about that and nodded. He'd vowed to guard the realms of men, and this was the greatest threat to that realm. He nodded at Stannis whose shoulders sagged slightly in relief.

He still had no idea how they might go about defeating such an otherworldly foe, but Stannis Baratheon would find a way or die trying, and he knew that Jon Snow would as well. For now, the others would make their way back to Castle Black, and he would sail south to King's Landing. He needed to speak with the King directly. He'd send Jon Snow, Robb Stark, the Lannisters and Randyll Tarly to Castle Black knowing they had bought themselves some time and that they would train the men for the upcoming fight. They needed as many skilled men as they could in the North. He told Jon Snow his plans and saw him nod.

* * *

_Meanwhile... _

Jaime was numb. He barely could comprehend what had just happened. He'd known when he had come back to King's Landing that his son Joffrey's time would be limited. As much as the boy was his blood, there was something wrong with him. He was unnecessarily cruel and took pleasure in inflicting pain upon others. Jaime had seen the threat immediately he was to the family. He and Cersei had done the boy no favours by allowing him to get away with the things he had growing up. It was mostly his sister's influence, but Jaime also had some responsibility. He'd mourned when he was dead, but Joffrey's death hadn't devastated him.

When Cersei had died, he'd been lost for weeks. He still was if he were candid. Travelling away from King's Landing had helped; being with his son had helped him more. Tommen and Brienne had made all the difference in helping him recover from her death, and Jaime had enjoyed his son immensely. He'd been proud of him during the ride to the Wall. And now he was gone. Cut down so quickly, in an instant. And then afterwards, afterwards....

Jaime was sick again, and Kevan sat there helpless, unable to do anything to stop such a horror. After a time, Jaime's broken voice reached his Uncle across the cabin. "I thought it a jape; a tall tale. Jon Snow, Ned Stark's bastard, telling us to burn the bodies and that there was a greater threat than the Wildlings." Jaime's voice was hollow and bitter. Kevan was helpless. He'd loved Tommen, and had seen how excited he was to be by Jaime's side. A knock sounded at the door, and Robb Stark pushed in, his face just as pale and terrified as anyone. He stood awkwardly before he handed something to Jaime. It was Tommen's sword. Someone had grabbed it in haste when they'd seen the boy fall and as they were trying to get Jaime back to the boats.

Jaime's eyes filled with tears as he took it from Robb, and he nodded. How the fuck could they explain what they had seen? Who would believe them? How did you raise the dead? How did you kill them? And anyone who fell would just become one of them. How did you win against an enemy like that? They needed no food, no water, no shelter. They would never rest. Jaime's head was spinning. Kevan gestured to a chair and Robb sunk into it. No one wanted to be alone tonight, so the two men sat vigil over Jaime Lannister, who once again mourned a dead son that he could not even claim as his own.

* * *

_King's Landing _

The day had come, and the twin Princes of King Tywin and Queen Sansa would be formally introduced to the court. Sansa had ensured that Shireen had her first proper gown for the occasion, and the girl had been beside herself with excitement. Her sons would wear Lannister colours, but Sansa had also sewn tiny direwolves into their clothing and Tywin smiled indulgently at her when he had run his fingers along with her stitches. She was still displeased that they would be out in the open and vulnerable, but Jerrod and Dacey had explained over and over again, the guards that were present and were willing to die for them. Finally, they looked to Tywin as Sansa continued to fret, and he came and pressed a kiss to her cheek and wrapped his arms around her.

"The realm needs to see my heir, Sansa," Tywin told her, and she nodded, but he could see the tears in her eyes. She loved her sons so much, and the thought that harm might come to them almost paralyzed her.

"Sansa," Tywin said, and she nodded again and then buried herself in his chest where his arms came around her. He leaned down to whisper into her ear, "My love, they will be fine." She nodded again and then cleaned her face before she brought Jason to her arms. Tywin would bring in Tysan as he was the heir apparent. They would be announced and then presented to the court so that everyone could see the next King of the Seven Kingdoms. When they stopped outside the Throne Room, Tywin gave her one more look to ensure she was able to perform this duty, and she nodded. She schooled her features in a bland mask that she often wore for the Court and then heard them announced.

All hail His Grace, King Tywin of House Lannister, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Her Grace, Queen Sansa of Houses Stark and Lannister, Princess of the North, and presenting for the first time, Tysan of House Lannister, first of his name, heir to the King and his brother Jason, of House Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock.

Flanked by their family, Tywin and Sansa brought the two new princes to the court, and gasps of delight rang through the great room. Almost no one outside of their immediate family had seen them, and walking beside Tywin, Sansa felt a swell of pride. They had done this; they had secured their family's legacy and taken the Iron Throne and now produced an heir. An heir that would not be questioned; an heir that was already beloved because his mother was one of the most adored Queens in recent memory and his father had brought back peace and prosperity to the seven kingdoms.

Tywin and Sansa rose on the dais, and with Tyrion, Margaery and Genna on one side, and Lady Catelyn on the other turned and showed the court the princes, until cheers rang from the Halls. Once the formal presentation of the children had taken place, Tywin and Sansa were to mingle with the Lords and Ladies of the Court. This was what had worried Sansa; she didn't want anyone upsetting her sons or grabbing at them. Tywin hovered but had passed Tysan off to Catelyn, and Jerrod, Addam and Dacey stood silent guard.

"Ah, King Tywin and Queen Sansa," Oberyn Martell and Ellaria were the first to approach them. "Such a bountiful pregnancy, Your Grace," Oberyn smirked towards Sansa.

She had regained her pre-pregnancy form, and the Prince from Dorne still tended to eye her like she was a tasty lemon treat even though she never gave him any cause to do so. She refrained from rolling her eyes at him, but just barely. It was well known that Oberyn had many bastard daughters, but no sons and Sansa wasn't a fool. Every man wanted sons, and she saw the brief envy and jealousy that crossed his face. Tywin was pleased; he'd heard more than one sly jape from the man's mouth, and this would put to be any rumours of his virility to rest permanently.

Ellaria, herself a mother five times, softened for the first time, and almost cooed at the babies. She and Sansa shared their first genuine exchange.

"A mother's love knows no bounds, my Queen," Ellaria said, and Sansa nodded at her.

"I could not have imagined it before I had them," Sansa replied, and the two women exchanged a soft smile the way that all mothers did.

"Blessings on you and your children, Your Grace," Ellaria said, and Sansa heard the sincerity in her voice.

Next was the Tyrells. Olenna, of course, had gained entry to their apartments one day with Lady Margaery to see the Princes. Sansa doubted anything would keep her out, and she shot an eagle eye down to the twins.

"Well, they'll be no doubts that those are your lions, Tywin," she japed and arched an eyebrow at him. Indeed, both of Tywin's sons looked just like him. He stiffened and was about to reply when the old dowager rolled on. "Dragonstone is it? That's a greater prize than we had hoped for." Her eyes narrowed as if she were trying to see the trap and Tywin met her gaze. He and Tyrion had talked at length about the Keep, and despite the initial awkwardness that had come from Tywin inadvertently revealing Tyrion's true parentage, their relationship was more cordial now than ever.

Tyrion had spent long hours with Sansa discussing the implications of his birth; working through all the reasons why Tywin didn't get rid of him at any point in time, explaining his awful childhood, and then breaking down at the thought of how he was conceived. Out of those lengthy discussions, Sansa had gradually gotten him comfortable holding the babies, and they had discussed the Great Lion at length. At one point, Tyrion had come to the realization that knowing what he did now, his father's behaviour could be explained. Not excused, but justified. And shockingly enough, Tyrion now had no issues speaking his mind to Tywin in the small council meetings. It was almost baffling until he'd confessed one day that he had always felt that he had been lacking and that's why he was unlovable. Knowing what he knew now, he had accepted that Tywin was most likely incapable of loving him the way he would a trueborn son and that it was no reflection upon him; merely a fact. Sansa's jaw had dropped open at that statement, and Tyrion laughed.

"Sansa, my entire life, I could not for the life of me understand why he hated me, even if I had killed his beloved wife. And now, I know. I have a reason," he told her and sipped his wine, almost content. For the first time he realized it wasn't him that was lacking, but his father.

"But still, you were an innocent child," she began, and he waved a hand away. He had tried to imagine what he would do if someone had raped his wife, and then he was forced to raise that child. Perhaps he would have learned to love them; he liked to think he was different than his father. But if his wife died and he was forced to raise that child, well, Tyrion could understand his father's rage and hatred towards him. He didn't excuse it, but he could now understand it. And Tyrion was a man that needed to understand things.

"That is not how my father is built. He loved Jaime and still treated him abysmally as a child; me worse. And yet, I always knew there was a missing piece to the puzzle," he told her, and she could see the truth in his eyes.

What Tyrion hadn't told her, or anyone, not even his lovely wife who was now almost five months pregnant, was that he dreamed of dragons each night. It had started the night, Tywin had told him who his father was, and knowing that he was getting Dragonstone fueled these dreams, or so he believed. It was the seat that the Targaryen princes were given before they inherited the throne. Tyrion had no illusions; he was never going to sit on the Iron Throne. But, he was being given his proper birthright, and that was something that had been denied to him for far too long. He couldn't even pinpoint when his obsession with dragons had begun; he'd read about them tirelessly when he was a child. And now he knew he was half-dragon and half lion. He still hadn't told Margaery. He loved his wife, but he knew she would push for more, and right now, Tyrion was still sorting out his new reality. And his relationship with his father had changed; subtly and for the better.

It was how Tyrion is able to stand with his family and know that they were his family, despite his questionable birth. He was no longer consumed with jealousy about his father and his new family. He understood now; his father was a man that was better with a woman at his side — a whom he loved. And Tywin Lannister deeply loved Sansa and his two new sons. Things had settled for Tyrion, and he laughed and japed with his family when the twin princes were presented to the court. When Lady Olenna mentioned Dragonstone, he preened. Because it was his, and Tyrion was half-dragon.

Later that night, once they were safely back in their rooms, Sansa handed the twins off to a wet nurse and one of the women that had been chosen to care for them. She had received word from the Maester and her midwife that she was allowed to have her husband again, and she meant to take advantage of that fact. She knew that Tywin had been counting the days until they could be intimate again, but she thought that he might not know that time was upon them quite yet. He had kissed her distractedly and muttered that he had work to do and she smiled at him as his back retreated. Once the twins were down, she slipped on his robe, and the ruby he had commissioned for her all those months ago. It had been an age since she could wear it. Naked except for his colours and his jewel, Sansa made her way to the solar where he was working at his impressive desk. He didn't look up, consumed with what he was writing until she was closer and then his head snapped up, and his green eyes pinned hers. She could see them flare with desire and then a look of such need came across his face that Sansa grinned and laughed at him.

"It is time?" he asked, and she nodded, and he beckoned her over, instantly hard.

She willingly came to him and settled herself on his lap, where he let his hands stroke her body; the changes were subtle but unmistakable. Her waist was slim again, but clear evidence remained that she had carried the twins. Tywin couldn't have cared less. In his mind, it only made her more desirable to know that she had brought his children into this world. Her breasts were large, and he gently cupped them, knowing that she was still nursing. Still, the thought that she was the reason his sons were growing strong furthered his desire for her.

"Sansa," he murmured into her ear and nuzzled at her, nipping and licking her, sucking on the shell of her ear and making her squirm and moan. He let his hand wander down her body, loving that she wore the Lannister ruby. He parted her and gathered her wetness. He knew neither one of them would last; it had been too long, and he'd rarely taken himself in his own hand. He'd gone years before meeting Sansa as almost celibate, and even though he'd been insatiable since they had married, stroking himself to completion held little appeal when he could wait for his wife. His lovely, very desirable wife, who was moaning for more.

Tywin stood abruptly, overwhelmed by her scent and her desire. Grasping her hand, he walked them quickly back to their large bed, noting that the door to the nursery was closed and they were alone. Knowing his wife had planned this, made his desire deepen. She always saw to his needs.

He turned and gently laid her on the bed, stripping his robe from her. Slightly self-conscious, despite knowing how aroused he was, Sansa went to cover her stomach, and he stayed her hand. She had the tiniest silvery lines on her stomach, and she blushed when he traced them wanting to be embarrassed but unable to when he looked at her like that.

"Now you truly look like a lion," he whispered to her and pressed gentle kisses to them. He too was marked, like a lion should be that had survived battles and wars. The lines on her slim stomach again were a testament to the lives she had grown inside her and the legacy she had given his house.

"Tywin," she begged, needing him in her. He had no will power to resist her, and kissed her lips, hard and firm, before he thrust into her. It had been over two months since he'd been inside his wife, and he groaned at how good she felt. Sansa squirmed, needing him to move, to love her. He grinned down at her, and then willingly indulged her, until she panted his name and whimpered as she peaked, conscious of those next door. Tywin soon followed her over, spending deep inside.

Neither had to wherewithal to think about preventing another pregnancy and even if Sansa had thought about it, she wanted more children with Tywin. The midwife claimed that breastfeeding prevented pregnancy, but Catelyn had scoffed at that. Robb and Sansa were barely a year apart. Either way, Sansa didn't care. She had enjoyed her pregnancy, and she was no longer scared of childbirth. She knew it was a risk each time a woman became pregnant, but they both longed for a daughter, and another son would be more than welcomed. Sansa wanted as many lions as Tywin could give her. When Tywin's breathing finally slowed, he pressed soft kisses to her neck, murmuring how much he loved her.

"Mine," he said, and she looked him in the eyes, and she said, "Yours. Always yours, my love," and saw those green eyes turn gold. When he finally rolled off of her, he asked if she needed to see to their sons and she shook her head and sent him a grin. "We've got a few more hours yet, my love."

He smirked at her and how she had arranged this. Sansa could miss a feeding with the twins before her full breasts would protest. Even though she knew she would be exhausted the next day, she was the Queen, and she would nap with her children to spend time with her husband tonight. Her very desirable, very loving husband who had already dragged her back to his side and was running his hands over her body again, playing with the chain again. Sansa loved how the subtle changes in her body did not seem to affect his desire for her, and it fueled her own needs.

"I've missed this, Sansa," he whispered to her, and she murmured her agreement.

"I've missed you too, Tywin," she said, and willingly submitted to her husband who was more than happy to devote hours to worship her like the Queen she was.

* * *

Two ravens rocked King's Landing in the coming days, and Tyrion more than proved his worth by being there for the King and Queen.

The first arrived from Winterfell and Sandor Clegane who told them in succinct terms what had happened when Yara Greyjoy attacked the castle. Sansa collapsed into her chair, and her mother's face paled when they heard about Theon’s death and Arya's injury. Sansa had no idea how her sister might recover from such an event. Along with Sandor's raven, Robb's wife Jeyne had included her account of the attack, and she praised Rickon and Sandor for keeping her and little Ned safe, while she circumspectly told of how Arya defied Sandor's orders which lead to Theon being outmanned.

Sansa wanted to weep and rage at her headstrong sister, and in the coming days would do both. Tywin sat shockingly still, thinking of his former cupbearer and the slight arrogance and cockiness with which she had always carried herself. That hadn't changed in the time that she had been in King's Landing, and he could admit to being partial to her, despite her acerbic tongue and willing defiance of any proper womanly pursuits. Lost in his thoughts, he was startled when he saw Tyrion go to his wife and envelope her in a warm hug as the tears streamed down her face. He met his son's eyes and nodded his thanks before collecting himself and going to Sansa. She felt his strong arms circle her and murmured how he was here for her into her ear.

"You know how much she wanted to be a warrior," Sansa whispered to him, and he nodded. When he could finally look into her eyes, he held her gaze and cupped her face.

"Jaime was one of the greatest swordsmen in all of Westeros, love, and he has learned how to use his other hand. All is not lost," Tywin told her firmly, and she tried to get her riot of emotions under control.

"Theon," she whispered to Tywin. She didn't know everything that had happened with Theon but knew that the Starks would be devastated by his death. He had been as close to Robb as a brother, and his recuse from Ramsay Bolton had effected them all deeply.

Tywin nodded at that, unable to fathom how he would cope if something were to happen to Sansa. He wondered if Clegane was the man to deal with all of what was happening at Winterfell and then shook his head. He would also require an update on the Greyjoys. Balon had lost his daughter and his son. It made the Ironborn Lord vulnerable, and vulnerable men did desperate things.

The second raven, arriving weeks after the first, brought much grimmer news. Stannis Baratheon was sailing back from Eastwatch by the Sea to personally report to Tywin about the Night King and the Army of the Dead, which he assured the King was genuine and the gravest threat to Westeros. He also demanded that they immediately begin mining the dragon glass that was in the caves below the castle at Dragonstone. Tyrion's eyes arched at such news.

But it was the final part of the raven that devastated the entire Lannister family. Tommen, dear, sweet, loveable Tommen was dead, falling at Hardhome to the dead. Stannis wrote that he was bringing Jaime with him, as the Kingslayer was a shell of a man. Sansa was inconsolable, having grown extraordinarily close to him when he had come to stay with them. Tywin sat in shocked stillness until Sansa's cries propelled him from his chair to cradle her in his arms. He would show no outward emotion here, but the loss of Tommen affected him deeply.

Tyrion dismissed all but family from the room and called for Addam and Catelyn Marbrand as well as Genna to impart the news. All the woman took the news poorly, and Addam glanced at his liege lord, to see the King's face pale and drawn.

"Get them to their chambers," Tyrion ordered, and Addam nodded, knowing the women were struggling with their composure.

Tywin shot a grateful look at his son, who was also devastated. They were also worried about Jaime; his two sons died within months of each other, along with the sister he had loved. Tywin had no idea if it were possible for him to recover from such events and was glad to hear he was coming home to family.

Later, when Tywin had Sansa in his arms, his two sons beside them, his new family safe, he let his brilliant mind dissect all that Stannis had written. Stannis was not a man prone to exaggeration; he had granted the Wildlings immunity to live below the Wall; all the Lords with him agreed because the threat was too grave to the living to leave them at the mercy of such a foe. Tywin needed to speak with him and his son face to face, to ascertain what must be done to protect the realm. He glanced down at his grief-stricken wife and the two innocent children cradled against them. Tywin Lannister, King of the Seven Kingdoms, vowed at that moment that he would do whatever was necessary to ensure the survival of the realm. He knew it might be an empty promise, but the idea of such an otherworldly creature somehow creating an army of the dead sent chills down his spine. He was anxious for Stannis to arrive back in King's Landing; he would not sleep comfortably until he'd heard from the man's mouth and knew they had a plan in place to deal with Army of the Dead.

* * *

_ Winterfell _

Sandor was deeply worried about Arya. He'd received word back first from Tywin, along with a raven from the Queen; one for him and one for her sister. Sansa praised him for once again keeping her family safe, never once indicating that she held him at all responsible for Theon's death or Arya's injury, which almost made him feel worse. He knew it wasn't his fault, but he kept going over what he could have done differently. Finally, it was Jeyne and Rickon that sat him down one afternoon. Arya was almost catatonic, hardly eating or sleeping; refusing to take the milk of the poppy. When she'd been confronted about it, she'd told the Maester she deserved the pain after what she had done. Only her wolf was allowed to spend any amount of time with her, and Sandor wondered if she would have faded away if given the opportunity.

"This needs to stop, Sandor," Jeyne said, firm but gentle and she reached for his hand. He wanted to swipe at her, but she had her son in her arms, and he wouldn't risk hurting him. He grunted at her and then Ric stepped up and got right in his face.

"Nothing was your fault, Sandor," the boy said, and he looked so much like Robb at that moment that Sandor wanted to grin. Such a little lord already. Sandor had been proud of how far the boy had come since the wild and feral child Sandor had recused from that Bolton bastard. Rickon Stark had been forced to grow up quickly, and being back in his family's home, he was doing an admirable job.

"She needs to own this, and you worrying you've done something wrong helps no one," Jeyne said and met his eyes. He saw the truth in them, and that almost hurt more. He wasn't responsible. He'd given her an order, and she had defied him. And now Theon was dead, and she was hurt, and there was no undoing that. He nodded at them.

When the raven arrived from Robb, Sandor had expected him to indicate he was on his way back to Winterfell, but it was the opposite. He too thanked him for saving his family, expressed his remorse over Theon, and repeated that he had full confidence in Sandor to handle things. Sandor shook his head at these Starks, wondering what the fuck he'd ever done to inspire such fucking loyalty and devotion from them.

Sandor allowed himself time to think about what Jeyne Stark told him. He continued to train his men, whom he was very proud of. He could see them strut through Winterfell, knowing they had defended the keep. He drilled them harder than ever, but they responded, and he was entirely accepted in Winterfell now. It was Arya he was thought about. He didn't know how to reach her. Finally, two weeks after the attack, he entered her room. He'd tried to be patient; he knew how much he appreciated his own space and had this happened to him he'd most likely rip the first person that came to him apart. But she needed to get her ass out of bed. The Maester had confirmed she'd lost most movement in her one arm, even though he had saved it. Despite that horrible news, it was her spirit and heart that was broken.

When he banged the door open, she barely glanced at him, until he barked out, "Jaime fucking Lannister lost a hand and still had more fight than you." He saw her startled at that news and glare at him. Good, he thought. That was something.

"Your sister and your brother are both worried sick. All three brothers actually," Sandor continued. He'd also received a raven from Jon Snow, demanding that Sandor do everything in his power to fix his sister. He saw the spark of confusion in he grunted at that.

"Three? Did they find Bran?" Arya's rusty voice finally spoke.

"Nope. The bastard," Sandor said, and Arya said automatically, "Don't call him that."

"Call him whatever I want. Not like you'll do a damn thing to stop me," he'd sat down on a chair and stretched his longs legs out and ate an apple he'd snagged from the kitchens.

"You've heard from Jon then?" Arya asked, actual interest coming back into her voice.

Sandor nodded and flipped her the raven scroll. He watched as she reached for it with her left hand and then grunted when she read it. He saw the tears come to her eyes and was thankful there was some emotion there. He didn't turn away as she cried, just watched the emotion roll over her face.

"It's my fault he's dead," she finally whispered brokenly.

"Aye, it is," he said and saw her start to close down. He scrubbed a hand down his ruined face. "If you want to lead men in battle, more deaths will be on your head." When she shot him an angry look, he shrugged. "It's the fucking truth, no matter how much it hurts. Good men die."

"Fuck," she whispered and fell back against her pillow. After a time, she said, "He didn't deserve it."

Sandor agreed.

"He survived Ramsay and that horrible torture, but not me. Not my horrible choices....." she swallowed hard and avoided his eyes.

Sandor said nothing, as there wasn't anything that would make this better. She had made the wrong choice, and someone else had paid for it. But he sat there with her for the afternoon both comfortable in the silence. Before he took his leave, she called out, "Do you think it's possible to learn to fight with my other arm?"

Sandor snorted. "That golden-haired cunt learned, can't see why you'd be any different." For a brief moment, a smile ghosted across her lips.

Arya worried her lower lip and shot him a look from under her eyes.

"You're not giving up on me?" she finally asked him and saw Sandor shake his head. Before she could look at him further, she watched as he swiped a hand across his face.

"Haven't given up on you yet, and you've been a pain in my arse since I kidnapped you from those fire worshiping cunts," he muttered and kept his eyes turned away. But Arya heard the affection in his voice. He was the closest thing to a father she'd had in years, and it healed something in her to know that he wouldn't abandon her now, even though she thought she didn't deserve it. It seemed like men were always leaving her; her father, Robb to go North and Theon. But not Sandor. Never Sandor.

"Thanks," she whispered, and he nodded. Before leaving the room, he turned back.

"You need to heal. Drink the milk of the poppy and heal. And when you're better, I'll fucking teach you again," he promised her, his voice low and rough with emotion. She nodded at him, and then to save them both the embarrassment of what they felt for each other, she closed her eyes. When she opened them, he was gone, but she noticed another scroll. She unravelled it and read about the worry that her mother and her sister felt for her; the love they still had for her. Arya cried harder than knowing she was unworthy of it but needing it all the same. She unleashed weeks of pent up emotion, and Nymeria, knowing precisely what she needed, curled around her, allowing Arya to bury herself in her thick fur and fall asleep, safe against her wolf's body.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, trying to be more balanced between all characters. Hope you like the added bits (mostly Stannis and Jaime... calling each other out!)

_ Beyond the Wall  _

It was nearly impossible for Bran Stark to assimilate all of the information he had learned during his time spent in the cave with the three-eyed-raven and the last of the Children of the Forest. He thought about this as him, and Meera Reed tried to make it back to Castle Black after the attack by the Night King on the cave where they had been hiding. He knew they were all dead and the title had now passed to him, just like he understood that it had been his fault the Night King had found them in the first place. Bran had stayed too long in the dream and allowed him to come too close. The place where the Night King had grabbed him still marked Bran's arm.

He knew the information that he had been shown in the cave would be critical in the upcoming fight against the Army of the Dead, but as they made their way through the vast lands beyond the Wall in a desperate attempt to reach the Wall, even Bran's new abilities could not tell him if he would survive long enough to tell those that waited for them at the Castle all that he had learned.

When they had entered the cave and found the Children of the Forest, even without his green sight abilities, Bran knew that the Children of the Forest were unlike any other in Westeros; ancient, powerful and magical. He knew he needed to know more about them. He sensed that they held the key to everything that was happening in the North. They were the last of their kind, and they were protected by the magic of the cave, dedicated to serving the three-eyed-raven who dwelled there.

Bran had been startled by the appearance of the man who seemed to be one with the great weir wood tree and could admit his first concern was that this was what he might become. He knew that his entire life had been leading to this meeting; when he'd sent Rickon to House Umber and forged ahead to beyond the Wall. When Jojen Reed had joined them and told him what his powers might be. When they travelled further North, and he felt less like Bran Stark and the more he felt like something.... else. And now, here in this cave, he knew what this something else was. His destiny was to become this creature that was before him — the three-eyed-raven.

Bran had some idea of what his abilities might entail before they had made it to the cave. He'd been having dreams and had seen the raven as his guide in them since the time Jaime Lannister had pushed him out the tower window. Bran knew that this had been his destiny and Jojen had tried to explain it to him, but nothing could have prepared him for the education he was about to receive on green seeing from the three-eyed-raven himself.

During the time that they spent in the cave, he was told of his ability; that it was unique to those with Northern blood or descendants of the First Men. That the three-eyed-raven was the last of the great green searers in Westeros; and that the three-eyed-raven before him was an immensely powerful and ancient being that could see events through dreams. When Bran asked why he'd been brought here, the response was simply for him to look. That was the pattern that evolved. When Bran wanted to learn about events that had shaped him, his family and the North itself, he was forced into dreams to do so. This was his training, and it was rigorous and challenging and slow.

When he'd asked about the Children of the Forest, him and the thee-eyed-raven travelled to the time of The Pact, made between the First Men and the Children of the Forest on the Isle of Faces, nearly ten thousand years ago. Bran could hardly imagine a place where every tree was a weir wood carved with a face and learned the Children had done it so all the trees could witness the deal with the First Men. The power and magic in such a place must be enormous. When he was back in the cave, the Children explained how sacred the Isle of the Gods was, and how the first weir wood tree in all of Westeros was in the center of the Isle.

"It is a difficult place to find," one of them told Bran. "Shrouded in mist and magic. A place where time has stood still, and men today have forgotten."

"Why was The Pact made?" Bran asked them and was told how the First Men who had come to Westeros over ten thousand years ago encroached on the territory of the Children of the Forest and chopped down their sacred trees. When the fighting stopped, the Men and the Children signed The Pact, and the Age of Heroes began.

There were times when the three-eyed-raven thought that Bran needed to see events as they were occurring presently or had just happened. Bran was able to see Sansa marry and then watched as she cuddled two small children. He could see the love that both his sister and her husband had for each other. He vaguely understood that she had married a Lannister, though not the Prince that had come to Winterfell, and he knew on some level that his sister was now the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And that she was happy.

At one point, Bran was shown his father as a young man, with Lord Reed beside him as he climbed the Tower of Joy to find his Aunt Lyanna dying. Bran saw what she asked of her brother as a baby was placed in Ned Stark's hands. It took Bran weeks to reconcile the fact that his brother Jon was his cousin. He wondered if he'd ever see him again to tell him. It didn't affect him emotionally. It was a fact that he now knew and could not unknow. He briefly wondered who Jon's father was, but he was pulled from the vision before he could find out.

Bran might have been angry when he learned things about his family, betrayals and hurts, but each time he dreamed he came back feeling less like Bran Stark. He knew intellectually he should feel something at some of these incidents he was being shown. Seeing Ned Stark lose his head should make any son rage and cry, but Bran felt oddly separate from it all as if he lost more himself each day and became more and more like the three-eye-raven before him.

In yet another dream, Bran saw how the First Men that had come to Westeros angered the Children of the Forest. He had been told this of course, but now he watched as the Children captured some of these First Men and experimented on them. Even worse was when he saw them make the first White Walker, the one who would become the Night King. The Children of the Forest had a man tied to a weirwood tree as a dragonglass dagger was driven into his chest and their ancient magic pulsed around him. Instead of dying, the man opened his otherworldly blue eyes that indicated that he was now something else. They did this on the Isle of Faces, before The Pact, at the single ancient weirwood tree in the center of the Isle.

This knowledge did spark something in Bran. He turned and looked at Leaf and the other Children and asked why.

She tried to explain what the First Men were doing, how the Children needed a weapon to fight against them.

"They were your ancestors, Bran Stark, these First Men that hunted us and our scared trees," her voice still accusatory even ten thousand years later.

She argued that the Children had paid more dearly than any other for their error in creating the White Walkers. The White Walkers had decimated the Children of the Forest during the Long Night, rendering them all but extinct. As far as Leaf knew, the only Children that still existed were the ones in the cave currently.

"The White Walkers broke free from our control, becoming the most feared creatures in the land, and swept across Westeros for a generation, bringing the Long Night."

"How did you defeat them?" Bran asked tonelessly.

"The War for the Dawn was upon us, and we banded together with the First Men to drive them back to the Land that was Always Winter. Then we built the wall. All of us together. Giants, the First Men and the Children of the Forest. Those of us who were left wove our magic into the Wall, preventing them or any of their creatures from passing through the Wall."

"And what happens to your magic in the Wall if you were to die?" Bran asked bluntly, and Leaf shook her head.

"The Wall has stood for eight thousand years, but our existence has faded from common memory. There are few who even believe we exist, and fewer still who follow the old ways," Leaf said sadly, and Bran nodded and then she gave him a knowing look. "When we die, our magic does as well."

"Does that mean that the Night King will die?" and Leaf shook her head.

"No, but our magic in the Wall will cease to exist, and they will be able to cross over at will," she whispered, and Meera looked horrified.

Later, after everything went to hell and Bran discovered just how Hodor became Hodor, Meera dragged Bran to the woods beyond the Wall. It was only the presence of a hooded figure that drove off the wights and saved them, and Bran lost in visions, dreams and grief. When it was revealed that the hooded figure was Bran's Uncle Benjen, Meera looked on in horrified fascination.

"We thought you were dead," Bran said tonelessly.

"I was stabbed by a White Walker and left to die, but the Children saved me," he told Bran.

Later he told Bran that he must now become the three-eyed-raven and took Bran and Meera to the weirwood tree in the forest just outside the Wall. This was the same place and same tree where the Night's Watchmen swore their vows.

His Uncle paused, refusing to walk any further, Bran turned and asked him why.

"I cannot cross over; the magic the Children used on me prevents any dead thing from crossing this point," Benjen said, sadly. Benjen Stark was not a wight, but he was no longer human either.

Bran shook his head. "They are dead, along with their magic."

Both horrified and excited at the implications of that statement, Benjen stepped forward to go to the weirwood tree and discovered what Bran said was true. He turned to look at Bran and Meera.

"They can now cross as well," he told them solemnly, and Bran nodded.

"It is time," Benjen said to Bran. Meera and Benjen watched as Bran crawled over to the tree and placed his hands on it. Bran returned to that vision in the Tower of Joy where he learned that Jon was his cousin, only to find out why his father had lied. It was to protect Jon from King Robert as his actual name was Aegon Targaryen. Bran knew that this was information that Jon needed to know; Bran didn't concern himself with how it might affect Jon, just that it was his job to know these things. And this was something he had to know.

Meera and Benjen gathered Bran and approached the Wall, where the Night's Watch, after confirming who they were, opened the gates. Once through to the other side, Bran and Benjen Stark saw Robb and Jon waiting for them. There were incredulous looks on all their faces before Bran and Ben remembered what this meant. The Army of the Dead was not far behind them, and now they too could cross over the Wall. The barrier that had stood for eight thousand years was now useless in this upcoming battle as regular steel was on the White Walkers.

With no regard to how his message might be received, and missing the joy in his brother's faces, Bran looked to Jon and said, "We need to talk."

* * *

_ King's Landing  _

Stannis Baratheon had a broken man in Jaime Lannister aboard his ship with him. He had left Ser Davos with Jon Snow to ensure his orders were carried out about the Wildlings moving south of the Wall, which meant that Jaime fell mostly to Stannis to manage. Unfortunately.

Stannis knew that Tywin would be waiting eagerly for them in King's Landing, and Stannis spent much of the trip south trying to work out how he would explain exactly what he had experienced at Hardhome. It was an impossible scenario to describe to someone who hadn't witnessed what they had. Part of Stannis was glad that Tywin Lannister's first-born son would also be present to back up his tale, but that meant the man needed to be able to speak. So far he'd been near-catatonic and had refused to leave his cabin.

Stannis gave him two days before he entered the cabin the man had retreated to after the battle. Judging by the stench and the darkness, Jaime had collapsed onto the bed and done nothing to clean himself from the campaign. He hadn't eaten and wasn't drinking if the full skin of wine was any indication. While Stannis couldn't imagine the horror of seeing your child rise as a Wight, this was unhelpful. Stannis tried to catch his eye, but Jaime looked past him with empty eyes. It was only when he was at the door that Jaime spoke.

"Don't have to worry about my bastard son now, Lord Baratheon," Jaime sneered, and Stannis steeled his spine. He would not apologize for what he had said to Jaime before the battle had begun. Instead, he turned and faced him.

"I don't. And neither does your father. While I would never wish such a fate on anyone, the boy was an abomination, and a threat to a stable realm," Stannis stated unapologetically.

"Stannis Baratheon," Jaime singsonged his name, and Stannis stiffened further if possible. "Such an honourable man. Such a devoted brother. And for what? To be shipped off to Dragonstone, to rot away. Not even able to muster men to your cause when you were the rightful King," Jaime mocked him.

"Of course, a man who broke his vows when he was only seventeen would not understand honour. A man who laid with his sister, who fucked her and put bastard children on the throne would not understand duty," Stannis shot back, disgust lacing every word.

Jaime snorted. "Ahhh yes. Kingslayer. I am, aren't I?" It was almost as if he took pride in such a moniker.

Stannis wanted to smash that smug look from Jaime Lannister's face. He shook his head at him. He had no idea how a man lived with himself after the things that Jaime had done. "How do you live with yourself, knowing that you killed a king? Knowing that you plunged the realm into chaos with Joffrey's birth?" Stannis asked, truly curious.

Jaime cocked his head and shrugged, but Stannis would not be deterred. "Does it not bother you when they call you those names? Oathbreaker? Kingslayer? You were a sworn Kingsguard," Stannis fairly shouted at the arrogant man.

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep or the heartbreak, but Jaime Lannister no longer cared who knew or didn't know his darkest secret. He shoved himself off from against the side of the ship where he had been lounging and into the half-light of the cabin and met Stannis' eyes. What would a man like Stannis Baratheon have done in Jaime's position?

"Tell me, Lord Stannis, if you had pledged to serve a King and you knew he had stored caches of wildfire around the city and was ready to burn a half million people to ash, what would you do?"

Stannis jolted back, sure that this was just another excuse from the golden-haired Lannister. Then he narrowed his eyes and looked closer at Jaime and saw no lie. Jaime met his gaze.

"Surely, you lie," Stannis said, sickened at the thought.

Jaime shook his head and let out a bitter laugh. "I was also to bring him my father's head as well. Tywin Lannister was a traitor, you see. Keep my bloody fucking vow, or save the people of King's Landing and my father. What would you have done Stannis?"

Stannis looked at Jaime and sat in a chair at the small table. "Why didn't you tell anyone?" He asked, genuinely interested.

Jaime shrugged. "The honourable Ned Stark found me, my sword wet with Aerys' blood and never even asked. It was very convenient that the son of Tywin Lannister was in a position to kill the King just as my father was set to take back the city."

Stannis was quiet, thinking about what he had heard.

"One good act does not wash away the bad," he said stoutly, remembering a similar conversation he'd had with Ser Davos on the night they attacked the Blackwater.

Jaime sighed. "No, I suppose it doesn't. But then your boorish brother married my sister, and I had to watch as he beat her, and drank and whored his way through King's Landing and his rule," Jaime said and gave Stannis a look.

He stiffened his shoulders. Robert's behaviour was unsightly, but it still was no excuse for incest. He said as much to Jaime, and the man shrugged.

"We'd been together for our entire lives. We shared a womb. It was simply how things were," Jaime said, almost unconcerned.

Stannis sneered at him, "You still don't understand the consequences of your actions, do you?"

Jaime looked at the man and shook his head. "I've paid. Both my sons, who I cannot claim, are dead. Cersei is dead. What more do you want from me?"

Stannis would have let his jaw drop if he hadn't been so stunned. "Because of what you did, countless people died. Innocent people died. The War of the Five Kings started because of a crisis of succession after Robert died. Your bastard son should never have been on the throne. It was mine by all rights and laws in Westeros. Instead, armies went to war. Good men died. Woman and children left widowed and orphaned and all because you couldn't stay out of your sister's cunt," Stannis yelled at the man.

Jaime sat back looking shocked.

"Ned Stark knew. He knew about Joffrey's birth, and he sent a raven to Dragonstone, declaring he would support my reign. And he was killed. A good man was killed by your evil sister to ensure your bastard sat on the Throne," Stannis continued, more worked up than he had ever been. After a moment, he asked, "Does the Queen know about your children?"

Jaime nodded. "She knows," he said, quietly, thinking over the man's words. He'd never really seen what he and Cersei had done in the light in which it had just been presented. Cersei always assured him that Robert's children would be just like him; unfit to rule. But looking at the man in front of him, Jaime knew that to be a lie. Perhaps had they had a child, her and Robert, it would have been like Stannis and not Robert. Jaime knew that there was only one other man fit to rule the seven Kingdoms other than his father, and he was sitting in front of him. Then he thought about Ned Stark's death and the wars that consumed Westeros for a time, only ending when his father married Sansa Stark and united the West and the North. He felt ill at how his actions with Cersei might have contributed to so many needless deaths. Or what might have happened had his father not secured the marriage that he had. It was pure, dumb luck that the two of them loved one another.

"Answer me this," Stannis seethed, "Did your father know about the two of you?"

Jaime shook his head and then met the man's eyes. "Perhaps at the very end, but he was at Casterly Rock during the formative years of Robert's reign, and we never saw him. Aerys' made me a Kingsguard to punish my father by denying him his heir, and Cersei made Robert keep me as one to have me close to her."

Stannis shook his head in disgust. He was thankful Tywin hadn't known, but he still couldn't believe the man sitting in front of him. The power and respect he could have had if he had only done his duty and married and taken Casterly Rock. It was baffling as a man who had been passed over for his younger brother why Jaime Lannister would not want such an honour. They were too far into the conversation to not ask him now.

Jaime just looked at him. "If I had ever pushed for that I would have had to leave her," he whispered. "She wouldn't have survived without me," Jaime said, and Stannis gaped at him.

Cersei Lannister was one of the most cunning and cruel people that Stannis had ever met. He imagined you could put her in a pit of vipers and they would bow to her, afraid of what she might do to them and not the other way around. Stannis had watched as she had manipulated and lied her way through Robert's reign, undermining anyone and anything that got in her way for her quest for power. Was Jaime Lannister that ignorant to his sister's true nature?

Jaime must have caught the look on Stannis' face because he grimaced. He knew his previous statement to be a lie. He'd known it his entire life. Cersei might have loved him in some fashion, of that he was sure. But she enjoyed herself, power and her children more, and she would have done whatever it took to remain in a position of strength. He'd seen that when she'd attempted to poison Sansa, and when she'd turned a blind eye to Joffrey and his whores. He'd always known what she was, and he'd loved her anyways.

"Men like you disgust me," Stannis said and stood to take his leave.

Before he was out the door, he heard Jaime's broken whisper, "There are no men like me." Then Jaime shoved himself off the bed and stood, startling Stannis into stopping.

"Tell me, Lord Stannis, are you perfect? Are there no sins upon your soul that you wish to confess?” Jaime’s eye had narrowed as he stalked closer to the stag. “Yes, I fucked my sister, and yes, I killed a king. But I will meet my gods with a clean conscience. What about you? What was it Lady Brienne said, that you killed your brother?"

Stannis stiffened and turned his face to stone, giving nothing away, while inside his emotions roiled. He understood what he had done was wrong and paid for it every day. But he would not stand here and be called out by the likes of Jaime Lannister. Before he could reply, Jaime continued, his voice low and accurate, and he looked like the Golden Lion he was.

"You wear your moral superiority like a cloak, Stannis, lording it above everyone else. But you are no better than me; than most men in the realm. You wanted power, and the throne, and you killed your brother for it. Do not speak as if you did it for the realm; you did it for you. So I won’t listen to hear you lecture me again about Cersei and consequences, when your own hands are just as dirty as mine." Jaime paused, unsure if he had the truth of the matter, but one look at Stannis Baratheon's face, and he knew he did. "Not until you are willing to own your deed the way I am mine."

Stannis held Jaime's eyes, and then grasped the door and stalked from the room, saying nothing more, but shaken to his core. With the room suddenly empty, Jaime felt the grief rush back over him, and he staggered to his bed, his head and heart a mess.

Whatever happened between the two men, it wasn't spoken of again as they made their way to King's Landing, but the next morning Jaime emerged from his self-imposed exile. He ate silently and apart from Stannis and his men. When they talked about the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead, he listened intently. He showed interest when they discussed mining the dragon glass at Dragonstone, and for the first time spoke.

"Send it all to the forges in King's Landing; then we will ship the weapons North. My father can amass all the blacksmiths in the south to work on weapons for this war," Jaime said, and Stannis nodded. He had the same thought. It was another brutally late night, and the war strategy had gone on for hours. It was only Jaime, and Stannis left when Tywin's son said quietly, "It's why Jon Snow told us to burn the bodies."

"Hmm?" Stannis said, looking at his smaller map of Westeros, trying to strategize on the best place to engage an enemy should they get past the Wall. Such a thought was inconceivable, but he had to consider it. He'd seen the water to turn to ice, and although it appeared the dead did not swim, once the ice was thick enough it was solid ground like mud or dirt.

"Jon Snow. He told us to burn the bodies of the Wildlings that were slaughtered beyond the Wall. We mocked him, of course, but did what he said. That's why he told us to do it," Jaime explained, and Stannis held his gaze.

"When we fight this army of the dead, we must ensure as few as possible rise again to become part of his army," Jaime continued, a spark of excitement making his voice sound animated for the first time in days.

Stannis agreed. In terms of battle, simple numbers would always favour this Night King. Each time one of theirs fell, the potential existed for the Night King to add them to his ranks. But not if they burned the dead bodies before he could reanimate them.

"Of course," Stannis muttered. He shot a look at Jaime. "Wherever we make our stand against this army, it will be as imperative to fight them as to burn our fallen," he said, and Jaime nodded his agreement. The silence stretched between the two men, but it was not uncomfortable, and that was an odd realization for both of them.

Very few men had ever spoken to Jaime Lannister the way that Stannis Baratheon had; perhaps it had been overdue. Gods knew that Lady Sansa had every reason to hate him, and yet she'd forgiven him. Jaime thought about his decisions, his inaction and his choices as they pertained to his sister. He was no longer sure he could justify them the way he previously had. A part of him had thought that if his father had ever discovered them, he would have understood. After all, Tywin married his first cousin, Joanna. She brought no new lands or titles to House Lannister.

And further, Tywin allowed Kevan to marry into another house from the Westerlands. It was only his children that he expected to follow his orders and make advantageous marriages blindly. That was no excuse, Jaime could admit, but it perhaps had added to the whole mess with Cersei.

Regardless, Jaime had assured himself his entire life that his one good act, saving the people of King's Landing did wipe the slate clean for him. He knew the whole realm believed him an oath breaker and kingslayer, but he knew the truth, and he'd leveraged his knowledge of that truth to allow himself permission to commit other foul deeds. Because after all, he was the man that had saved half a million people. Perhaps Tommen's death was a way of punishing Jaime Lannister for not learning that lesson sooner.

The next night, Stannis announced that they would arrive in King's Landing tomorrow. Leaning over the map as he had done for the entire trip, Stannis was attempting to plot where the Night King might breakthrough. Eastwatch by the Sea immediately came to mind, but it was a natural chokepoint, and if he attacked there, then Stannis could smash his army as they came through. Despite their numbers, they would only be able to advance a few at a time, and that was if the Night King could freeze enough of the sea to allow his ungodly creatures the ability to walk on the ice. Stannis was unsure if that was possible. The problem was they knew so little, and how did he defeat an enemy he knew next to nothing about?

Jaime watched this stern man worry over Westeros and finally asked, "What if he makes it through the Wall?"

Stannis started to protest that the Wall had stood for thousands of years, but Jaime held up a hand. "Indulge me."

Stannis sighed and scrubbed a hand down his tired face. He told Jaime his thoughts about Eastwatch, and the Kingslayer concurred.

"If all the armies of the south sent their men, we'd have enough to man each castle. But that is a waste of resources and could potentially add thousands to his ranks if we have no idea where he might breakthrough," Stannis said. He sighed. "The Wall has stood for 8,000 years and yet..."

"And yet..." Jaime agreed. They didn't know enough. Silence again settled between the two men, until Stannis looked up, his blue eyes pinning Jaime.

"Will the King believe the threat?" he asked bluntly and Jaime sighed.

"He'll believe that there is a threat, of that I have no doubt. Especially with the death of his grandson. But how does one adequately explain what we saw?" Jaime gave Stannis a hard look. "Fuck me, sometimes I don't even believe it, and I watched it with my own eyes."

Stannis grunted out an acknowledgement at that statement. He was half afraid he'd sound like a mad man when he tried to tell Tywin Lannister what awaited them on the other side of the Wall. When Jaime finally took his leave, Stannis sat by his map of Westeros, lost in his thoughts of how to protect the realm again the threat of the White Walkers, and how he might convey the absolute bone-chilling terror that was coming from them all if he should somehow fail.

* * *

Tywin, Sansa, Shireen and Tyrion were waiting for Jaime and Stannis when they exited the ship. Shireen immediately threw herself into her father's arms, and to his credit, Stannis openly embraced her. He'd been haunted by thoughts of his daughter rising as an undead wight, like the children he had seen at Hardhome. When he rose, he saw how the King had clasped his son before allowing the Queen to enfold the Kingslayer in her warm embrace. Knowing this was neither the time nor the place, Jaime choked back the tears and met his father's eyes.

"We need to talk," was all Jaime said and Tywin nodded brusquely. He brought both Stannis and Shireen back with them to the King and Queen's apartments. Jaime had almost forgotten about his father's new heirs and was greeted by the sight of two new brothers, both of whom looked just like his father. Only smaller. Despite his sadness and the heartache, Jaime smiled softly when Sansa presented him with Tysan and Jason. The twin Princes were already over two and a half months old, and Jaime had forgotten just how small babies were. Shireen, clearly more than comfortable in his father's household, moved about the room confidently as she held Jason. Stannis was a bit stunned, to be honest, to see his daughter so integrated into the King and Queen's household.

"Congratulations," Jaime said to his father before one of their caregivers came to bring both boys as well as Shireen into the nursery. She was planning on reading them a story from the book that Tywin had given Sansa those long months ago about the history of the Westerlands. She gave her father a quick hug once more and then darted away. She knew there were serious concerns in the realm. The King and Queen had both been saddened by the news of Tommen's death, and both wore worried expressions more often than not.

When they all moved into Tywin's map room, Stannis and Jaime sank gratefully into the chairs provided.

"How bad is it?" Tywin asked without preamble.

Stannis met his look and said without exaggeration, "It defies all logic and explanation, Your Grace, this threat that we are facing."

"And what exactly is this threat?" Tywin ground out. He'd read the ravens; now he wanted to hear it from the two men sitting before him.

Raggedly, Jaime sighed and began the tale; from the moment they arrived at the Wall, why the Wildlings fled, burning the dead, and then finally the disaster that was Hardhome.

When he got to the part about Tommen dying, Stannis intervened and told the rest of the tale. Tywin, Sansa and Tyrion just sat back in stunned horror. Recovering first, Tywin pinned them with a look.

"What kills them?"

"Dragonglass and fire," Stannis replied and then held up a hand. "Except the White Walkers; the commanders if you will. Only Valyrian steel and dragonglass works on them. Regular steel won't even slow them down."

"And this Night King, the one you said reanimated the dead..." Tywin began, and Jaime made a guttural sound. Sansa went to sit beside him and clutched his hand in hers. "This Night King, is he the only one who can raise the dead or can these so-called White Walkers do so as well?"

Stannis shook his head. "We just don't know."

The room was silent. The thought that every man, woman or child that fell to this army could then be used against them was a chilling prospect.

"It's the Long Night," Sansa whispered, and everyone's head whipped around to hers.

"What is the Long Night?" Tywin barked at her, and she startled a bit at his tone until she realized he was afraid. She had almost never seen her husband scared.

She swallowed hard and looked at him. "A tale told to children in the North, to scare us, you see. Thousands of years ago, the First Men and the Children of the Forest banded together to drive the dead from Westeros and back to the Lands of Always Winter."

Tywin grunted. "What else?"

Sansa shrugged. "My House was founded by one of the greatest men in the Age of Heroes. Brandon Stark. It's rumoured he built the Wall, along with Winterfell. He became the first King of the North." She felt her eyes tear. "That's all I know. Legends and stories that were mere myths. It was said that magic was infused into the Wall, but no one knew why. My father always believed in the Old Gods, and the Children of the Forest, but they have faded from memory and when the Andals invaded the old ways were lost."

"Except in the North," Tywin breathed, and she nodded.

"My father spent hours before the weirwood tree in our godswood," she told him, meeting his eyes. "My mother never believed in such nonsense, but Starks are descendants of the First Men of Westeros, Tywin. We have ancient blood running through our House and veins."

Tywin had never put much stock in gods, old or otherwise. He had little time for myth and legend and had never met an unbeatable foe. Until today, it appeared.

"But they must have won," Tyrion stated, and everyone swung around to look at him. Of everyone here, he'd probably read as much or more than Sansa. "This Long Night you speak of, Lady Sansa. Surely they must have won. As you said, Brandon Stark founded your house. He built Winterfell and perhaps even the Wall. They must have won or else none of us would be here."

"Or they are simply tales, Lord Tyrion," Sansa said and shrugged.

"Tall tales or ancient truths, it matters not," Stannis said. "The Night King is real. The Army of the Dead is real. The threat to the realm is real."

"So what do we do?" Tywin asked those sitting before him. It wasn't enough that they knew about the threat; now they needed a plan on how to deal with it.

"We need dragon glass and as much as possible. And weapons forged of the material," Stannis respond immediately. "We also need to know where we make a stand. If the wall will hold him."

"They are unlike any foe we've ever faced. They don't need rest or food, or water. Their numbers will decimate us in open warfare," Jaime said, his voice gaining strength. If he focused on this, he didn't have to think about what his son had become. He cleared his throat and looked at his father. "Meeting them in traditional battle makes no sense. For every one they kill, they add to their ranks. We will need to burn every man that falls to prevent them from swelling their ranks, along with limiting outright combat."

"How many in this Army of the Dead?" Tywin spat, thinking the name was ridiculous. He would not lose his throne to such an absurd enemy.

Both men shook their heads. "No one knows. He added thousands at Hardhome," Stannis told the King, "And who knows how many others. If what Lady Sansa says is true, he's had 8000 years to build his army."

No one had anything to say to that. Jaime and Stannis weren't staying in King's Landing long; they would accompany Tyrion to Dragonstone and begin the excavation of the dragon glass. The best man to get that task started was Stannis himself. And then he and Jaime would head back to the Wall and Castle Black. They agreed for another planning session the next morning, along with a discussion with members of the small council including Dacey Mormont. Tywin protested, but when Sansa had persisted on her being including, the Queen angrily retorted that like her, Dacey was from the North. To that end, each of Sansa's Queensguard would be present. Tywin finally relented, hating that she even had to worry about such things.

"We were all told tales; by our Septa's and our Maesters," she had argued passionately. Sansa might rule in the south with her husband, but in her heart, she was always a Northerner.

After Stannis and Shireen had taken their leave, Jaime sighed raggedly and looked at his family. He could tell that they believed them, and that was a relief. And when he looked closer, he could see the ravages of grief on their faces for Tommen.

They had all gone back to the family solar where Sansa arranged for dinner to be served. Tonight would be about family and healing. Sansa had the twin princes brought to them, the need for her family overwhelming her. When it was just Lannister's, Tyrion looked at Jaime and said, "What can we do, brother?" Jaime looked to Tyrion and saw the devastation in his eyes as well that he had lost Tommen. He felt his eyes fill, and he angrily brushed away the tears.

"Nothing," he mumbled. His guilt was crippling, and he did not know when it might decrease. Shrugging, Tyrion decided there was no better time than the present to inform Jaime about his true parentage. If nothing else it would distract him from his grief.

Tywin sucked in a breath that Tyrion would divulge such a secret to Jaime, but Sansa stilled his hand. They could all see it worked as Tyrion had planned for Jaime and gave him something else to focus on. His gaze swung to his father.

"You suspected this, this entire time?" Jaime asked both appalled and horrified that such an event had occurred to his family. Tywin nodded, saying nothing. He knew he'd lacked as a father in his children's eyes, and though he and Tyrion had mostly come to accept that their relationship would always be fraught, the revelation of his true parentage had settled something between them. Jaime's reaction was an unknown variable.

"Why did you allow him to live?" Jaime asked, bewildered. He tried to imagine what he would have done in a similar situation and knowing how cold and callous his father could be, could not imagine why Tywin had allowed Tyrion to survive.

Tywin sighed and spoke with his sons, giving them a more in-depth insight into his relationship with their mother than he ever previously had. As if the secret coming out allowed him the freedom to speak of her uncensored, both lions sat in fascination as their father described previously unknown situations with Aerys.

Sansa, for the most part, let her mind drift, content to hold the twins. She had become very adept at cradling the two of them, and a part of her heart warmed at the scene in front of her — all of Tywin Lannister's sons in one room; even if one wasn't his by blood. When Tysan began to fuss, Sansa sent Tywin a look, and he quickly came and picked up Jason, and followed Sansa to the nursery where she would feed them. He returned a short time later, and Jaime was looking at him, stunned. He'd never imagined his father would be so hands-on with his new children.

"Sansa insists," Tywin declared, and Tyrion rolled his eyes.

"Yes, let's pretend that it is Sansa that insists and not that you enjoy and care for your new heirs, Your Grace," the dwarf said sarcastically, and Tywin huffed at him, but there was no heat.

Jaime looked between the two of them, and then laughed softly. Kevan had tried, but he had needed this. He had needed his father and his brother to help him heal, to reaffirm that he still had something to live for; something to fight for. If nothing else, he had two new brothers and the thought of them turning into what Tommen now was, gave him purpose. Eventually, half drunk and happy despite the awful circumstances, Tyrion took his leave to go and find his wife, leaving Jaime alone in the King's solar. Tywin had left earlier to check on Sansa, and Jaime stretched out on the couch, contemplative and weary. When Tywin came back in and poured a goblet of wine, he took the unoccupied chair across from Jaime, and the two men sat in silence for a time.

"It's very late," Jaime said, and Tywin grunted.

"The princes are ravenous these days," was all Tywin said, but Jaime could see the pride on his father's face.

"Ahhh," Jaime intoned, recalling Cersei speaking of their children and their feedings. Of course, he'd never been allowed to be around for such times, so he did not know how such things worked.

"It makes sense," Jaime said, after a time and Tywin arched a brow at him. Jaime waved a hand. "Your willingness to abandon the King all those years ago and sack King's Landing. It makes sense now. A lot of things make sense now," Jaime said and gave his father a hard look.

Tywin stirred, not uncomfortable, but weary. The hour was late, and the thought of delving into their painful history was not something he relished the idea of at this hour. Still, if Jaime persisted, Tywin would speak to him about it.

"Why did you let him live?" Jaime asked, and Tywin gave him a look, as if to say, don't be dramatic. But Jaime insisted. He sat up and leaned forward. "It's you, and me father. I was there. I saw how you treated him. You hated him, his entire life. You and Cersei. So why didn't you kill him? Surely there was a chance when he was a babe. Babes die all the time," Jaime said, and Tywin's jaw tightened. He clenched a fist and then flexed it, trying to reel in his burgeoning temper.

"He was hers, as much as he was his," Tywin stated, and Jaime nodded.

"Yes, but so were Cersei and I."

Tywin grimaced. "He was a Lannister. The moment he was born, he was a Lannister. And I vowed that I would raise him as such."

"Not good enough," Jaime said, anger lacing his features. "Why didn't you kill him, father?"

"Because as long as he was alive, I was able to hate him and not her for dying," Tywin roared, chest heaving. "With him alive, I could put all my rage and my anger and my grief on him. Blame him."

Jaime sat back and glared at his father. "He was innocent. A child. That makes you a monster, father," Jaime seethed.

Tywin snorted. "Says the man who threw a child from a tower window to keep fucking his sister."

Jaime reeled back, shocked that this father would bring that up.

"You are a Lannister, and you are my son. Everything I've done in my life has been for our family and our legacy, and I will never apologize for my actions," Tywin said, finishing his wine and rising to leave the room. He hated to be reminded of his deficiencies, the way that Jaime had. He knew that his treatment of Tyrion had been awful; Genna and Kevan had tried to speak to him about it many times. It changed nothing. He would always blame him for his wife's death, and he could not change the past. He and Tyrion had come to terms with their fraught relationship, and that was as much as Tywin was willing to concede. Tywin strode from the room without a backward glance at Jaime.

When he entered his bedroom, he saw the twins asleep in their bassinets and Sansa waiting for him. She had heard what had been said in the adjacent room if the look on her face was any indication. Steeling his spine to feel the sting of her judgement and rejection as well, she stunned him when she left the bed to wrap her arms around him. He had no idea why his wife insisted on forgiving him for his most heinous crimes, yet she did, time and again.

"Come to bed, Tywin," she whispered held his hand as they crawled beneath their covers. When he was lying on his back, his mind racing, Sansa twined herself around him like a vine and stroked his whiskers. She pressed a soft kiss to his neck and murmured how much she loved him. Shaken by her devotion to him, Tywin turned and pulled her against his chest, needing her warmth and her love. Understanding that what he felt was more profound than words could express, Sansa, stroked him softly until he felt himself relax.

"You are everything to me," he whispered to her, and she kissed him softly.

"Go to sleep, husband," she told him, and for once, he willingly complied with his wife's orders, with her wrapped around him, secure in her love for him.

Jaime Lannister did not sleep that night. His mind was in turmoil. He thought about all that had happened to him in the past few years of his life, from being captured by the Starks, freed with Brienne, only to be captured again by the Bolton's. He thought the lowest point of his life was losing his hand, but even that had been something he had been able to overcome. His relationship with Cersei had disintegrated to bitterness and rage, while he had become closer with his brother and father. Losing both Joffrey and Cersei so close to one another had been a blow, but it had felt survivable until he'd watched Tommen fall. The few months spent with his son as his father were some of the best of his life.

And yet, even now, in his grief, men like Stannis and his father were unapologetic in their treatment of him. Was Stannis correct? Was his one good act, killing King Aerys not enough to wipe out the bad? His father had reminded him of one of his evil deeds when he brought up Bran Stark. Jaime had prided himself on being nothing like his father his entire life, but when he thought about what he was willing to do, what he had done for Cersei, he wondered if he were any better at all. Perhaps he was even worse?

Even now, his father had remarried, fallen in love, produced children that he adored. His wife loved him, and he had brought peace to the realm, saving countless from death, disease and hardship. And what had he done? Rode North and gotten his son killed. When he was around good people, he wanted to be better. People like Sansa and Brienne. And Tommen. Did that mean he was incapable of such goodness on his own? He honestly didn't know if he was. He knew he would travel back North with Stannis that he would fight for the living. And that was perhaps enough for now, grief and exhaustion making him weary to his very bones.

Two days after Stannis and Jaime returned, Tywin called a small council meeting. But this small council meeting was unlike any the realm had ever seen. Mace Tyrell, along with Margaery and Olenna were present. Varys was there, along with Lord Wayward, who had received a raven from Lord Royce commanding him to do whatever the King required. Edmure Tully had received a similar scroll from the Blackfish and sat beside his sister, Catelyn, whose new husband Ser Marbrand also had a seat beside his wife. Oberyn was present, although the man was lounging in his chair as if this were of no consequence to him.

Tywin, Jaime, Tyrion, Jerrod and Sansa, along with Stannis, sat near the head of the table, and Sansa had commanded all of her guards to be present. They were from the North, and this threat would involve them directly. This was a threat that affected more than who sat on the Iron Throne; this threatened the very existence of every person living in Westeros.

The room was crowded, and despite the tightly guarded secret, word had spread to those in the room about something happening beyond the Wall. In short, clipped sentences, Tywin delivered the news. He spoke of the Wildling threat and what they were fleeing and the required response by those in the room.

Oberyn was the first to scoff until Stannis and Jaime both stood and glared the man down.

"Do you take me for a man that japes?" Stannis seethed at the ignorant southern prince. Oberyn held up ringed fingers in his defence; the smile wiped from his face when he saw how severe Stannis was.

Edmure Tully swallowed hard and looked to Jaime Lannister. "You've seen this threat? These White

Walkers?" Jaime nodded and swallowed hard. "My nephew fell at Hardhome. He is... He is one of them now."

Shocked gasps rang the room until Tywin banged his hand on the table.

"Silence," he boomed and looked at each Lord in the face. "This threat is beyond your petty differences and internal fights. This army does not care who sits on the Iron Throne," he told them seriously.

"It's the Long Night," Dacey Mormont said quietly, and all eyes swung to hers. Others in Sansa's guard were nodding. They were of the North. They had grown up on these stories.

"Fuck," whispered the man from House Umber. He too remembered stories the elders spoke of. "The Night's Watch," someone said. "This is their job."

Stannis snorted. "The Night's Watch is undermanned and depleted. We have no idea about the number in this Army of the Dead." He paused and looked at them all in the eyes. "Each man, woman and child that falls before they become a member of their ranks unless their bodies are burned. Think about that. This is unlike any war any of us has engaged in."

The room was silent.

"How do we kill them?" Mace asked. He'd known Tywin Lannister and Stannis Baratheon for an age. There was no way the men didn't have some plan.

Jaime slid a dragonglass dagger onto the table. "Dragonglass. We mine it and forge weapons which we send North." Nods were seen around the table.

"And where might we find such a material?" Edmure asked.

"Dragonstone's caves are filled with this material," Stannis said and looked to the King.

"Jaime and Stannis will bring Tyrion to Dragonstone. I have granted that seat to my son and his wife," Tywin announced. "Tyrion will oversee the mining of the material, and Mace and Oberyn will oversee the forging of weapons in Flea Bottom. Every available smith will be used for this task. Send word to your houses. I want all smiths in the south to King's Landing within a month," Tywin demanded.

"Men?" Lord Wayward asked.

Stannis shook his head. "Once we are back at the Wall, we will devise a plan. Engaging them in open combat is suicide, and we will lose. Their sheer numbers will overwhelm us. We need to know more. This Long Night needs to be researched."

Tywin and Stannis looked to Sansa's Queensguard. "Send ravens to your Houses in the North. Any scrap of information may turn the tide in such a battle." Everyone nodded.

Tywin, still standing rigid, made eye contact with each lord. "This is the greatest threat to Westeros, and when you are called upon, your house and your vassal houses will respond, with whatever Lord Stannis or Ser Jaime says they need." Nods were seen around the table.

"And what about sending the Queen and the heirs away?" Oberyn finally said, and Tywin's head snapped up. He looked to his wife, who appeared panicked for a moment. Oberyn shrugged. "If the threat is to Westeros, then it is not in Essos," he stated matter of fact. Tywin ground his teeth. He had considered that very idea but wanted to discuss it with his family first.

Thankfully Stannis beat him to it. "There are over 800 miles between the Wall and King's Landing. The dead do not swim, and despite their supernatural origin, they move at the speed of a regular army. They may not sleep or eat, but they do not fly. There will be time for that to be a consideration if all appears lost." Stannis nodded curtly to those in the room. The King needed to consider the possibility for both him, the Queen and his children.

The meeting dragged on, question after question lobbied to Jaime and Stannis. Sansa, Margaery, Olenna and Catelyn left at one point and returned later. Finally, the creeping night and hungry bellies forced them apart. Tywin declared a war council would be formed and there were nods of relief at that announcement.

When it was only Sansa, Margaery, Tywin, Jaime, Tyrion and Stannis left in the room; the King looked to the three other men. "When can you be ready to leave?" Margaery sucked in a breath at the thought of her husband being away from her as her pregnancy progressed. But this was more than a mere Castle that had been given to them. This was a task that would be critical in the fight against this threat.

"A week," Jaime responded. Jaime and Stannis would take Tyrion, along with a compliment of Lannister and Tyrell men to Dragonstone to begin the work. Tywin nodded and dismissed the group. Today had been interminable, but it was done, and now each region knew about the threat that faced them all. Later that night in their bed, Sansa clung to Tywin and swore she wouldn't leave Westeros without him.

"Do you think me so craven? To run when our enemies are upon us?" he asked her, and she glared at him.

"You are the King. You belong with our children and me, and if the end is upon us, then it will be you we need to rebuild what is left of Westeros, Tywin," Sansa argued back, and he stroked her cheek.

It distressed them both to discuss such matters, but they were necessary.

"Ahhh my love, we have time before things become that bleak," Tywin said, and she kissed him hard. They both knew that he was placating her and that if the threat became that grave, he would send her and what remained of his family off to Essos. Still, Sansa tried to make him see the importance of him coming with them.

"You promised me Tywin," she said, her eyes filled with such love and devotion to him. "Until the end of my days, that you would be there with me."

"Until the end of our days," he murmured back to her and kissed her hard. His love for her was so great that he would do whatever was required to ensure she lived.

He had and he would, but even he was unsure if he would flee if faced with such an option. It wasn't in his nature to run from any battle, and this one was no different. If the situation turned bad, he would ship her and his heirs across the narrow sea and remain to face this Night King himself if needs be. Sansa was more than capable of carrying the realm on her shoulders. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and let her cuddle in closer to him, both of them needing the contact and the security that came from being in each other's arms. They would discuss this no more, and they would pray, to old gods and new that there was a way to defeat such evil, before everyone they knew perished before it's onslaught.

* * *

A week later, Sansa, Shireen and Tywin stood on the docks once again, along with Margaery to bid farewell to Stannis, Jaime and Tyrion. Tyrion and Margaery were wrapped up in each other, and Tywin pulled Jaime and Stannis to the side. The four men had been engaged in endless discussions about war and strategy for the past week, and there had been no chance for a reconciliation with his son.

"The Queen is pregnant again," Tywin told them without preamble. Sansa had told him this morning, a spot of hope and happiness in such bleak times. "I need your reassurance that if required you will send word if she needs to be sent to Essos." He looked both men in the eye, and they nodded at him. "I will make arrangements for Myrcella and Shireen to join her," he told both men and saw the relieved looks on both their faces. Each only had the single child left, and it was the least Tywin could do.

Stannis nodded at the King and then went to board the ship. He wanted to spend no more than a week getting to Dragonstone and begin the process of mining the dragon glass before he headed back North. He knew that's where the real battle would take place, and he was useless down here in King's Landing.

"Father," Jaime said and nodded at the King. Tywin nodded back, and as Jaime turned to leave, he barked out a short sentence.

"Come back, Jaime." Jaime turned and looked at his father and nodded once more. There were dozens of things to say to one another and no more moments to say them. Jaime turned to find Tyrion to board the ship to take them to Dragonstone and back to Castle Black.

Tyrion held his wife, who was beside herself with worry.

"I'm not going off to war," he told her, amusement in his voice. It still took some getting used to that she would be upset that he was leaving. Usually, people were happy when he left.

At six and a half months pregnant, Margaery was cranky and miserable. She was not the Queen; she didn't enjoy being pregnant, and she didn't like lumbering around. The attention her husband paid her was lovely, but she was generally uncomfortable and had been from almost the beginning. It was challenging to discuss with Sansa because she had carried two and had given her husband sons. Normal sons. Margaery would never say anything to her husband, but she worried about having a healthy child. And now her husband was being sent away from her, and it just wasn't fair.

"I'll come back the moment you send word," Tyrion told her, cupping her face, and she nodded. Jaime appeared by his side and indicated it was time to go. Sansa came and put her arms around Margaery as they watched the two Lannister's leave.

"Come, let's get you back to the Red Keep," Sansa said gently to Margaery, and Margaery let herself be led away by Sansa.

Shireen refrained from rolling her eyes, but not before Tywin caught the look on her face. He gave her a half-smirk, and she knew they both felt the same way about Tyrion's wife. While Lady Margaery had never been mean to her, she hadn't bonded with her as she had the Queen. She thought Margaery did a lot of things for attention, and that she was a bit jealous of Sansa. It wasn't anything Shireen could point to, just a feeling she had being around both women.

It had been lovely seeing her father, but he spent so much time in small council meetings that it was almost like he wasn't back in King's Landing. He was gone so much that Shireen kept her regular routine, which included staying with Tywin and Sansa. The princes were just over three months old, and so much fun now that they were becoming their little people. Shireen still loved to spend time with them, and as she was approaching her thirteenth name day, wondered what else she might be taught by the Septa that Lady Catelyn had secured for her. So far, she had learned several dances, as well as how to run a Castle. The Septa had been from the Stormlands, so each of the lessons was pertinent to the keep that would one day be hers.

Shireen hadn't told anyone that it was her nameday in a few weeks. It had never been a big deal before, and she didn't want to make it one now. She had watched how Sansa had celebrated her twenty-second name day quietly with a family dinner, and Shireen, at almost thirteen thought that was very grown-up when she considered all the drama that had gone into Lady Margaery's when Shireen had first arrived back in King's Landing. If she were pressed, Shireen would say that she aspired to be like Lady Sansa when she was Lady of Storm's End and not like Lady Margaery.

Of course, Sansa knew that Shireen's nameday was soon. Stannis, despite being distracted by the genuine threat had given Sansa a rare book he had found for Shireen and asked if Sansa would give it to her. Sansa had also planned something very special for the girl and was happy that Shireen would be completely surprised when her name day was upon her.

Later that night, after Sansa had once again nursed the twins, Tywin joined her in bed. Unlike her first pregnancy, when her husband had joined with her each evening, now they had fewer opportunities to be together. Tywin worked long, tireless hours trying to do whatever was necessary to provide support for the wars to come. He sent raven after raven to all the Maester's in the North, demanding every bit of lore and legend they might have about these White Walkers and the Long Night. He was in constant contact with the Citadel as well, ordering them to focus solely on this threat. The War Council met daily, and Sansa attended when she could, but knew she was of little help.

It was why Sansa herself was surprised when she awoke the other day to that greasy, queasy feeling roiling in her stomach. She barely made it to the chamber pot across the room to retch, and then felt her husband's hands pulling her hair back. When she sat back against his legs, he had a smug grin on his face, and she swatted at him. Despite her upset stomach, she could see the happiness in his eyes.

"Your ego is boundless, Tywin," she muttered, and he laughed softly. Knowing that even though he hadn't been able to lay with her as much as he would have liked, but that he was still capable of planting his seed in her, he felt the pride of such an accomplishment run through his body. He loved to see her growing his child. And, despite the looming threat over the realm, no man in Westeros would ever say that getting a child on his wife wasn't a cause of celebration. Tywin would call them a liar if they did.

"I love you, Sansa," he told her, and she smiled at him, reaching for his hand. In truth, she had wanted another child. Her husband wasn't young, and he was so good with the Princes. She longed for a daughter for both him and her, so this pregnancy was welcome news.

"I love you as well," she told him, and he could see it in her eyes, along with the joy of this news.

"Come back to bed, love," he told her and picked up her slim form and settled her back amongst the covers. Sansa draped herself over his chest, listening to his heartbeat, letting her hands wander down his body, content to be with him like this. In time they would have to face the tasks that were before them; but for now, cocooned in their bedroom, alone except for each other, the King and Queen basked in the delight that another Lannister lion was on their way.

* * *

_ Dragonstone  _

Stannis hated this island when he'd been given it by Robert, and he hated this island now that he was back here with the Lannister's. He watched as Tyrion reverently ran his hands along with the dragons that seemed to be carved into every surface, and showed them the great map room, watching as Jaime took a keen interest in it. Stannis knew that like him, Jaime Lannister was solely focused on how they might defeat the Night King and his army. When they had finally settled, Stannis walked the Lannister's down to the caves, where men had already started the back-breaking work of mining the dragonglass. They would stay here for two days before Stannis would sail North. When he told Jaime that, the Kingslayer nodded at him.

Tyrion was overwhelmed with the Castle, especially knowing his ancestors had lived here. It appeared that Tywin hadn't disclosed Tyrion's true parentage to Stannis, and for that Tyrion was grateful. He still hadn't told Margaery either. For some reason, it felt like something that belonged to just them; just the Lannisters. No matter whose blood ran in his veins, Tyrion would always put House Lannister first. There was something he didn't trust about Lady Olenna, and he'd seen the real fear in the eyes of Jaime and Stannis about this threat. The realm did not need ambitious families trying to take his father's throne while a more significant threat to everyone existed. Tyrion tried to decide if it made him disloyal to his wife to keep this secret from her but ultimately decided that there was simply no proof. Even if Tywin pronounced it from the rooftop of the Red Keep, no one could say for sure that he was a son of the Targaryen King. As much as Tyrion might loath his father, he was an excellent King. And this castle, this island, this land was now his; by right and by word of the King. It was more than he could have imagined, and Tyrion had guessed quite a lot. No part of him had ever truly believed that Tywin would give him Casterly Rock. But to end up with Dragonstone; now that was something even he couldn't have imagined. He remembered when he had been small and had asked for a dragon and his family had mocked him. Now everywhere he went he saw dragons and each night he slept in his new home his dreams of dragons grew stronger. For some reason, there were always three, but the one he felt the greatest affinity for was a blue and cream coloured one.

He knew there was work to be done, but he could feel the excitement build in him and could imagine his wife and his child here. They were close enough to the Capital to be still important but far enough away to have their own life, apart from the King and Queen. Tyrion loved his wife, but even he could see her jealousy; not that Sansa had married Tywin, but that Sansa had become Queen. And a beloved Queen at that. Tyrion wasn't stupid. His wife loved him of that he was sure. But loving him and marrying him did not make her ambitions disappear and she had been angling for the title of Queen for years.

Two days after their arrival, when Jaime and Stannis stood on the sandy shore to say goodbye the Tyrion, he happily embraced his brother and begged him to stay alive.

"It's been a terrible time, it's true," he told Jaime, "But you're loved, brother."

Jaime nodded at him and hugged him hard and quick before turning to leave with Stannis. Both Lannister men wondered if that would be the last time they would see each other. This threat beyond the Wall was unlike any they had encountered, and both knew how fragile life was.

Tyrion stood on the shores until their boat was a speck on the horizon, and then turned to inspect how the work in the caves was doing. His castle would provide the material to save the realm, and Tyrion would not fail in his duty to his father. Happily humming to himself, for the first time in his entire life, Tyrion felt a sense of contentment settle over him. He was so distracted by his thoughts, that the ordinarily observant man failed to notice the shadow that passed overhead. When he glanced up, he saw some puffy clouds, and thinking nothing more of it, darted inside the caves to ensure the most amount of dragonglass that could be mined was. He would send word to his father that the first shipment was due to arrive within a week, and knew it would please the King. Yes, Tyrion thought to himself, it had taken over three decades, but I have finally found my place in Westeros.

He hoped that his brother would return; Tyrion would have his wife and his child and his Castle and Jaime could stay as long as he wanted. It warmed something deep inside Tyrion to think that he had a place to welcome his brother too, and though the threat was grave, his brother had always managed to survive wars before. Shaking himself from his troubled thoughts, Tyrion happily let himself be led into the cave, and turned his attention solely to the task at hand, eager to contribute what he could to this great battle.

* * *

_ Castle Black  _

Jon, Robb, Ser Davos and Randyll Tarly arrived back at Castle Black weeks after they had left for Hardhome. The Wildlings that had been rescued had accompanied them. Tormund had explained that some had loved ones still at Castle Black and that the Gift, the area of the North which Jon Snow had said they could settle was directly below and to the west of Castle Black. For thousands of years, this area had been under the control of the Night's Watch and not technically part of the North. House Stark had given it to the Night's Watch as a gift when the ancient order was founded to support the Night's Watch with food and provisions. The legends said that it was Bran the Builder himself that gifted that land to the Watch. Either way, with Jon Snow as Lord Commander, and Robb Stark as Lord of Winterfell, there was no argument between the two of them about settling the Wildlings there.

The issue arose when the Lords came back to Castle Black with five thousand Wildlings in tow, and not a binding on a single one. Coupled with the thousand or so that had occupied Castle Black, it would be the single largest settlement of a region in Westeros since the Andal invasion six thousand years ago. There were those at the Castle who vehemently opposed the plan, and Alliser Thorne led them.

Jon rubbed his eyes tiredly. When he'd arrived back at the Castle, he'd learned that Maester Aemon had finally died and Jon felt sadness at the former Maester's passing. Now, a week after they had returned, he was stuck dealing with Thorne who was refusing to listen. Finally, Jon banged a hand on his table and stood.

"It's the King's orders," Jon snarled at Thorne and watched as the man's eyes narrowed on him.

"You're the Lord Commander," Thorne started, and Jon banged his fist again.

"I'll not say it twice. The Wildlings have been granted permission to settle in the Gift. From King Tywin, Lord Stannis, Lord Stark and myself," Jon said and saw Randyll Tarly, the Blackfish and Lord Royce also stand. He wondered how this might have gone if there hadn't been such a show of strength. "I am the Lord Commander, Thorne. The Gift is our land, and it's mine, as Lord Commander to do with what I wish."

"Do not be stupid," Lord Tarly barked at Thorne. He'd had a hard time reconciling what he saw at Hardhome, but he knew one thing for sure; the fewer people they could add to their ranks, the better the odds for the living. The Night King didn't care if you were a crow, southern or Wildling. Every living person was simply meat for his army. Lord Tarly could not understand how Thorne could argue this.

"For thousands of years we've been fighting the Wildlings, and now you want to give them free passage," Thorne barreled on, uncaring about the Lords of Westeros aligning behind Jon.

"It's by order of the King," Ser Davos said, heatedly and Thorne barely spared him a glance. His focus was only on the young Lord Commander.

"It is done, Ser Alliser. You'll report to Eastwatch by the Sea, immediately," Jon told Alliser. He would not be drawn into a protracted debate with this man. They hated each other and always would. Jon stood and dismissed everyone and Robb fell into step beside him. When they entered Jon's chambers, Robb noted the extra daybed in Jon's room and decided he'd spend the night with his brother. There was a look in Thorne's eyes that Robb didn't like. Robb had spoken with the Northern Lords when he'd arrived back at Castle Black. None of them liked the situation, but some had been with Robb at Hardhome, and when they spoke of the horrors they had witnessed, every man shut up. The North knew the stories of the Long Night and the War for the Dawn; they thought them to be a legend, but if their liege Lord and bannermen said they were true, well, they had to believe them. There was no way that Jon Snow or Robb Stark would allow Wildlings south of the Wall unless it were necessary.

When Robb settled on the daybed, Jon arched an eyebrow at his brother. They'd had so little time together, and now they would have weeks. Stannis had sent a raven; he'd been to King's Landing and had met with the King. His next stop was Dragonstone to begin the operation to mine the dragonglass for the weapons they would make. The King had believed their tale; every smith in the south was being commissioned to make weapons that would come North. Robb had rallied the Northern houses to send food to the Wall, but every man knew winter was coming. Jon would send word to the King and the Queen that if they wanted Castle Black to house an army, they would need to provide rations for that army.

"Is there something amiss with your sleeping quarters?" Jon asked Robb, bemused by his brother's antics.

"Nah, just missed your hairy arse, that's all," Robb japed back.

Jon snorted. "I'm not your wife, brother," he said grinning, and Robb slapped him on the back and laughed. They finally had time, and Jon settled in to listen to Robb speak about Jeyne and little Ned. He still couldn't believe that his brother had a wife and son. Nor could he believe the same for Sansa. He'd written her before Hardhome and her raven had been waiting upon his return. She sounded thrilled to hear from him, congratulated him on his appointment, and promised whatever resources necessary. She'd also spent a fair amount of time writing about her husband, and her twins. Jon shook his head at that. His sister was the fucking Queen. And she had two sons! Late that night, after too many ales, a soft knock sounded at the door and Sam's head poked in.

Jon was for once was in a good mood now that his burden was shared with the entire realm. He was no longer alone, with too few men and too few resources and fighting an enemy that no one had believed in.

"Sam," Jon cried and leapt to his feet to hug his friend. Sam stuttered a bit, seeing Robb splayed out in the easy way that only a first-born son who'd become a lord could be. There was such a casual arrogance to the man, and it was something Sam realized he had never possessed. Soon enough though, he was being cheered by both Stark brothers, caught up in the warm feeling of being accepted until he remembered what he'd come to speak to Jon about.

"It's my father, you see," he told Jon and met his eyes. Sam had seen how Randyll Tarly had taken to his friend, and though it didn't surprise him, it did sting a bit. That was until his father had come back from Hardhome and had burst into Sam's chambers. He'd taken over Maester Aemon's quarters and had Gilly and baby Sam there with him. Dickon was in the room as well. Randyll's hard eyes met Sam's, and he barked out, "Is it true? Did you kill one?"

Sam stuttered before Gilly stood up and put her hands on her hips. "He did. Stabbed him right in the chest with the black glass," she said, her eyes flashing.

"Who are you?" sneered Lord Tarly.

"Gilly, and that's my baby. And you son, Sam, he saved us," she continued, defiant in the face of such a hard man.

"Impossible," muttered Randyll and Gilly shook her head.

"I may be a Wildling, but I'm not stupid M'Lord," she said, and Sam just prayed she didn't make things worse. "Sam saved little Sam and me."

Randyll's eyes narrowed at that, and he spun around to his son. "Is that bastard child yours?" Sam shook his head.

"He's not the father, but he saved me when I was pregnant, and when I gave birth, I named my son after him. He's a hero," Gilly stated hotly, and Randyll shook his head before spinning and leaving the room.

"So you see," Sam said, taking a sip of his ale, "At first I was going to ask if I could send Gilly and baby Sam to my family's home at Horn Hill, but I'm afraid my father's a might bit angry at the moment." Jon frowned and wondered what he might be able to do to help his friend. Perhaps Sansa would have a place for her in the Red Keep.

"Send her to Winterfell," Robb said, casually and comfortably. When Jon and Sam's jaws dropped open, Robb laughed. "You've been alone for so long Jon that you forget about family, brother. Send Gilly and baby Sam to Winterfell. My wife will welcome her, and my man there, Sandor will make sure nothing happens to the Castle. She'll be safe, Sam, I promise."

Sam's face broke out into a wide grin. "You're serious?" and Robb nodded. Jon looked at his brother, proud of the man he'd become. He'd do this for him because he knew how close Jon was to Sam.

When Jon looked back at his friend, he could see the relief on his face. Just before Sam stood to go and tell Gilly the news, Jon asked him if he still wanted to be a Maester.

"More than anything," Sam said reverently and then cocked his head at his friend. "But my place is here, with you and the other brothers. I swore a vow, Jon," Sam said.

"Aye, you did. And I need a Maester for my Castle, Sam. Go to Oldtown and earn your chains and come back to us," Jon said, and a huge grin spread across Sam's face.

"You're sure?" he said. "I've killed one White Walker, you know. Might get lucky and kill another," he smirked at the two Stark brothers. Robb laughed loudly and clapped the chubby man on the back.

"I'm glad you were here for him, Sam," Robb said, truthfully. Watching Jon ride away with their Uncle Benjen had been one of the hardest moments of Robb's life. Grinning and thanking both men, Sam hurriedly left to share the good news with Gilly.

It was later still when the next knock came, and this time it was Olly.

"What is it?" Jon mumbled sleepily and rubbed at his eyes. Too late, he realized he shouldn't have drunk as much ale as he had with his brother.

"One of the Wildlings, Lord Commander, he said he knows where your Uncle Benjen is," Olly stated.

"Uncle Benjen?" Robb said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes as well. His head felt heavy, and his tongue thick, but the thought of seeing their uncle again pushed him to his feet.

Olly glanced between the two brothers. Thorne had said that Jon would be alone. All he'd been told was to get the Lord Commander to come to the yard. Nodding, Olly told both Starks that it was true and watched as they dressed hurriedly. Just before leaving, Robb stilled a hand on Jon's arm.

"Forgetting something, brother?" he said and arched an eyebrow at Jon's empty side. Grinning sheepishly, Jon grabbed Longclaw and belted his sword to his side as Robb did the same with Ice.

"Fuck me, if father could see us now, huh," Robb said, grinning broadly.

Increasingly uneasy, Olly reluctantly led the well-armed brothers to the spot in the yard where he and five other brothers had nailed a sign to a post that read traitor. It took but a moment's glance at the sign, and Robb and Jon both unsheathed their Valyrian steel. Two brothers were cut down immediately, before Yarwyck and Marsh were run through, leaving only Thorne and Olly.

"Fuck me, Thorne," Jon spat. "Do you hate me that fucking much?" Jon was dumbfounded that this was his choice and his actions. The commotion in the yard brought Lords and other black crows outside, and slowly word spread through Castle Black at the unsuccessful mutiny of Ser Alliser Thorne and six black brothers. Olly was beside himself, snivelling and crying, and Robb kicked at the boy.

"Shut your fucking mouth, you fucking traitor. You tried to murder your Lord Commander," Robb roared. He knew that had he not been with his brother tonight, these men that had sworn to follow him would have killed him. Jon was too trusting by far, and looking down on the scene, Kevan Lannister, Ser Davos, the Blackfish and even Lord Royce could not believe the stupidity of these men.

"You're a fucking traitor, Snow," Thorne was yelling spittle flying from his mouth. "The Wall has kept the Wildlings at bay for a thousand years, and now you let them through? Traitor," he spat again. Jon wanted nothing more than to take his and Olly's head right then and there. But the Night's Watch had a process, and Jon would respect that. He was better than them. He slowed his breathing and calmed his raging blood.

"Take them," he spat at two other brothers that had run to his side, including Edd. "Take them to the cells," he shouted when no one moved. "They'll have a trail tomorrow, and their punishment will be given then. And burn these fucking traitors," Jon said and kicked at the four brothers he'd been forced to cut down in his yard. Enraged, Robb followed Jon back to his rooms.

"My fucking brothers," Jon growled, unable to comprehend such a betrayal.

Robb shrugged at him, and Jon snarled. "That one was always a fucking cunt, Jon. We both fucking know it. You can say all the fancy words you want, but some men are just like that."

Jon let out a small laugh. He'd been warned, and he'd known that Alliser Thorne had hated him, but he'd never expected anything like this. Defiance maybe, but to try and murder him? And all for following the King's orders. The man was mad for sure.

Jon slept restlessly that night, chased by dreams of fire and blood and woke the next morning to the grim task that faced him. That was until a commotion outside in the hallway hurried him into dressing. He and Robb spilled into the central yard of the Castle to see astonishment and fear on the faces of every man in the Keep.

Jon grabbed someone and asked what the fuck was going on. The man swallowed hard and stuttered. "What the fuck is going on?" he asked again, and the man finally spat out a word that had a ball of dread flooding Jon's body. "Dragon, Lord Commander. Outside the gates."

"Fuck," Jon whispered and quickly walked to the gate that would take him to where the armies of the south and the Wildlings had camped. He had planned on talking with Tormund today to see how many Wildlings would stay and fight for them. Jon figured any that they could add to their ranks would be useful, including the giant if they could get him to agree. Then the mutiny had happened and had wrecked his plans. And now a fucking dragon.

Robb grabbed him and spun him around. "What the fuck are you doing? You can't just go out there," Robb was yelling at him, and Jon would have grinned if he could have found the humour in the situation. If he were honest, he'd always known this was coming. He couldn't warg into a creature that often and not have an affinity to it. Even now, he felt the subtle tug, the same way he knew precisely where Ghost was.

"When I come back, we need to talk, brother," Jon said to him and patted Robb on the shoulder. Suddenly Sam was there, and he was stuttering.

"A..a...a dragon, Jon," Sam said, and Jon grinned at him.

"How's your ancient Valyrian, Sam?" Jon asked, and Sam shook his head, blanching pale white and sweating profusely.

Everyone in the Castle had been woken up by the commotion, and as the gates open and Jon walked out into the flat land beyond the Castle walls, he could see the tents of the soldiers. At his back were Robb, Kevan, Randyll, the Blackfish and Lord Royce. Sam stood beside him, and each man gaped as they saw, for the first time in their lives, a living dragon at the edge of the clearing.

"Fuck me," someone said and others agreed.

"Never thought I'd ever see a fucking dragon in this lifetime," someone else said.

"Stay here," Jon said, and they all just looked at him, stunned, as he began to walk towards it. It was a fair distance off, and when Robb stepped forward, Jon tuned back and shook his head. "Trust me, Robb. Stay. Here."

Robb stopped and shook his head. He had no idea what was going on in his brother's mind, but he watched in fascination as Jon walked directly towards the dragon.

For his part, Jon had no idea what he was doing. He just knew that the dragon was here for him. Whether he wanted to eat him, burn him or something else, something more benevolent perhaps, he didn't quite know. All he knew was that he was the only one who could reach the beast. Ghost darted to his side and whined slightly, and Jon shook his head at his direwolf. He knew he had no place here, but doubted that Ghost would be parted from him. In a way, it made sense; if this was to be his end, then so be it. He knew that Ghost knew that. His wolf would be at his side no matter what.

"Easy boy," Jon said to Ghost.

As he got closer, he could see how large the dragon was, but it felt young. If the information Sam had given him was correct, he was barely three years old and already the size of a house. His scales were green and bronze and his wings when he flapped them a yellow-orange colour.

"Fuck me, you're something," Jon breathed as he walked closer. He could see the dragon snort and stomp as if the snow and cold offended him and Jon almost laughed if the situation wasn't so absurd. He could see the dragon's eyes track him, and knew that it was intelligent. This was no mindless beast, but a creature that Jon had somehow bonded with.

"Easy," Jon said the closer he got, and he could see the dragon shimmy itself as if letting Jon know that he was in charge. "You're beautiful," Jon breathed and smiled. Suddenly, the dragon dropped his head, and Jon held out his hand. He had no idea if the dragon was going to roast him or bite his hand off, but gently the dragon bumped it and made an almost keening sound. Ghost whimpered beside Jon, and Jon allowed his hand to stroke the dragon's snout, keeping eye contact with him the entire time. Overcome by the connection he felt the moment he touched him, Jon grinned wildly.

"Oh aye, you're a fine beast, aren't you," Jon said in a voice he reserved for Ghost only, and the dragon bumped him again. Jon laughed and kept stroking him. "Aye, you're in charge. I'd imagine you're always charge," Jon told him and swore the dragon smiled at him. Then in an instant, he stepped back from Jon and took three lunging steps before he spread his wings and powered himself into the sky. Overcome by the sheer magnitude at such a sight, Jon let himself gaze upon the green-gold beast that soared over the North. When he faded from the sky, Jon walked back to the waiting crowd, who parted for him as if he were some God.

When he reached the Lords, Robb looked at him and said, "Who the fuck was your mother, Jon?"

"Only someone with Targaryen blood can ride a dragon," Sam stated unequivocally.

"Well, I didn't ride him, did I?" Jon said, somewhat defensively, as if he were suddenly aware that he had just survived an encounter with a creature from legend that could have eaten him at any time.

Sam swallowed. "Jon, you walked up to a dragon and petted him. Are you going to argue that your mother wasn't a Targaryen?"

Jon shrugged his shoulders and looked around. Astonished gazes met him, and he felt uncomfortable and exposed. His entire life he'd only ever wanted to know who his mother was, and now perhaps, he had a clue.

"Fuck me, not just a crow and a wolf but a fucking dragon too," Tormund said in awe to all those who could hear. He slapped Jon on the back. "I wouldn't want to anger such a beast, but can you imagine if he didn't like you?" Then Tormund laughed in delight at the sheer audacity of this little crow. Tormund had hated the Night's Watch his entire life, but there was something about this broody little Lord Commander that Tormund liked.

When word reached Ser Alliser about the dragon, he scoffed until crow after crow confirmed it. When he was brought forward for his trial, he tried to plead with Jon to spare him. He was a loyal Targaryen supporter, and Jon had Targaryen blood. Jon was not moved and swung the sword himself to take his and Olly's head. It broke something in him to watch the boy's head leave his body, but there was no other way. They had plotted to murder him.

The following weeks the castle was consumed by talk about the dragon as everyone awaited Stannis Baratheon and Jaime Lannister's return. It drove Jon mad the attention he received, and he often retreated to his rooms to be alone. It didn't matter as even there the cries of dragon could frequently be heard around Castle Black. It seemed the dragon enjoyed flying over the Castle each day, and everyone clamoured for a chance to see such a creature. Sam had delayed going south to the Citadel, determined that he could help Jon as he furiously researched Valyrian words.

Robb dogged Jon's steps, and finally, Jon hauled him into an empty room and gave him a cryptic look. Robb shut his mouth, knowing that Jon had something important to say. His brother looked away and started to speak.

"Do you ever...." His voice trailed off, and Robb waited him out. Jon looked at his brother. "You can't laugh at what I'm about to say," he told Robb, and his brother nodded. "When you're sleeping, do you dream of being with Greywind? Like you're one with him? Sharing his body?"

"Fuck me," Robb said stunned and almost fell into a chair. "It's not just me then?" Robb asked quickly, and Jon shook his head, both brother's looking at each other in astonishment and then relief. They spent a long afternoon comparing what happened when they were one with their wolves, with Jon explaining what he knew about warging, before telling Robb about the dragon dreams.

Robb shook his head. "I wish father had told us who your mother was, Jon," he said to him and gave him a half-smile. Both of them thought wistfully about Ned Stark and wished desperately that he was still with them. "The only Targaryen father ever spoke of was Rheagar and how he kidnaped Aunt Lyanna."

Both Starks knew the story well; it had started the entire rebellion and wiped out the Targaryen dynasty that had ruled Westeros for three hundred years.

"You don't think....." Jon said, swallowing hard.

Robb shook his head. "Why wouldn't father just say you were hers?" A beat of silence. "Besides, don't they all have silver hair?" Robb was referring to the typical Targaryen look.

"Sam says that only Targaryen's can ride dragons," Jon said quietly, and Robb shrugged. The truth was, they didn't know who Jon's parents were.

Jon laughed a bit, but an uneasy feeling had gripped him. There was something about the name, Rheagar that settled in him, as if it felt right as if it were a name he should know. Whether he was his father's or his aunt's child, someone had slept with a Targaryen, Jon knew that much to be true.

"Do you think you'll ever ride him?" Robb asked, and for a brief moment, Jon felt like they were children again. Jon shook his head.

"Imagine if I could get him to breathe fire," Jon half japed, thinking about what an advantage that might be for them. For a moment they were boys, thinking about fantastic tales of dragon riders and heroic deeds.

"Sam said there were three dragons?" Robb asked, and Jon nodded. He's seen the other two in his dreams as well.

"I wonder where they might be..." Robb said contemplatively, and Jon smacked him on the back.

"Let's deal with the dragon we've got brother," and they grinned at each other.

A week after the first incident, the green-gold dragon was back. Once again, Jon approached him; only this time, he could see the beast was happy to see him. He made a low chuffing noise, and Jon grinned at him and stroked him with a bit more confidence, laughing when the dragon bumped him, and he fell flat on his arse. Had he been closer to the gathered crowd, he would have heard their shocked gasps, but Jon knew he wouldn't hurt him. Each night he flew with the dragon and they were getting closer by the day.

"Aye, you've got them all in a panic," he told the dragon when he came back to his feet. He only wished he knew his name, for he knew he had to have one. The Dragon Queen would not have let them go unnamed; not having them for three years by her side. Not knowing where it came from, Jon suddenly whispered, "Rhaegar," and he saw a spark in the dragon's eyes. He knew that wasn't quite right, but it was close. "I promise I'll try to find your name," he told the dragon, feeling at once silly and humbled by the great beast in front of him. As if he understood, the dragon stomped his feet and unfurled his wings to take to the skies again. When Jon returned to the Castle, the usual crowd had gathered, and he shook his head at their gawking.

"They think you're some kind of god," Tormund told him good-naturedly. "A fucking dragon and a direwolf," the Wildling said delightedly. Over the past weeks, they had spoken with the Wildlings that had come to settle the Gift and most of the men had agreed to stay and fight. In total, the Wildlings added about three thousand men to the already fifty thousand that had come from the south with Jaime Lannister.

"I'm not a god," Jon said, and Tormund just laughed.

"Fuck me, crow; I know that. I've seen your cock," Tormund said, and Jon shook his head at him. If there was anyone around to keep him humble, it was Tormund Giantsbane.

Word had come that Stannis was a day away from Castle Black, when Jon and Robb were summoned to the North gate, told that there were three people seeking entrance into Castle Black.

"They say they're Bran Stark, Benjen Stark and Meera Reed," the one guard told the Lord Commander. Jon and Robb looked at each other in astonishment.

"Was one of them in a sleigh?" Jon asked excitedly, and the guard nodded.

"Open the gate," Jon commanded, and for the first time in years, Robb, Jon and Bran looked at each other, stunned that they had all survived. Somehow, against all the odds, the Starks siblings of Winterfell were all alive, and for the first time, despite the threats facing them, Jon felt a sense of peace settle over him. He watched as his brother came into the yard, and met their gaze, and then saw something in his eyes that made Jon want to take a step back. When Bran's monotone voice rang through the yard, the feeling of peace fled Jon and dread settled like a pit in his stomach. Jon took a look at his Uncle Benjen, who hadn't removed his cloaked hood, and knew that his entire world was about to change. 


	30. Chapter 30

_ Castle Black  _

The moment Bran Stark opened his mouth and said they needed to talk; Jon got a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was thrilled to see not only his brother, but his Uncle as well, but neither seemed to have the same reaction at seeing him and Robb. Jon shared a worried glance with his brother, and Robb shrugged as if to say he felt the same way Jon did; that something was decidedly different about Bran.

"We need to talk, Jon," Bran repeated, and the Lord Commander nodded. Robb approached Bran slowly and crouched down so that he was at eye level.

"It's been a long time, brother," Robb said quietly and embraced Bran. For a brief moment, Jon watched as a bit emotion came over Bran's face; it might have been happiness or relief. He couldn't quite tell, but there was something there for a moment before his face became blank again.

Jon stood and approached Benjen, who still hadn't removed his hood. He thought his Uncle would at least want to hug him; after all, it had been years since he'd last seen him alive, but Benjen just stood there in his cloak, still as a statue.

"We need privacy," was all his uncle would say, and Jon nodded, and the uneasy feeling intensified in him. Robb scooped Bran up into his arms, and the small Stark family made their way to Jon's rooms.

Ever since the incident with the mutiny, Robb had moved into Jon's chambers, along with Greywind. The two direwolves were almost inseparable these days, along with the Stark brothers. In many ways, it reminded them of their time sharing a room at Winterfell, and though they were no longer children, there was a feeling of security and home that came from being close to each other again.

Both knew it was only temporary; Robb had a wife and child, and Jon had his duties as Lord Commander. But for now, they would not be parted from each other.

Before they had all settled in the room, Jon asked Edd to find a space for Meera and invited Sam to join the family discussion. Robb spoke up and said that Kevan Lannister should be there as well.

Jon gave him a curious look at this, and Robb sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"He's a good man Jon, and he loves Sansa. He's got a direct ear to the King, and he's the one who brought father's sword back to me," Robb explained. "And, whether we like it or not, our fate is now tied to House Lannister. We made an alliance to end the War of the Five Kings, and my daughter is already betrothed to Sansa's second son," Robb explained.

"You don't have a daughter," Jon said, looking confused, and Robb nodded.

"Not yet. But if and when I do, she will marry Jason Lannister and become the Lady of Casterly Rock," Robb told them, and Jon nodded and sent a page boy to find the Lannister Lord, as well as food and ale for Benjen and Bran who had watched the whole exchange quietly.

When Kevan Lannister arrived, he smiled warmly at Robb, and Jon could see the affection between the two men. It reminded him slightly of how it had been when Stannis was here. It also emphasized to Jon just how much they had all lost when Joffrey had taken Ned Stark's head; they all still had so much to learn from their father when he died.

Thankfully, it seemed the realm wasn't filled with only corrupt men. There appeared to be good men still that they could learn from; Stannis, Kevan and Jaime were a few that came to mind, along with Yohn Royce and the Blackfish. Jon had spent very little time with Kevan Lannister, but if Robb liked and trusted him than Jon would give him the benefit of the doubt.

Sam was the last to arrive, and he huffed, out of breath when he entered the room. His eyes widened as he took in the group assembled and shot Jon a questioning gaze, but Jon just shook his head and indicated an open chair that Sam gratefully sunk into. An awkward silence settled over the room before Jon finally cleared his throat.

"Perhaps we should begin with how you ended up back here?" Jon said and looked to his Uncle and his brother.

Benjen sighed, and his low, rough voice sounded in the room. He still hadn't removed his hood, and Jon's uneasy feeling had not gone away.

"What we are about to tell you, well... it defies logic," Benjen told them. "But I need you boys to listen. To everything me and your brother have to tell you." Benjen spoke only to his nephews, ignoring Sam and Kevan completely.

Jon swallowed hard and nodded. "We thought you were dead. The two men with you, well, you know what they became," Jon told him, and Benjen nodded.

"Myself as well. I would have been one of them, a wight, except for the Children of the Forest, who saved me and made me something different," Ben said and let his hood fall back. Jon and Robb sucked in shocked breaths at his appearance and Sam, and Kevan looked startled.

"Aye, I'm a sore sight, that much is true. Not dead and yet not alive. Not one of them," he explained hastily. "And as long as I can, I'll fight for the living."

"How?" Jon asked, completed bewildered. He'd seen first-hand what happened to those that fell to the White Walkers. Ben ignored Jon for the moment. It wasn't necessary to discuss that yet.

"Who are the Children of the Forest?" Sam asked curiously, and Ben shot the young man a knowing smile.

"Now that's the right question to be asking," Ben said and nodded at the Crow as Sam beamed. He was someone that responded well to praise.

"The Children of the Forest were the first people of Westeros," Bran said, his voice monotone and everyone's eyes swung to him. "They were ancient, powerful and magical beings, and it is because of them that the North learned to pray to the Old Gods after the Pact was signed."

"What is The Pact?" Robb asked. All four men looked at each other, Sam and Kevan being thoroughly confused. They were southern and Andals and not from the North. At least Robb and Jon had heard some of these terms, if only in Old Nan's tales.

"When the First Men came to Westeros, they encountered the Children of the Forest. For thousands of years, conflict arose between the two. Ten thousand years ago, the Children of the Forest and the First Men signed The Pact on the Isle of the Faces, ending centuries of warfare. In celebration, the Children carved a face into each weirwood tree on the Isle to witness such a monumental occasion. Out of this Pact, the order of the green men was formed, and peace came to Westeros for a time."

"And where exactly is the Isle of Faces?" Jon asked, and Sam told them that it was in the middle of a lake called the Gods Eye, located in the southeast of The Riverlands, by Harrenhal Castle. Kevan Lannister confirmed both facts.

"And who are these green men?" Robb asked.

"A powerful order of seers that sought to keep the old ways and the old gods," Bran said, voice still monotone. It was hard for the two oldest of Ned Stark's sons to understand what changed Bran had been through.

Jon and Robb both looked to their Uncle Benjen, trying to make sense of things. He sighed and looked at them.

"When the Andals invaded Westeros six thousand years ago, many of the old ways were lost. It was only in the North that we remembered the old gods. And part of those old ways were men that could connect to visions through the sacred weirwood trees. It was what started the conflict in the Dawn Age; the First Men were cutting down the sacred wierwood trees that the Children prayed to and how greenseers can have the sight," Benjen explained. He knew that there was a lot of information being tossed around.

He saw the looks on their faces; he could read their skepticism and gave them both a hard look, admonishing them as only a man that had seen them in their small clothes could.

"You've both seen things that are unexplainable, and now you're questioning that there are those that have the sight?" He said to them harshly, and they both looked chagrined. It had been so long since they'd been chastised by either their Uncle or their father, that in a way it felt good; it felt normal.

"The most powerful of these seers came to be known as the Three-Eyed-Raven," Ben explained. "No one knows why he became the last greenseer or how he came to live with the remaining Children of the Forest beyond the Wall, but he was an immensely powerful being that had the ability to travel through time to witness events that have shaped Westeros."

A quiet filled the room, as everyone absorbed what was being said.

Sam coughed. "Wait. You said he was."

"What?" Jon asked.

"You said he was an immensely powerful being. Where is he now?" Sam asked, face screwed up in concentration.

"He died so that I could become the next," Bran said.

"The next what?" Robb asked lowly, not liking where this conversation was headed.

Bran turned his head and looked at his brother. "The next three-eyed-raven," Bran said, and Robb stood up and shook his head.

"You're Bran Stark. Second son of Ned and Catelyn Stark, not some bird," Robb protested, and Kevan put an arm on the Young Wolf.

"It was always my destiny. Since the moment I fell from the Tower at Winterfell," Bran said; still monotone and Robb shook his head, trying to deny his words.

Jon stood and went to kneel before Bran. "What does that mean, Bran?" He pleaded with him to explain more, to help them try and understand what he meant when he said he was this three-eyed- raven.

Bran was silent for a moment and then looked at Jon. "It means I know who your mother was. I know why my father lied. I know why he tried to protect you," Bran said, and Jon reeled back, face white and shocked.

Benjen stood and put a hand on Bran's shoulder, and Bran looked to him, and he shook his head. "Finish the first tale, Bran, before we add more." Bran kept eye contact with Benjen and then nodded.

"When I fell, something happened. I do not know what, only that this had always been my destiny," Bran told them. Both Robb and Jon wanted to protest, but one look from their Uncle had them holding their tongues.

"I knew I needed to get to the cave beyond the Wall, to learn and train with the three-eyed-raven. When we arrived, we found him there. He was so old that he had become one with the ancient weirwood tree he used for his visions. The last of the Children of the Forest served him, and the cave was protected from the Night King," Bran said.

"You know about the Night King?" Jon asked, his parentage momentarily forgotten. They knew next to nothing about the Night King, and though Jon didn't quite understand what either Bran or his Uncle were, he knew that there was strange and powerful magic clearly at work beyond the Wall. He would use whatever he could to gain any advantage on an enemy they knew nothing about.

Bran nodded slowly and looked to Jon. "You've both seen him. At Hardhome." And Jon nodded while Robb gasped.

"The Night King was made by the Children thousands of years ago. The First Men were cutting down their sacred trees and killing them as we told you. The Children needed a weapon, and he became one for them."

"How did they make him?" Sam asked, leaning forward, intrigued.

"Magic, dragon glass and the sacred weirwood tree at the heart of the Isle of Faces," Bran told them all. Shocked looked ringed everyone's faces.

"He broke free of the Children's control, and eight thousand years ago, the Long Night came. For a decade the Night King and White Walkers, swept across Westeros, bringing death, starvation, endless night and endless winter to the country. It was the War for the Dawn. The Children and the First Men banded together to drive them back to the Lands of Always Winter. Once there, Bran the Builder, along with Giants, northern men and the Children of the Forest built the Wall. Once the Wall was built, the ancient order of the Night's Watch was formed, and each King pledged men to guard the realm."

"Bran, the Builder who founded House Stark?" Robb asked incredulously, and Bran nodded.

"Why didn't we know any of this?" Sam asked, his voice full of wonder. Nothing was as important to Sam as knowledge. The idea that the first Kings, during the Age of Heroes had pledged men to this order was exciting.

Bran shrugged. "The North remembers, and the South forgets. The North followed the Old Gods. But in the south, the old ways were lost, and the faith of the seven became the dominant ideology."

Everyone nodded at that. Jon and Robb remembered the stories from Old Nan and even Maester Luwin. They remembered their father praying in front of the weirwood tree in their godswood at Winterfell, and they remembered how their mother never quite understood Ned Stark's connection with the ancient gods.

"We've got a bigger problem," Benjen said, interrupting everyone's musings. "When the Children helped build the Wall, they infused their magic into it, so nothing dead could cross. But now that they are all dead, the Night King and his Army can break through at any point," Benjen said, and Jon stood and paced the room.

"Fuck," he whispered and then looked at his Uncle. "Is that how you got through? Why you couldn't come back before?"

Benjen nodded. "I'm not one of them, but I'm not fully alive anymore either, Jon," Ben said and saw his nephew accept that.

"Do you know how we defeat him?" Jon asked Bran bluntly, and his brother turned his eyes to him.

"He must be killed where he was created," Bran said, voice holding no reflection at the implications of such a statement.

Horrified looks marred everyone's face. That was hundreds of miles away from the Wall and the North. Tens of thousands of people at least, if not more, lived between here and Harrenhal. And then there was the awful thought that if they weren't successful, the Night King would be even closer to King’s Landing and the million people who now resided there.

"What about the North?" Robb asked, low and urgent.

"It must be abandoned," Bran said and met his brother's eyes.

Robb muttered and cursed until Jon went to him and shook him. "We'll defeat him and come back, brother. The North will always belong to the Starks." Robb nodded quickly, grateful that Jon was by his side.

Kevan Lannister stood and looked around the room. "We must tell the King and Queen; everything that was discussed here." He looked towards Sam. "Can you get a raven ready? It needs to go out today."

Sam nodded and looked towards Bran and Benjen, who both said they would ensure the information was correct.

"About your mother, Jon," Bran started, and Jon's shoulders stiffened.

"Is it urgent that I know?" Jon asked. Bran shook his head, and Jon relaxed marginally. "We've got bigger issues than who my mother was right now, Bran."

Bran nodded but relented. "You need to know, Jon. But it can wait." Jon's shoulder's sagged in relief, and he turned his attention to Kevan and Robb.

"Tywin will know what to do about this threat," Kevan said confidently to Jon and Robb. "My brother is a brilliant war tactician," Kevan said, and Robb nodded at the man. Tywin Lannister's reputation was legendary.

"All those people," Jon said, shaking his head. He was never gladder than he was at that moment that Tywin Lannister was King of the Seven Kingdoms. The man had a lifetime of experience in actually ruling and was not a green boy that was prone to make stupid mistakes. Added to that, his wife was from the North, and Sansa would impart to him just how grave this threat was. The North would not be abandoned by the South to face this threat on their own. It would take the entire Kingdom to win this war, and they needed the man that had united the seven Kingdoms to know what they did. Nodding, Jon looked at Kevan Lannister. They had some time before the raven would be ready.

"My sister is happy? With him?" Jon asked, and Kevan smiled and nodded.

"They are very much in love with one another, Lord Commander," Kevan said, and Jon grunted at this.

"She is a brilliant Queen, Jon Snow. She makes him a better man, and a better ruler," Kevan added and Jon cocked his head.

"You believe that," Jon said, somewhat dumbfounded and Kevan grinned and laughed, easing the tension in the room.

"It's madness. After Ty lost his first wife, none of us ever expected he would marry again even though hundreds of desperate mothers and eligible daughters threw themselves at him. But none held his interest. None until Sansa," Kevan said, settling in and warming to the subject. He loved to talk about Tywin and Sansa and their love for one another.

Sam and Ben and Bran were working on the raven, while Jon and Robb had settled in to hear Kevan speak of Sansa and her husband.

"From the first moment they met, they've been inseparable," Kevan continued, happy to talk about his favourite couple. "He tells her everything, and asks her advice on war and strategy."

"Sansa?! My sister, the girl who only cares about pretty gowns and handsome princes?" Robb asked. He'd spoken with Kevan before, but never so in-depth. Only too late did Robb remember it was Sansa who had suggested the plans for the Bolton's and the Frey's.

Kevan shot him a warning look. He would not have anyone besmirch her name; not even her brothers. "She's not the same girl, and you know this Robb. She is a woman that is Queen to us all, and one I would die for," Kevan warned, and Jon frowned.

Robb sighed and rubbed his face, a brief look of shame on his face and both men picked up on it. "What happened Robb?" Jon asked softly.

"At one point, I had Jaime Lannister in my possession. Instead of trading him for Sansa, I waited. And then mother freed Jaime, leaving Sansa in Joffrey's clutches. From what I've been told, each time I won another victory, he had her stripped and beaten in front of the court," Robb told Jon and saw the banked anger and rage in his brother's face. He held up his hands. "I fucked up; I know that now."

"And your brother? He's not like that with her?" Jon demanded, his dark eyes flashing. The thought of his sister being beaten by her husband made Jon see red.

Kevan shook his head and then picked up the story. "After we defeated Stannis, Sansa approached Tywin and negotiated a marriage between them. I will not disclose what was said between them; it's private and for them to know. But from that moment, she came under his protection. I've hardly seen him yell at her, let alone raise a hand to her." Kevan sighed and thought about the two of them. "What you must understand is how deeply Tywin loves when he finds someone worthy. For a long time we believed that would only be Joanna, but now..." he let his voice trail off. "He would burn the seven Kingdoms to the ground to keep her safe. No one in the entire realm is more precious to him than she is. Tywin Lannister loves your sister quite with a devotion that is rarely seen. There is no one she is safer with, and no one that will treat her better."

Jon grunted, finally satisfied. It was true in his correspondence with his sister that she seemed happy and loved. She had told him as much, and Robb said that Arya and Sandor had confirmed it when they had gone to King’s Landing. He supposed that was all he could ask for, and saw why Robb liked this lion sitting in front of them. He was approachable and warm and honest. And he was family.

Soon enough, the raven was ready, and Jon signed and sealed it, and Sam left quickly to go to the rookery and send it to King’s Landing. Jon felt better seeing the birds fly south, knowing that the great Lion of Lannister would soon have the same knowledge that he, the young Lord Commander had.

Surely once Stannis arrived back, a plan would be formed, and for now, it was enough.

* * *

The next day, Jon met with Ser Davos to go over the food stores currently at Castle Black. Sansa had responded immediately to his request for supplies, and he'd received word from her that food and the first shipment of weapons were on its way from the south; he had half a mind to send it all to Winterfell, but he would wait to discuss it with Stannis when he arrived back. Jon had heard the stories about the Onion Knight and what he had done for Lord Stannis when they had been trapped at Storm's End.

Now with the news from Bran, Jon's mind was racing. He didn't think there was a chance that the armies they had gathered would stay this far North; not if the only way to defeat this Night King was in the south. There was no reason to give him any more meat for his army. The retreat was their best option until they could engage him closer to where he could be killed. It was such a critical piece of information that Bran had shared with them, and had the potential to help them win this war.

Jon didn't even want to think about the number of people between Castle Black and Harrenhal. Kevan Lannister said it had to be hundreds of thousands. No one had said it, and wouldn't until Stannis made it back to the Castle, but they needed to move everyone possible out of the way of the Night King and that included everyone that lived in the North. Jon could see Robb brooding about it, and left him to his thoughts. Soon enough Stannis would be back, and the King had been sent the raven yesterday about all that they had learned from Bran and Benjen. Jon could only pray that Sansa and Tywin believed them. Jon was sure that the continent had never seen such full-scale evacuation as the one he was already planning in his mind.

Right now, Jon had to ensure he had enough provisions to feed the Night's Watch and the Wildlings along with the southern army of fifty thousand men camped outside his gates for the time that they remained here. He didn't even want to think what a mass evacuation of the North might mean on food stores, especially as winter was coming. Everyone in the realm had received the white raven from the Citadel. Jon knew it wasn't a typical winter; not a natural winter. No, this winter was brought on by the Night King himself.

Jon liked Ser Davos. When Stannis had been at the Castle, they had rarely been apart from one another, and Stannis often sought Davos's advice, and more often than not, it was sound. Ser Davos seemed to be a naturally cautious man, and when he caught Jon looking at this stubs on his one hand, he ruefully explained Stannis Baratheon's logic behind taking the tops of his fingers.

"But you saved him," Jon protested, and Ser Davos chuckled at the young Lord Commander. He liked this Jon Snow. He understood why people would follow him, and he had a good head on his shoulders. He was young, but he listened, and he was honourable; almost as much as Stannis himself and was bound by duty. Ser Davos had heard how Jon had been offered to be pardoned from the Night's Watch and legitimized by his brother. Having met the Queen, there was no way that Ser Davos could see either her or husband denying that request. Jon Snow himself had turned it down, claiming he had sworn vows and that his place was at the Wall, serving his men. Davos didn't know too many men that would turn away such a position to remain at the Wall. It was a bleak and cold place, and most bastards wanted nothing more than to be legitimized. It spoke to Jon Snow's character that he had said no to his brother.

Right now Davos was busy looking over their supplies. All the southern forces had come with their provisions, and if they were to scale back slightly, they could be stretched to cover the three thousand Wildling men and women that had stayed behind to fight the dead. Davos and Jon were deep in discussion when a knock sounded at the door and a Night's Watchman told Jon that there was a strange woman at the Castle gates that claimed she was here with valuable information. "Her name?" Jon asked irritably. He hated being interrupted.

The Crow shook his head, and said, "No name, Lord Commander. Just that she is here at the command of the Lord of Light."

Jon saw Ser Davos stiffen and looked towards him, dismissing his page. "Who is she?" He demanded, and Davos shook his head.

"A red witch, Lord Commander, and no good comes to those who follow her," Davos spat and then briefly explained her association with Stannis Baratheon and what she had done to Gendry Waters, a so called bastard of Robert’s.

"Stannis sent her away?" Jon questioned, and Ser Davos nodded. "Then perhaps I should do the same," Jon said, and Davos risked placing a hand on his arm, and stilling him.

"I don't trust her, and I never will," Davos said and looked around, almost reluctant to keep speaking. "But things are happening here, things in motion and she has power. I may not like it, and I may not trust her, but she might be here for a reason. All I am saying is be careful around her, Jon Snow," Davos said urgently, and Jon nodded.

Personally, it made no difference to him who this woman was. Jon had enough that he was dealing with. A half-dead Uncle returned from beyond the Wall. A brother that was destined to become the secret keeper for all of Westeros. A dragon that would only allow him to pet him and who had disappeared again for a few days. And an enemy that could only be defeated hundreds of miles to the South, where Jon did not know the land.

The last thing he needed was some stranger trying to convert him to something he didn't believe in. Jon was from the North, and the Old Gods were what he followed. Perhaps he hadn't followed them as close as his father, but he knew now that had been a mistake and one he wouldn't repeat. One thing that had become apparent in speaking with Bran, and that was that his father's gods were the real gods, and Jon couldn't have given a shit about this Lord of Light from across the narrow sea.

When Melisandre of Asshai rode through the Castle gates, Jon could see she was a beautiful woman, but she stirred nothing in him. He was still mourning Ygritte and her death, even though he knew there had been no future for them. He saw more than one head turn in her direction and shook his head. There had been more women through Castle Black in the past few months than ever before he was sure.

"Lord Commander," Melisandre said and nodded at him.

"Melisandre of Asshai," Jon returned and saw that she was slightly surprised that he knew her name. Then she saw Ser Davos beside the young Lord Commander. That was unexpected. "Lord Stannis will be arriving within days," Jon said and was pleased to see her face tighten more in displeasure. He called for a steward and assured her that she would have a safe place here. Then he turned and walked away from her, thinking she would be Stannis Baratheon's problem in a few days.

Later that night, ensconced in his chambers, Jon and Robb were discussing what Bran had told them yesterday and what it meant for the North.

"We can't leave all these people in the North," Robb said, genuine worry in his voice.

Jon agreed, but he had no idea how they would convince people to leave. How did you tell people to leave their homes and crops because of a threat they didn't believe in? He was anxiously awaiting for Stannis and Jaime to return as well as the King's response.

"What about Winterfell?" Jon asked, and Robb looked at them. "What if we start by getting them to go to Winterfell? How many Northern houses would we need to evacuate to Winterfell?"

"Umber at Last Hearth, Glover at Deepwood Motte, and Karsarks at Karhold for sure," Robb said.

"There are the people in Queenscrown and Mole Town, and now all the Wildlings in the Gift," Jon added and Robb nodded.

"The Umbers and Karstarks will go for sure," Robb said. Big Jon Umber had been the first lord to back him for King of the North, and the Karstark's were loyal subjects of House Stark, along with the Glover's.

"Mormont?" Jon asked, and Robb shrugged.

"They're an island, and we know the dead can't swim, but..." Robb trailed off as a knocked sounded at the door.

When Jon opened it, Melisandre was there, and Jon's eyes widened at the gown she was wearing. It was very revealing and not at all suitable for the North.

"Aren't you cold?" He asked stupidly, and Robb laughed, but then his eyes narrowed. They'd spoken of this woman, some red priestess from across the narrow sea. Like Jon, Robb was more convinced than ever that their father had been correct in following the Old Gods and he too was ashamed that he hadn't followed their ways. He was already planning on marrying his wife again in front of the great weirwood tree in Winterfell when he returned home.

She pushed her way into the room and then stopped when she realized he wasn't alone. "I had hoped to speak with your privately, Lord Commander," she purred and ran her hand down Jon's chest.

He stepped back and grimaced and asked her bluntly what she wanted. She sighed and looked at the brothers. "Lord Commander, there are forces at work here that are beyond your comprehension," she said, her tone sultry and low.

Jon and Robb both barked out a laugh and looked at each other and Melisandre frowned.

"I warn you, Jon Snow, there is much you do not know," she said again, and Jon nodded. He had heard that before and from a redhead that he had been in love with.

"Aye, that's the truth of it. But I do know that I don't trust you," Jon said bluntly, and she frowned and left his room. Robb slapped his back.

"Fuck me, brother, I swear if I weren't here, she would have had her way with you," Robb said grinning at his brother, who shook his head.

"I took vows," Jon muttered, and wisely Robb said nothing about the Wildling woman they had burned when he'd first arrived at Castle Black. Jon had spoken about Ygritte in fits and starts, and Robb knew that his brother had loved her very much. There was something neither brother trusted about the foreign priestess.

A few mornings later, Bran, Benjen, Samwell and Kevan came back to Jon's chambers.

Kevan had received a raven back from Tywin, and his brother had shared with him his suspicions about Jon's parentage. Sansa seemed to think that Jon would never press his claim for the Iron Throne, and from what Kevan had seen, he had to concur. The Starks, and make no mistake, Jon Snow was as much a Stark as anyone that Kevan had ever met, were too honourable by far. They loved their sister and saw how the realm was prospering under their rule. Kevan knew that Jon Snow took his vows to the Night's Watch seriously. Tywin had also included his thoughts about the evacuation of the North, and Kevan would share those with everyone when they held their next war council meeting upon Jaime and Stannis's return to Castle Black.

The four of them had met with Bran yesterday trying to determine what he exactly was now. He had more or less proven to them his abilities, by sharing intimate moments with each person that no one else could have known about. All he had to say to Jon was the cave, and immediately Jon knew that Bran's abilities were real. The same thing happened with Robb, and the first time he'd lain with his wife Jeyne, and for Sam and Gilly, along with Kevan and his wife, Dorna. Personal details that no one could have known. There was the added fact that Benjen Stark wasn't a living person, but somehow, through magic was still here with them. Contemplatively after Bran and Benjen had left, the four men sat and drank ale and wondered if it was that hard to believe given what they had all witnessed. It seemed that Bran Stark had become this three-eyed-raven.

When the men had settled in the room with food to break their fast, Jon finally relented and allowed Bran to tell him who his parents were.

"All right, Bran," Jon said, and clenched a fist. "Who is my mother?" Robb came and stood behind Jon. He knew that his brother was both anxious and eager to learn the secret of his birth. He let a hand rest on Jon's shoulders in a show of support.

"Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen," Bran said in that dull monotone voice he now had. "I witnessed your birth, in the Tower of Joy, where father went with Howland Reed. She was dying, my aunt, your mother, and she gave you to my father. When she did, she begged him to protect you, and said your name was Aegon Targaryen."

"Fuck me," Robb said, shaking his head. He stood and put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Wait, why would she say his name was Targaryen? If he was born in Dorne, wouldn't he be Aegon Sand?"

Bran shook his head. "Rhaegar had his first marriage to Elia Martell annulled and married our Aunt. Jon is the true heir to the Iron Throne. A true born son of the Dragon Prince," Bran said. Everyone's eyes turned to Jon, who was holding his rage and hurt back by a thread.

"So he didn't rape her?" He said, grinding out those words. "My father? He wasn't the monster everyone said he was?"

Kevan shook his head in wonder at the young man. He'd just been told he was the heir to the Iron Throne, and all he cared about was that his father hadn't hurt his mother.

"No, he loved her, and she loved him," Bran said, and Jon stood abruptly and paced the small room.

"My father lied to me my entire life," Jon raged, so angry at Ned Stark that he swore if he were here, he'd run him through. "No, not my father. My Uncle," he said and sneered the word.

"To save you," Bran said, and Kevan nodded and then coughed.

"Men would have killed you, Lord Commander, had your true parentage been revealed," Kevan concurred, knowing that Tywin would have been one of those men. Kevan knew that Tywin had been the one who ordered Ser Gregor to murder Elia and her two children.

A bitter laugh came from Jon. "My whole life, I've only ever wanted to be a Stark. And now I'm not even that," he said and shook his head.

Robb grasped him and stilled his pacing. "You're my brother. I don't fucking care if you're technically my cousin. You're a Stark. Stark blood flows through your veins, and you're more of the North than anyone I know."

Jon let himself be hugged hard by his brother. No his cousin. But he embraced him back, willing the tears to go away. When he composed himself, he thought about what else Bran had said; about him being heir to the Iron Throne. Jon wanted nothing to do with that. He knew his sister and her husband had brought peace to the realm, and they had produced heirs, and they were beloved by the people in the south and north alike. Jon knew nothing about ruling the seven kingdoms.

"No one needs to know this," Jon muttered, running his hands through his hair. He looked to Kevan. "What will your brother do if this becomes common knowledge?" They had a war to fight, and the last thing Jon needed was the Kingdom tearing itself apart over a crisis of succession for a throne and a title he never wanted. Or for Tywin to abandon them to this Night King to protect his throne.

Kevan shrugged and handed Jon a piece of parchment. "As soon as the dragon arrived, he guessed. I'm not sure if he knows you were legitimate, but he and the Queen both know about your parentage," Kevan said.

Jon sat and read the note from the King and Queen of Westeros. Both reassured him that they would tell no one, and once the war was won, if he wanted to take his place in the South, Tywin would find a castle for him. Sansa told him that he would always be a Stark, and that this changed nothing, and that she loved him. Tywin told him bluntly that Ned Stark had done something remarkable; he'd kept the true heir to the Iron Throne safe for over two decades by sullying his reputation. Tywin added that he did not know Jon personally, but that his reputation proceeded him and that he was Ned Stark's in all but blood. Cryptically, Tywin reminded Jon that blood did not mean everything. Something settled in Jon when he read the King's word. Ned Stark had done something remarkable and for a sister that they loved. Jon thought about that for a moment; if he had been given the same choice, and knew he'd do anything for his family to protect them. He knew he was Ned Starks, if not in name then in blood.

"I don't want it - any of it. Not the name, not the title, not the Throne," Jon said, shaking his head.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked tentatively, and Jon shot him a look.

"I'm sure, Sam. I took vows before the sacred weirwood tree. If we survive this Long Night, and we survive the Army of the Dead, and we somehow kill the Night King, then all I want is a place in the North," Jon said and shot a look to Robb who grinned. "Is that possible, cousin?"

"I have got an empty castle waiting with your name on it, brother," Robb said and clasped Jon to him again. He cupped his cheeks. "You're a fucking Stark, even if that Dragon loves you. And you're my fucking brother, so stop with this cousin shit."

Jon laughed a bit ruefully at that, and they all turned to Bran.

"Tell us, Bran, are Tywin and Sansa the King and Queen the realm needs?" Jon asked and knelt before his cousin. They all watched as Bran's eyes rolled white, and waited for several moments before he came back.

"There is no future that is guaranteed, and I cannot tell what things might happen in the upcoming war," Bran said, and they all groaned. "But," he continued, "The King and Queen have already brought stability to the realm, and their love for one another grows daily. Even now, our sister is pregnant with another child, of Stark and Lannister blood. They are the union that Westeros needed, and they are well-loved."

"Would I be a better King than Tywin Lannister?" Jon asked. Everyone could hear the doubt and skepticism in his voice and Bran could only shake his head. Jon grinned and sent Kevan Lannister a look.

That was good enough for Jon. The thought of being given such a responsibility made him want to hurl. It had been bad enough when he'd been made Lord Commander, and he and Robb had spent countless nights drinking too much ale and lamenting at how fucking hard it was to rule men; even if they had both been born for it.

Tywin's brother shook his head at how happy these statements had made Jon Snow. Kevan had watched his whole life as blood was shed for that throne. He'd watched as corrupt rulers, and inept rulers and downright cruel and mad rulers had sat on that awful chair, and the people had suffered. He'd watched as people lied, murdered, raped and schemed to get their hands on a smidgen of power. He knew that this young man in front of him wanted nothing to do with it. Once again, Kevan was struck with how unique these wolves were. For there was no mistaking it; Jon Snow was one part wolf and one part dragon. Unlike other Targaryen's though, it seemed the ice in his blood cooled the hot dragons blood, so instead of fire and blood, he was fire and ice, the best of both Houses.

"I'll send the raven to the King and Queen and let them know," Jon said, "along with my reassurances that the Throne is theirs. No one outside this room needs to know," he said. Jon wasn't stupid; the dragon was a dead give-away as to his blood. But he didn't need to confirm he was some long-lost Targaryen prince. He was just Jon Snow, 999th Commander of the Night's Watch. The only good thing that Bran revealed was that his parents had been in love and that Rhaegar hadn't raped his mother. His mother. Jon was still getting used to the idea. It would take time. Even knowing why Ned Stark had done what he had, it still hurt. Jon had been a bastard his entire life, and now to know that he wasn't would take some getting used to.

When Jon glanced at Benjen, he saw a stunned look on his face.

"He didn't even tell you, did he?" Jon said, shaking his head at how his Uncle had managed to keep this a secret from everyone; even his brother. Benjen came and embraced Jon, and he could see the emotion on his Uncle's face.

"I thought she'd been kidnapped and raped; forced against her will to be with Prince Rhaegar. And to learn that she was loved, that she loved him and had you. That she chose you," Benjen said, emotion choking his voice. He cupped Jon's face and looked at him shaking his head. "Fuck me, how did I not fucking see it. You're her boy. Her son. Lyanna." Ben hugged him again, and Jon felt his eyes water.

He knew that his aunt had been beloved in the North, and to learn what she had risked to bring him into the world healed a small broken part of him. He hadn't been unwanted. He hadn't been unplanned. His mother wasn't some cheap whore that Ned Stark had made a mistake with. She was a princess of the North; beloved by her family and loved by her husband. It would take some time to wrap his head around the other side of his true parentage; the dragon side. He knew next to nothing about the Targaryen's, and now he had a dragon to try to tame as well. But for the first time, Jon Snow felt wanted in his life and felt like he wasn't the dirty mistake of the honourable Ned Stark. It was enough that he and his family knew.

"She'd be so proud of you, Jon," Ben said and Jon nodded. He knew it to be accurate, and he couldn't help but respond to the joy he saw in his Uncle's face.

Later, he stood with Robb as Sam said goodbye to Gilly and little Sam as they were bundled into a litter to go south to Winterfell. Robb had called some of his bannermen to deliver them to the Castle, and Sam stood and watched as they rode away, tears unashamedly streaming down his face.

"I don't suppose I'll ever see them again," Sam said wistfully. Robb and Jon flanked him, along with Dickon who had been spending more time with his brother, despite his father's disapproval.

"Winterfell's not that far, Sam," Robb said, but Sam shook his head.

"It's not just that. Once we've figured out the dragon, I'm off to Old Town, to become a Maester," Sam reminded Robb, and he just let his hand rest on the chubby man's shoulder. Nothing could be said. Sam had dreamed of being a Master his entire life. He'd done his best to save Gilly, and now her and baby Sam would be safe at Robb Stark's castle. He thanked the Northern Lord again and then took his leave.

Before Jon and Robb could turn from the yard, it was announced that a dragon had been spotted again, flying in the distance. Robb shook his head, and then everyone's blood chilled when someone cried that a second one was on the horizon. Despite the fearsome nature of the beast, Jon felt a slight hum of anticipation flow through him, knowing that the dragon was back. Now that he knew his heritage, things started to make sense. He was both wolf and dragon, and it seemed, in this lifetime, he was destined to bond with both his house sigils. Ghost appeared at his side, and Jon let his hand drift down to his head.

"Aye, boy, he's back," Jon said and grinned at the direwolf who he swore had his smile on his face. It was uncanny that the two beasts from legend seemed to accept each other. "He's brought a friend this time. A brother I suspect," Jon said conversationally, and Robb shook his head as Jon's antics. Grinning, Jon walked through the gates and waited to greet his dragon. He might not be ready to tell everyone who his parents were, but he'd no longer deny it to himself; he was wolf and dragon, fire and ice, and the green-gold dragon was his as much as Ghost was.

* * *

_A note about the timeline- this part in KL starts BEFORE Tywin and Sansa know that Jon has a dragon- so just after Jaime and Stannis have left for Dragonstone. By the time we are at the end of this chapter, the two timelines mesh again. So first, the King and Queen receive a raven for supplies from the south, then they receive word about the dragon (who was in the last chapter) and then they received word about Bran and the Night King and the Isle of Faces and confirmation of who Jon’s parents were._

* * *

_ King's Landing _

Sansa Lannister kept herself busy with tasks in King’s Landing the moment that Jaime, Tyrion and Stannis sailed away. First, there were, as always her sons, who at just over three months, were growing fast. Sansa still nursed them occasionally, but she had finally relented and allowed two additional wet nurses to ease some of the burdens from her. With so many people in their family away, including Kevan, Sansa was needed to help rule the kingdom. Tywin needed her to be a Queen and not merely a mother. Sansa was grateful for the three months that she had to bond with her children.

Not that Tywin wasn't perfectly capable of ruling Westeros himself; but the War Council met almost daily, and there were still endless petitioners. And they were better when they ruled together. Everyone's efforts were required to ensure that they survived this threat to them, and despite being pregnant again she wasn't as sick this time, and Tywin trusted Sansa with some of the most critical tasks that fell to the King.

When Jon's first raven came asking for supplies, Tywin happily gave Sansa that task. She knew the North, and she had a good relationship with all the Tyrell's, that old witch Olenna included. Sansa was pleased to help and eagerly set up a meeting with them. She knew that winter was coming; the Citadel had sent a white raven to all seven kingdoms, and poor management of supplies could severely hinder any efforts by the south to get food to the North. The Reach had been the least affected by the War of the Five Kings, and Sansa negotiated a fair price for them to begin to ship supplies and food North.

Olenna had brought Willas back to the capital after his marriage to a girl from House Tarly. She knew Tywin would have a fit when he found out who she was going to be working with to ensure the North was adequately supplied with food, but it couldn't be helped. Her husband would be even more displeased by the fact that she was going to recommend that Willas be made Master of Coin. His father honestly had no head for it and was busy overseeing the work in the forges and the making of weapons. After her first meeting with Lord Willas, Sansa knew he would be much better suited for the potion on Tywin's small council.

"Your Grace, you are stunning," Lord Willas said to Sansa when he came to her quarters that afternoon. Sansa blushed and thanked him. Her new pregnancy had her glowing, despite the threat looming over all of them, and Sansa was a woman who was deeply loved and in love with her husband and her ever-growing family. Her happiness radiated from her.

Sansa was once again struck by just how genuinely nice the Reach heir was. She asked about his marriage, and he blushed and said she was a lovely woman and pregnant with their first child. Sansa congratulated him, and he asked about the Princes which Sansa happily chatted about. She could speak for hours on how wonderful her sons were. Joining Sansa today, was as always, Shireen.

"Ahhh yes, I've heard about your little shadow," Lord Willas said and smiled benevolently at the girl who curtsied perfectly and smiled at the Reach Lord. Despite his crippled natured, Willas Tyrell was a handsome man. Sansa was thrilled he was happily married and knew that Shireen had a particular soft spot for those who had some deformity. The afternoon spent in each other's company was pleasant until Sansa was interrupted that the Princes were hungry and she excused herself to nurse them. Lord Willas took his leave, but not before promising to begin sending the rations they had negotiated North along the Kings Road.

That night at dinner, Sansa told Tywin that Willas Tyrell was back in the Capital and her husband grunted and gave her a look. She rolled her eyes at him and then reached for his hand and squeezed it. He was mad if he thought anyone even compared to him.

"And how is the farmer?" He almost sneered, and Sansa gave him a look. He met her gaze and arched an eyebrow.

"Happily married and with his first heir on the way, husband," Sansa said dryly. Tywin knew this of course; he knew everything that went on in his Kingdom or so it seemed, but he still liked hearing it from her lips.

"Good," he said and tucked into his meal. He was running himself ragged these days. Thankfully the mining of the dragon glass from Dragonstone was going well under Tyrion's supervision, and now that Sansa had negotiated with the Reach for supplies he didn't have to worry about men starving to death. He could only imagine that horror. Thousands of men died from starvation only to rise at the hands of this Night King. He would not allow that to happen under his reign.

Tywin wasn't pleased with Dorne these days. Oberyn, despite sending some smiths to King’s Landing had contributed the least, and even though Myrcella and Trystane still hadn't married, Tywin had half a mind to send for his granddaughter. He wondered if this were some scheme by the Dornish; wait until the realm was otherwise occupied and strike at the heart of the capital.

The King had discussed his concerns with Lord Wayward and Lord Tully and both men agreed to keep a large contingent of men close to King’s Landing if anything like that were to happen, along with several thousand Lannister forces already here. With the Kingdom technically at peace, and all efforts focused North, Tywin would not leave himself vulnerable to an attack from the south. Both

Baratheon and Tyrell forces would also keep an eye to the southernmost kingdom. One wrong move from Dorne and Tywin would smash them before they could even muster the troops required to take him on. He knew that Doran Martell still hated him, and he honestly couldn't blame the man. But Tywin would not lose his Throne because he was too distracted by the threat in the North.

Of course, he shared all of these concerns with Sansa, who had become his hand in all but name. Technically Tyrion still held the position, as did Stannis as Master of Ships. But with both men out of the Capital, Sansa, Jerrod and Addam had become his inner circle that he spoke with most often.

"Lord Willas would make a much better Master of Coin than Mace," Sansa said conversationally, and Tywin's head shot up, and he pinned her with a look. She shrugged and reached for her water. "I know you don't like him Tywin, but he's smart, fair and level headed. He understands the economy much better than his father, and he is interested in it. And Mace is much happier to play with his weapons. I half expect him to ride North with the first shipment of rations and weapons for the North."

Tywin thought about that. It was true that Mace Tyrell was most animated when talking about war, as most men tended to be. His heir had secured a marriage and had gotten his wife with child. Lord Willas would never see combat and so Mace never had to worry about losing his son in this upcoming war. In many ways, it made sense, and Tywin could ill afford to have the wrong people in important positions during these trying times.

"Do you honestly think it is the best move?" He asked her and Sansa held his gaze and nodded.

"I'll speak with both men tomorrow," was all he said and Sansa was happy that he had listened to her.

That night in bed, exhausted from the days' endless work, he held Sansa to him and let his hand rest on her stomach. Chelan, the midwife, had confirmed her pregnancy, and this time it appeared only small bouts of sickness in the morning would plague his wife. He nuzzled her neck, both of them too tired for much else tonight, and she happily sighed in his arms. Both of them were quite excited that another child was on the way, even though they were under such intense pressure to keep the kingdom safe.

"There isn't any part of you that wishes you had married him?" Tywin asked after a moment, and Sansa twisted in his arms to give him an astonished look.

"Do you doubt my feelings for you?" She asked, and he could see the hurt in her eyes. He shook his head and cupped her face.

"Never, only that he is much younger and the pressures from marrying him would so much less," Tywin stated, and she scolded him softly.

"Tywin, I dreamed my entire life of meeting a handsome prince, of falling in love, of being loved like someone from the beloved songs and tales that I loved. When I came to King’s Landing, everything was a nightmare, except for you. You are everything I ever wanted. There isn't a man in the Kingdom that would love me the way that you do," she said passionately and kissed him. Hard.

Tywin swallowed down the retort that was on his lips. He was sure that there were half a dozen men off the top of his head that would love his wife at least as much as he did. Oberyn. Jaime. Tyrion. Stannis. Sandor. Hell, even Willas Tyrell had been enamoured by her. She was the one that was spectacular and rare, not him.

"Sansa," he said, breathing her name as if a prayer. His love for her deepened each day, and he was so in love with her it hurt to even think about being parted. His confrontation with Jaime had once again exposed his deficiencies, and though Sansa had accepted him, he still worried that one day she would find him lacking. Or learn something about him that would cause her to hate him.

"Tywin, stop," she told him and pressed herself closer to him. "You are mine, and I am yours, for all our days, Tywin. This is the way it was meant to be. Everything had to happen for me to be here with you, in your arms. Somedays I think I was made for you," she told him, and he felt his heart clench at such an admission. This love they had was so all-consuming, and her reassurance that she felt the same way he did went a long way in soothing his jealousy and insecurities.

The next day, Tywin summonsed the entire Tyrell family to their solar. He had learned that he might as well deal with them all, especially if he didn't want to feel the waspish sting of the old bitch's tongue should he offend her in some way. When they arrived, he looked at them all, and couldn't help but grimace. The Tyrell's had been a necessary alliance, but when he thought of someone like Stannis Baratheon, he realized that he would never trust them the way he did the Storm Lord. There was something honourable and dutiful about Stannis, and Tywin saw much of himself in the younger man. The Tyrell's, on the other hand, was always plotting. While Joffrey had been alive, he had been such a distasteful option that marrying into the Lannister's had been an excellent second option. But Tywin couldn't help but feel like Olenna and Margaery were now eyeing the throne again. Part of him wanted to send the two women back to the Reach, but he felt like if he kept them here, he could keep a better eye on them: him and his Master of Whispers. Tywin wouldn't kid himself; Varys had no reach in the Reach. When they had all been seated, Tywin wasted no time explaining his new arrangements.

Mace grinned and almost cackled with glee. He wanted to go to the Wall and see these dead fuckers that everyone spoke of. It had been an age since he'd engaged in battle, and he'd gladly ride up the Kings Road with supplies of food and weapons. He knew as well as anyone he had no head for numbers. He clapped Willas on the back, who thanked the King and the Queen for their confidence in him with his new role as Master of Coin. Margaery pursed her lips, but could not argue. It was an honour, and she could see how pleased both her father and brother were. Olenna just had a sour look on her face. She had heard rumours that the Queen was pregnant again, and at this rate, the Old Lion would have half a dozen new lions in no time, and several heirs should anything happen to the first one. Or two. Added to that, Olenna disliked how close Stannis Baratheon had become to the King. Perhaps Willas would be able to make inroads where her son had never been able too. It seemed him, and the Queen got along quite well.

When the Tyrell's left, Varys emerged from an adjacent room. He had heard the entire conversation. "So?" Tywin asked the Master of Whispers, and he shrugged.

"My little birds have turned up no plots from the Tyrells, Your Grace, but I will keep my eyes and ears wide open," Varys said. He glanced at the Queen. True to her word, her improvements in Flea Bottom had won her the love and respect of the common people. The latest initiative was teaching all the orphans to read, and even Varys was stunned by such an ambitious goal. To read was to elevate those well above their current station. Added to that, the work in the forges was allowing for many to seize the opportunity to learn a trade. Armour also needed to be forged, and there was endless work for everyone. Honest work. Good work. Shireen had been at Sansa’s side the entire time, and Varys wondered when the time would come to tell both the Queen and the heir to the Stormlands that one of Robert’s bastards had survived; and was working under their very noses.

It had rankled Varys to have the Queen chip away at his network, but his people were still in place.

Sansa steepled her hands and looked at Varys. "We need to make winter clothing," she said. She had discussed this with Tywin. It was all fine and well to send soldiers to the North, but if they froze to death, they were more than useless against the Night King; they were a liability.

"Your suggestion, Your Grace?" Varys said, and Sansa sighed.

"Any woman, girl or boy who has any skill with a needle and thread will be fairly compensated to make socks, tunics, breeches and gloves for the soldiers. Even if they have had a less than savoury previous occupation," she told Varys, and he nodded. He would circulate word throughout the brothels as well as the orphanages. "And," the Queen continued, "anyone who wants to learn will be given the opportunity."

That was something completely new. Most had to prove themselves, and Varys cocked his head at her. She shrugged. "It takes but an afternoon to teach someone how to run a few stitches to make socks or blankets. The more skilled work will have to be done by those with more experience, but there are simple things that can save lives that require many hands to do the work."

"Of course, Your Grace," Varys said, once again more than pleased with the Queen. "I will ensure that anyone who can and anyone who wants to learn begins immediately."

"Oberyn Martell," Tywin said with a bite before the eunuch left.

Varys cocked his head. "Don't pretend that House Martell doesn't hate me, Varys," Tywin said, and the Master of Whispers nodded. "I doubt that very much giving them Gregor Clegane satisfied their need for vengeance against House Lannister. Now they have sent no men and seem to contribute nothing to this war."

"All true, Your Grace, but I haven't heard anything overt. Perhaps Oberyn should accompany Mace to the Wall and see the threat for himself," Varys suggested, and Tywin grunted at that thought. It wasn't a half-bad idea. Varys himself wouldn't be travelling North; ever. If the threat became that dire, Tywin would entrust his wife to the eunuch to see her safely across the Narrow Sea. The man was devoted to Sansa, and one of the only people in his orbit that had actual knowledge of Essos. Tywin knew that Varys would keep Sansa and the twin princes safe if it came down to that desperate action.

* * *

When Sansa walked into Tywin's solar two days after the meeting with the Tyrell's she had expected to find her husband hard at work and slightly annoyed that she was interrupting him to discuss a name day celebration for Shireen. She was startled to see him sitting at his desk, predator still with a raven scroll clutched in his hands.

"Tywin?" She asked tentatively, and he looked at her. She saw a deep worry in his eyes, and it made a pit form in her stomach. "What's happened? Is it my brother? The Wall? Has something happened?"

He held the raven out for her to read. At first, Sansa couldn't believe what she was reading. So she took her time and read it over again and again.

"There's a dragon at the Wall, and my brother has befriended it?" She asked him, wonder and bewilderment in her voice. She didn't understand why Tywin was so upset until she thought about the lore and history of dragons. She looked at her husband.

"Who was Jon's mother, Tywin?" She asked softly, but her intent was clear. He gave her a knowing look; she couldn't sort through all the emotions that were fighting for supremacy in her head and her heart currently. Was she upset at him that he had potentially known this great secret and kept it from her? Or was she excited that she might finally learn the truth about Jon's mother?

He sighed.

"I don't know for certain," he said, and his eyes were guarded and shadowed from her, but she knew him better than anyone.

"Why are you afraid?" She asked quietly, zeroing in on the odd emotion she'd seen cross his face.

He didn't answer but held her gaze, and she could see the worry in his eyes. Worry that she would think less of him, or that when he revealed what he suspected, it would change things irrevocably between them.

"Who?" She asked again, slightly more forceful this time. There was no turning back. Whatever horrible truth it was, it needed to come out.

"Lyanna Stark," Tywin stated and watched her reel back in shock. She shook her head.

"No, he was my father's bastard. Not my Aunt's. My Aunt was kidnaped and ...." Sansa's brilliant mind felt the pieces slot into place. She glanced at her husband and thought she might be sick. "It was said he raped her," Sansa stated softly, and wanted to hurl. She couldn't imagine the pain that her brother, no her cousin must feel if he had worked the same thing out as her husband had. First Tyrion; now Jon. Two bastards born from rape with Targaryen blood. Sansa stood and swayed, and Tywin was immediately by her side.

"Sansa love, sit," he said gently and pulled her onto his lap. She was breathing hard, and her eyes looked a bit glazed. "Love, calm down," he said to her and rubbed her back. Then he saw the tears well.

"My whole life it was the one dishonourable thing my father did. Fathering a bastard and cheating on his wife," she whispered. "Why?"

He sighed and looked at her. "Because men would have killed him if they had known who he was," Tywin stated unequivocally, and she realized that he had included himself in that group. Robert would have killed her cousin. She knew what Tywin had done to Rhaegar's wife Elia and her two children. Her father had lied, sullied his reputation, almost destroyed his marriage to protect his nephew because of men like her husband.

She wanted to be sick at that thought. Jon had been an innocent child. A baby. She saw how Tywin was with their sons. It made her ill to think he could do something like that to a child. She struggled a bit, and he tightened his hold on her, but still loose enough that if she wanted to stand, she could. He would never raise a hand to her, nor would he ever restrain her. Not even if he feared losing her love.

"I've done hateful things in my lifetime, Sansa. You know this," his voice strained and almost desperate, but truthful and unapologetic. "I don't know what I would have done had I known who he was for sure."

Sansa sighed raggedly and looked at the man she loved. That was the truth. She loved Tywin Lannister. Her husband. She knew what he was. She'd learned most of what he had done, and loved him anyway. She knew exactly what he was capable of. She always had from the moment she had approached him. She ran her fingers through his whiskers, almost tugging at him painfully. He willingly took the slight sting her hands dealt him.

"Tywin," she breathed against his lips, pain and love and grief waring in her. She choked back the tears and bit at him, drawing a bead of blood and keening, trying to reconcile these opposing parts of herself into something she could live with. He tightened his grip on her and silently begged her to know how much he loved her.

"I'm not sorry for the awful things I've done Sansa, because everything brought me to you. And it would be a lie to say I regret my past actions because I do not. I am not sorry for the choices I've made. I've always done what I've thought was required to secure my family's legacy," Tywin paused and squeezed her tightly. "But I am sorry it hurts you. I am sorry I am the type of man that can hurt you, even indirectly. I am not a soft man, Sansa and for that I'm sorry," he whispered and rested his forehead against hers.

"Fuck," she whispered, and he almost would have smiled. Sansa never cursed. She lifted her head to meet his eyes. "I love you, Tywin. Fully. Wholly. Every single part of me loves you. But this hurts, and I don't want you to be a person that can hurt me," she almost whimpered and then threw her arms around him and burrowed into him, as if she was trying to infuse her innate goodness into him.

He carded his hands into her hair, pinning her to him, as he whispered into her ear. "I never want to hurt you again Sansa, and every decision I've made since we met I've discussed with you."

She nodded into his neck. She knew that was true. Perhaps that had to be enough. That since they had married, he hadn't done anything like what he had in the past without her knowing about it.

"You are everything, Sansa. Everything. My entire world is you. And I won't lie. I would do so many hateful things to keep you and Tysan and Jason safe."

She nodded again, accepting it. A part of her loved that he was that type, man. And she had to tell him that.

"I love that you would," she said. "Gods help me, but I love that you will keep us safe, Tywin. No matter the cost to you, or what people might think of you, or what I will think," she said and looked directly into his eyes and let him see the truth there.

She felt him relax marginally. This was the man she had killed for, and he had for her. They had killed Joffrey and Cersei to secure their legacy. They loved each other beyond what was normal for noble men and women. She leaned down and kissed him, and it was searing, like a brand against one another.

"I love you," he crooned to her, and she nodded back.

"I love you. Forever," she confirmed back, desperate and needy. She had known who and what he was when she had first approached him. She had promised him she would not judge him for the very nature she had sought to protect herself from Joffrey. And she knew that despite knowing all the horrid things he had done, she loved him still. If that made her as bad as him than the dye had been cast. There was no going back for either one of them, but a small part of her believed that maybe she made him a bit better of a man. She had to believe it to go forward.

Tywin was tugging at the stays on her dress and Sansa was pulling at his doublet before she reached down to loosen his breeches. When he'd rucked up her skirts, he pulled away her small clothes to feel her wet and ready.

"I can't be gentle," he told her gruffly, and she nodded as she rose up and sunk down on him. She didn't want gentle. She wanted him, unrestrained and desperate for her as much as she was for him. She writhed on him as she rode him in the chair and he tugged her hair back so her long, thin neck was exposed and he could nip and mark her. All that could be heard was the sounds of their coupling until Tywin felt her start to clench and pulled her over by rubbing her until she wailed his name and he cried out gutturally as he spilled inside her.

She collapsed onto him, and he ran a soothing hand down her back. "Shhhh love, I've got you," he said. When he regained his equilibrium, he gently lifted her off of him and carried her back to the bedroom, where they undressed and crawled into their bed together. Sansa wound herself against him and played with the muscles on his chest both lost in their own thoughts.

"Will he challenge us, Sansa?" Tywin asked quietly, and her eyes flew up to his. He saw the confusion in them, and he said, "Your cousin- for the Iron Throne. Technically he and Tyrion are the last two living Targaryen's," Tywin said. They both knew that the realm would never rally behind a dwarf of questionable parentage, but Sansa's cousin in the North was an unknown entity. There might be those who saw him as an opportunity to restore the Targaryen dynasty to Westeros. He was young, handsome and unmarried.

"Jon?" She asked incredulously and then laughed. Truly laughed. "Gods no, I can't ever imagine him challenging us for the Iron Throne." She shook her head. "Robb told him that he'd get you to pardon him from his vow to the Night's Watch so he could go south with my brother and you could legitimize him as a Stark. He turned that down Tywin. That's all Jon has ever wanted- to be a Stark. And now to find out that he is not....."

Sansa shook her head. She couldn't believe that her father had kept his sister's secret all these years.

Tywin relaxed marginally. He'd deduced almost the same thing from listening to Sansa talk about her bastard brother and from the raven's Kevan sent him.

"It makes Jon and Tyrion related. Tyrion would be Jon's Uncle," Sansa said and furrowed her brow. Tywin stroked her hair, still amazed by her ability to love him.

"It's hard to imagine that Rhaegar raped her," Tywin said quietly. "He was nothing like his father, Aerys. He and Jaime were close for a time," Tywin continued conversationally.

Sansa let herself latch on to that small hope. Perhaps they had loved one another, her Aunt and this Targaryen Prince. She knew it sounded ridiculous; why would her father allow a war to start if her Aunt had loved the Dragon Prince? Why would he not tell everyone that she had rejected Robert and went with Rhaegar?

"Poor Jon," Sansa murmured, and Tywin agreed. Much like what Tyrion had gone through, except this time it was almost the reverse. Where the truth had lifted a burden from Tyrion, this truth would undoubtedly place a weight on Jon Snow's already heavy shoulders. "I'm so glad he has Robb at the Wall with him," Sansa said, and Tywin agreed.

He tightened his arm around her and pulled her closer to him, nuzzling at her neck and felt her sigh happily. It seemed that no matter what was thrown their way, they would survive it all together.

* * *

Sansa had organized a name-day party similar to hers for Shireen in the gardens. She worried that perhaps the girl had caught wind of it, but when she had arranged for Shireen to accompany herself, the nannies and Jason and Tysan to the gardens one afternoon, Shireen was happily chatting away to Sansa about the latest book she had read on the North. Because all of their family was there, and Shireen almost worshipped the Queen, she wanted to know more about where Sansa was from and where her father had been sent.

When they entered the gardens, a lovely group had gathered, including Genna, Catelyn, Margaery and a bevy of her cousins, Olenna, and several other ladies from the Westerlands that had been quite nice to Shireen. Dacey Mormont was by their side, and Addam, Tywin, Willas and Varys promised they would come by after the small council meeting. Sansa had emphasized how important it was for Shireen to have a special day, and Tywin had promised his wife.

Since the revelation a week ago about Jon's real parents, Tywin and Sansa had been nearly inseparable. Already a couple that spent an incredible amount of time together, they would rarely be parted these days, both needing to be with one another to reaffirm their commitment and love for one another in light of all that they had learned. Sansa was weaning the twins off of her, happy to hand that task off to the wet nurses and focus on the next lion she was growing and her duties as Queen. Tywin was insatiable as he needed to be with her each evening, and at times it felt like that first month after they had married when they couldn't get enough of each other. Both had understood that the knowledge of Jon's true parentage could have torn them apart, and both were grateful that their bond was too strong to allow that to happen.

Shireen gasped when she realized that the garden had been set up for her, and hugged the Queen, who pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Sansa loved Shireen as if she were family, a mixture of a daughter and a beloved younger sister. When they had arranged themselves with the Princes handed willingly off to Genna and Catelyn, Shireen bounced as she the center of attention. A short while later, the men arrived, and Sansa was pleased to see that Tywin had done as she had instructed and had an unmistakable box from the Royal Jeweler in his hand.

"Your Grace," he said when he reached Sansa and pressed a kiss to her lips. She kissed him back and cupped his face.

"Husband," she said, and her eyes danced with delight at seeing him. Tywin turned then and bowed to Shireen.

"Lady Baratheon," he said and gave her the box. Her eyes widened, and she was almost hesitant to take it.

"Oh go on, girl," Olenna barked, and Shireen blushed and reached out to grab it. "Thank you, Your Grace," she said and sat down reverently to open the box.

When she lifted the lid, she gasped. The necklace inside was made up of thin golden chains, so delicate they looked almost like they would break but would suit someone of Shireen's age and stature. At the center of the chains, in the middle of the necklace, was a stag that would rest against the hollow of her neck. The stag had two blue sapphires in its eyes, and Shireen's eyes filled with tears. She launched herself at Sansa and hugged her hard, still clutching the box.

"Thank you," she whispered, and Sansa pressed a soft kiss to her scarred cheek.

"Let's see how it looks, shall we?" Sansa said, trying to hold back her tears. She fastened the necklace around Shireen's delicate neck, and Tywin nodded in approval.

"The sapphires are for your father," Sansa told her and Shireen nodded. After that, others brought forward their gifts for her, including new dresses and books and some beautiful new parchment and writing implements. Shireen laughed as she ate cake, and played with the twins, who by now could hold their heads up and gaze around at their surroundings. Later that evening, their family retreated to the King and Queen's chambers, and they had an intimate family dinner. When Shireen was tucked into bed, she fingered the stag that nestled against her neck. She loved her father, but she had come to love Sansa and Tywin almost as much.

After dinner, Tywin had taken her aside and given her two very rare and valuable books that he had found for her. Both were about the Stormlands, and she felt her eyes tear but held them back. Seeing her emotion, and knowing they were alone, the King opened his arms, and she willingly went into them.

"Thank you so much," she whispered into his black doublet, loving the smell of leather that always seemed to cling to him.

"You are most welcome," he told her and finished the hug. Sansa had observed them from the doorway, and when Shireen left to take the books to her room, Sansa walked into her husband's arms.

"I love you so much, My King," she said and cupped his cheeks, running her hands through his whiskers and stretching up to kiss him. "I hope this next child is a daughter." He grunted at that and pressed a hand against her still flat stomach. He hoped so as well.

The next raven from Castle Black contained information that made Sansa cry, but happy tears. She learned that her brother Bran was alive along with her Uncle Benjen and both had made it back to Castle Black.

Jaime and Stannis were days away from being back there as well, but the news contained in the raven gave Tywin serious concern. From the moment he'd been told about this threat, he, like everyone else, had assumed that this threat would be dealt with in the North. Even the information about the Night King, the Children of the Forest and the Long Night indicated this was a Northern problem. Tywin wasn't an idiot; the entire realm was needed to fight this threat, but they had all assumed it would happen at the Wall, or the very least, Winterfell. Now, Sansa's brother, a greenseer apparently and a powerful one at that if Kevan was to be believed, had said the only place to kill this unholy creature was on the Isle of Faces. That was much too close to King’s Landing for Tywin's liking; if anything went wrong, the Night King was only a couple of hundred miles away from a million people in the south.

Moreover, according to Bran Stark, the Wall was no longer the impenetrable force it had once been. He claimed that the Wall was infused with magic from the Children of the Forest and now that they were all dead, the barrier between Westeros and the true North was nothing more than a giant wall of ice.

Slowly information was starting to trickle in from Old Town. The Maester's there had balked a first at being told to research such tales and myths, but Tyrion and Tywin had insisted. It seemed that whatever Bran Stark knew, his information was correct and verified by the few records the Citadel had on such topics. Stannis and Jaime would be appraised of the situation when they arrived back at the Castle, but Tywin was already thinking about what this might mean in terms of actual war strategy. Just because he wasn't in the field, didn't mean he wasn't working on this issue day and night.

When Sansa had asked what it meant that this Night King had to be killed on the Isle of Faces, Tywin had taken Sansa's hand and led her to the map room. Sansa sucked in a breath and started to shake when she saw just how close the Isle of Faces was to King’s Landing. Tywin wrapped his arms around her, letting her express the emotion she was feeling; they were alone, and she had done a commendable job in front of the realm, acting as if there wasn't a threat to all of them looming in the North.

"I thought it was a battle that had to be fought in the North," she murmured, and he agreed.

"All these people," Tywin said, looking hard at the map. If what his son and Stannis said were true, anyone in the path of this army would succumb to them and join them. The sheer numbers of what such an evacuation would entail were daunting. Had the realm still been at war with each other, Tywin shuddered to think about what that might have meant for the people of Westeros. They all would have been so vulnerable.

Sansa left his arms and let her hand trail up the map, lightly touching prominent castles and keeps along the Kingsroad. She turned back to her husband.

"Where will they all go, Tywin?" Sansa asked, worry in her eyes. His jaw tightened. He was King, and he was powerful, but even he wondered how the South could accommodate all the people north of Harrenhal. It wasn't just the North; it was the Eyrie and The Riverlands as well. If he were honest, there was a part of him that was glad Casterly Rock was so far from this threat. While he had plans to send Sansa to Braavos or Pentos if necessary, a part of him wondered if he should ship her, Genna, Catelyn, Shireen and the Twins to the Rock. While they would have further to sail to reach Essos if the entire country needed to be evacuated, the Rock was well out of the path of the coming threat.

"What are you thinking?" She asked softly, and he told her. He could see her spine stiffen, and then watched as her mind weighed the possibilities. She sighed heavily and put a hand to her stomach. She loved her husband, but her priority was ensuring that his heirs lived.

"Am I a distraction here?" She asked him honestly, and he startled a bit.

"Gods no. I can't even imagine not having you by my side," Tywin said. Then his jaw tightened. "But..." and she nodded. If it came down to it, she would go. She would hate being parted from him, but she would go. And she would trust that those who were capable, like Jon and Robb, Stannis and Jaime, Kevan and Tywin would somehow find a way to win a war against an enemy that had been preparing for this for eight thousand years. For now, though, Sansa was more valuable by his side, and he couldn't conceive of sending her away from him. Stannis and Jaime were due to arrive soon at Castle Black, and Tywin would add his thoughts to the coming defence of Westeros.

If necessary, thousands could find temporary homes in the Westerlands, the Crownlands, the Stormlands, the Reach and Dorne. Each Kingdom had pledged itself to him, and each Kingdom would do its part to help in this war effort to feel his rage. Gathering his wife close, Tywin pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"We will do everything in our power to ensure as many live and that we win this war. I promise you this, Sansa," Tywin said, and she nodded. She tried to imagine what it might be like to be facing such a threat and not have a man like Tywin to lend his years of expertise to the fight and couldn't even image such a thought. She was more grateful than ever that she was his wife and by his side during this tumultuous time, and squeezed him back, before letting him lead them back to their bedrooms, where like each night before, they would chase away the haunting thoughts of dead armies by finding pleasure in each other's arms.

After, when Sansa slept cradled in his arms, Tywin vowed to her, their sons and their unborn child that they would do whatever it took to keep them safe, even if that meant he would ride out himself to fight this Night King. He'd anxiously await word from his two most trusted men to arrive back at Castle Black and would do whatever was necessary to end this unholy threat that had the potential to undermine the legacy that Tywin Lannister had built with his beautiful and loving Northern wife. He hadn't worked for all these years to have it all end in utter devastation and death.

Sleepily, Sansa reached up and cupped his face. "Go to sleep, Tywin. You can't defeat him tonight," she murmured, and he let a small smile slip over his face, as he leaned down to kiss her and take her advice. Slipping into sleep, the King of the seven Kingdoms cradled his wife in his arms, worried about a threat that defied all logic and chased him in his nightmares but determined to beat it back, like he had his whole life. Sansa had given him his heirs; it was his job to ensure they had something left to inherit. 


	31. Chapter 31

_ Castle Black  _

Unbeknownst to Jon, Stannis Baratheon and Jaime Lannister had arrived back at Castle Black just in time to watch Jon Snow walk out onto the field where now two hulking dragons stomped at the ground.

"Fuck me," Jaime sputtered, unable to believe what he was seeing. On their way back to the Castle, both him and Stannis thought that they had imagined things at first when they saw the two dark shadows swooping overhead. They had, of course, received word about one dragon at Castle Black but not two.

"What is he doing?" Stannis asked, voice tight with worry and disbelief.

Robb Stark shrugged. "Mostly he just pets him," Robb said easily, and Jaime and Stannis turned their astonished gazes to the Young Wolf. Robb grinned.

"He pets him?" Jaime said, incredulous. Robb and Kevan nodded. As per usual, a huge crowd had formed the moment the dragons had touched down, and not a single soul wanting to miss this.

"Who is he?" Jaime muttered, and Stannis shot the Kingslayer a look that said he was thinking the same thing. Jon Snow was no ordinary bastard, that was more than apparent.

Kevan and Robb exchanged a look. They would have to inform the two men of everything they had learned once Jon returned to the Castle. Robb turned and spotted a Night's Watchmen and told him to make sure that his Uncle, his brother and Samwell Tarly were in Jon's chamber's once he returned. They would have to tell them immediately who Jon was, and that the King knew about Jon's real parents.

"He can't be serious," muttered Stannis as he watched Jon walk across the open field to the first dragon that had almost bedded down on the snow and everyone else just grinned, having grown used to watching the Lord Commander and his pet dragon.

For his part, Jon was feeling somewhat confident. He now knew why he had a dragon; he was both a wolf and a dragon, and it made sense to him in a way that hadn't previously. He wouldn't claim that he knew everything there was about his history, but now he had his real name. He didn't even look at the other dragon. He sensed immediately that the big black one was angrier and more volatile. The green-gold one though, that one was his.

"Aye, you're mine, aren't you," Jon crooned to him and held out his hand, where the dragon bumped his nose against it again, his yellow eyes following each of Jon's movements.

"I haven't found out your name, but I did find mine," Jon told him and looked directly at him. "My dad was Rhaegar, a Targaryen, and my mom was a wolf, Lyanna." He saw the dragon shimmy at his father's name, and Jon knew he was close. He'd have to ask Bran if he had any insights at all to his name. This was getting ridiculous.

"I wonder if I can touch more of you?" Jon said, voice low and soothing and the dragon almost opened himself up so that Jon could walk towards his side, running his hands along his scales. "Fuck, I've said it before, but you're magnificent," Jon said to him, wonder in his voice. No matter how often he did this, it was never anything less than incredible. Then to Jon's astonishment, the dragon lowered his large wing and sent Jon a look as if to say _get on with it_.

"You can't be serious, mate," Jon said, and the dragon huffed out a breath while Ghost paced and whined. Jon looked around and saw the aforementioned crowd gathered outside the castle walls. He knew that Robb would kill him if he climbed on and went for a ride, and Jon's heart was in his throat, but he sensed this was a turning point. Either he trusted the dragon, or he didn't. He hadn't burnt him to a crisp or chewed on him yet, and he kept coming back. That had to mean something.

"I don't know a thing about riding a dragon," Jon muttered to him, and he swore the dragon rolled its eyes at him.

Jon sucked in a breath and looked around desperately before he put a foot on the wing and lifted himself onto the dragon's back. He tried to find someplace to hang on, but all he could come up with were the spikes on the dragons back. He knew that he'd shared countless hours flying in the dragon's mind, but this was different. He was on the dragon and had no idea how to communicate with him or if he'd even listen to him and he'd learned only two Valyrian words; _soves_ and _dracarys_; Sam had told him just the other day.

It occurred to Jon that perhaps they didn't speak Valyrian and that maybe he should have learned the word for stop or down, but too late he felt his dragon lurch to his feet and take a few running steps before he stretched his wings and lifted himself into the air. Jon held on for dear life; more scared than he'd ever been in his entire life until he realized that nestled on the back of the dragon, he was entirely protected. The higher the dragon flew, the more Jon adjusted, until he finally risked a glance off to the side, where down below he could barely make out the people, along with the castle and then in the distance the Wall.

Jon remembered the first time he'd stood at the edge of that Wall and thought nothing could be as high as it in the entire world, and now he soared above it. He heard a screech in the air and looked to his left to see the black dragon keeping pace with the green one, and he grinned wildly. Along the ground, Ghost ran below, but even his direwolf couldn't keep up with the speed of the flying beasts. Jon pressed his thighs firmly into the dragon's side and tugged him to the right, away from the Wall and what lay beyond.

"There's nothing but danger there, boy," he said to the dragon, stroking him, although he knew he couldn't hear him, the wind was so loud. But just as Jon had thought that the dragon responded and swooped around to do another pass over the castle and Jon let out a triumphant roar.

Jon couldn't even imagine what might happen in the upcoming war if he had a dragon to help fight against the Night King; the wights he could kill, the distance he could cover. It would be an advantage that they hadn't planned on but was sorely needed. The dragon could mean the difference between actually winning this war and all of humanity falling before the Night King. After a few more almost lazy circles, Jon felt the dragon descended, and within moments they were back on solid ground. He slid from the dragon's back and with tears in his eyes, pressed his face against his scales.

"I have no words," he told the beast, stroking him and thanking him for the experience. He swore the dragon almost preened under his attention before he nodded and took to the skies with his larger, darker brother. Jon felt his legs wobble, and Ghost was suddenly there, and Jon gave him a huge smile.

"I rode a fucking dragon," he said to his wolf. Grinning he walked back towards the castle. When he came closer, he saw that Stannis and Jaime had returned and a feeling of relief washed over Jon, until he looked closer and saw everyone's faces. They were all stunned; even Robb.

"Shit Jon, I didn't think you'd ride the fucking thing," Robb said, incredulous and almost a little sick at the thought.

Stannis grabbed him and leaned in low. "Who are you, Jon Snow?" Jaime was right at his side. When Jon looked into the Kingslayer's green eyes, he saw the pieces fall into place.

"Fuck me, I should have seen it at first glance," Jaime said, awed. "You're Rhaegar's son," Jaime said, and Stannis's head snapped around to look at Jaime.

"Not here," Jon said suddenly, voice low and tight. "Inside and we'll tell you all we've learned. You've had a hard journey, but we have the information you need to know."

Both men nodded, and Stannis released Jon and let him walk back into the Castle.

"Little Crow," Tormund's voice boomed out in the yard. "A dragon rider now," the big Wildling said and slapped him on the back. "These men will follow you anywhere, Jon Snow," he told the Lord Commander and kissed him on the lips before releasing him. Jon shook his head at his antics.

When Jaime, Stannis, Kevan, Robb, Sam, Jon, Benjen and Bran had all settled into Jon's chambers, Stannis wasted no time.

"Who are they?" He asked, indicating the half-dead man and the cripple boy. Soon the story of Bran, Ben, the three-eyed-raven, the Children of the Forest and the origins and where to kill the Night King was told. Again. Some of them had heard it so many times by now they could recite it in their sleep.

"You're serious?" Jaime said, disbelief colouring his words. "The Isle of Faces? Do you have any idea how fucking close that is to King’s Landing? Do you have any idea how many people are between here and Harrenhal?" His voice rose as he spoke, and they all nodded.

"The King knows what we do," Kevan said, and Jaime and Stannis nodded at that; it was a start.

"We need to evacuate the North, Lord Stannis," Jon said and saw Stannis nod.

"More than the North. The Riverlands, the Eyrie..." Stannis muttered, his mind racing- it was an impossible task. He turned his attention back to Kevan. "What did Tywin say?" He asked without preamble; he needed to know if the King believed them.

"As many as can come south should do so immediately. Instead of sending supplies to Winterfell and Castle Black, everything is being sent to Harrenhal. There are natural choke points; Moat Cailin, and the Twins along the way. It may be possible to mount multiple assaults to diminish their numbers. But it all means shit if he can add hundreds of thousands of ordinary people to his army along the way."

Stannis nodded. In the few moments that he'd had the information, he'd come to the same conclusion. It seemed that Harrenhal would become their base of operations. He turned to Robb Stark. "Are you prepared to evacuate the North, Lord Stark?"

Robb nodded but grimaced. He wondered how he would convince people to leave their homes and that they were in the direct pathway of a threat that they didn't even believe existed. And that if they didn't move, they would add to the Night King's growing numbers.

"We'll talk with the Blackfish and Lord Royce later, tell them what we know. For now, Lord Stark, send word for those who can to make their way to Winterfell." He turned to Jaime and Kevan. "Our armies should also be sent south," and both men nodded.

"And you're sure about the Wall?" Stannis asked Benjen Stark, and the half-dead man nodded.

"I wouldn't be standing here on this side of the Wall if the Children's magic was still there," was all he would say and Stannis accepted that as fact. He'd long given up on trying to know everything. A creature that could bring the dead back to life defied all logic and had Stannis not seen it for himself; he wouldn't have believed it. Now he had a half-dead Stark and a crippled boy that claimed he was the last great greenseer of Westeros giving him advice for him to save every living person in Westeros.

Which left the issue of the dragons. He pinned Jon Snow with a look.

"Is what Jaime said correct? Are you Rhaegar's son?" Stannis asked, and Jon nodded. "That means your mother is Lyanna Stark," Stannis said, and Jon nodded. "Fuck me," Stannis whispered. His brother had been obsessed with the woman. Personally, Stannis had thought his brother's reaction to her kidnapping had been extreme; and now to learn that there had been a child from that rape.

"So you're a Sand, not a Snow, and have the dragon's blood," Stannis began, and a cough interrupted him.

"He's not a Sand. He's a Targaryen," Bran Stark said. "He's the heir to the Iron Throne."

Stannis barked out a laugh. "The throne was taken twice by conquest, and as far as I know, bastards are still bastards, no matter how royal their blood."

"Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia and married Lyanna Stark in front of a Septon," Bran said. "He's not a bastard. He's never been a bastard. She loved him, and he loved her. It was never a kidnapping."

Jaime and Stannis blanched at this news.

"Send word to the Citadel. The Septon that married them kept a record with the local Maester if you must have proof," Bran said, and Jon scrubbed his face.

"My brother joined a war because Rhaegar kidnapped and raped Lyanna Stark. And now you want me to believe she loved him? That everything we did, all the people who died, did so because two people fucking loved each other but couldn't be bothered to tell anyone?" Stannis was fairly shouting, his control hanging only by a thread. His entire world had just been thrown off-kilter.

"Robert couldn't handle losing her to another," Bran said, his voice monotone and holding no inflection. "My Aunt never loved him."

Stannis paced the small room, his mind racing through the possibilities. He turned back to Jon.

"And what about the Throne?" He asked him bluntly. It was his by rights and law, make no mistake. Stannis himself had given up his claim, and now he wondered what the young man in front of him was thinking. Would the lure of power be too much for him? They could ill afford a war of succession at this time, but he'd known men to do stupid things for the Iron Throne.

Jon shook his head.

"I don't want it, and I've already sent a raven to the King and Queen telling them that. No one else knows who I am outside this room and Tywin and Sansa," Jon said, his eyes never leaving Stannis's. Jaime just laughed at him.

"You don't want it? It's not a question of want, it's yours," Jaime said, and Stannis turned to look at the Kingslayer. He wasn't wrong. But it was no longer a question of wants or needs; it was a question of what was best for the Kingdom. They could not defeat this enemy if they had a war for the throne on their hands.

Jon shook his head and laughed.

"Can either of you honestly tell me that I'm a better King than Tywin Lannister? Or that I should wage war to depose a sister I love and adore? They've given the realm peace, prosperity and hope. They've united the seven kingdoms, and I'll not be the reason they're torn apart again. I took vows, and those vows are until I die," Jon said, fury and passion and anger feeling his words. "I don't want the fucking throne, and I won't ever take it from my sister or her son," he said to them, and both Stannis and Jaime looked at him incredulously.

Jaime turned to Kevan and said, "He's fucking serious, isn't he?" And Kevan nodded and showed Jaime and Stannis the ravens that had come back from Tywin and Sansa. Jon kept his eyes on Stannis Baratheon the whole time while the King's man read the ravens.

"I'll not murder my sister and her sons to take what isn't mine," Jon said.

"But it is yours. There are laws of succession. Needs and wants don't count," Stannis started to say, and Jon shook his head.

"The throne's been taken twice by right of conquest. Hell, the Targaryen's made the Throne. It hasn't always been like that, and I'll not press my claim," Jon said passionately. "She's my family, and whether or not she's my sister or my cousin, she is the Queen. She is the Queen this country needed when it was at its worst, and even you can't argue with that," Jon said passionately, and both men were slightly stunned by the torrent of words that had come from his mouth. "My parents' marriage tore the realm apart. It's just been put back together. It's good enough for me that Stark blood, northern blood flows through the next King. I will not be the reason the realm is torn apart again. Not today. And not ever."

Jon stood with his arms crossed a broody and painful look on his handsome face.

"There's no point in even trying," Robb Stark said, almost conversationally, and slapped his cousin on his back, looking at Jaime and Stannis. "He won't do it, and you'll never convince him to take up against Sansa. And for what it’s worth, we all still consider him our brother.” No one argued with Robb on that front.

Stannis glanced at Kevan Lannister.

"And the King knows about all of this?" He'd read the ravens, but he wanted confirmation from the King's brother.

Kevan nodded, and Jaime just looked around the room, a feeling stunned incredulity racing through him. Then he thought of what he had learned about Tyrion and wondered when the right moment might be to tell Jon Snow that he had another living relative. It seemed the Starks and the Lannisters were destined to be bound together.

Stannis finally shook his head and put it aside. He knew a stubborn man when he saw one, and there would be no convincing Jon Snow to take up the Throne today. Besides, it wasn't his place. If the Lord Commander didn't want it, Stannis wouldn't push. They had more significant issues besides who sat on the Iron Throne; namely the Night King and his army of the dead marching ever closer towards them.

"Does anyone want to tell me about the dragons?" He barked into the room and watched as Jon Snow's face transformed. Stannis and Jaime sat as Jon, Robb and even Kevan eagerly told them about the dragon that had arrived at the Castle a few short weeks after Stannis had left the North.

"And how did you know this dragon was here for you, Jon Snow?" Stannis asked. "This was before you knew about your parents if I understand the events correctly."

Jon swallowed hard and looked to the two Lannister's and the one Baratheon Lord. They'd taken a lot on faith and even more on seeing the Night King, but to tell these men that he could warg into animals was something else and Jon was worried they would think him mad.

"I dreamed about him," was all Jon would say, watching Stannis the entire time. In watching Stannis, Jon saw something familiar cross his face. "Fuck me, it's you," Jon said reverently and pinned the Lord with a look. "You've had them as well," Jon said. "That's why the big black one is here."

Stannis said nothing but his jaw tightened. He had never revealed the dreams to anyone, but he could not deny it now; not when the manifestation of his dreams was outside these very castle walls. Confirming nothing, he asked Jon how he knew he could approach the dragon and not be eaten or burned.

Jon grinned, a look that only the young could possess and said, "I didn't." Shaking his head at that Stannis was about to say more when Bran Stark's eerie voice sounded in the room.

"His name is Rhaegal, Jon," Bran said, and Jon spun to him.

"Rhaegal," Jon said, almost lovingly than he grinned. "That would make sense. I called him Rhaegar, but I knew it wasn't quite right."

"And this dragon," Stannis persisted, "he's not some mindless beast?"

Jon shook his head and let his hand rest on Ghost's head. "No, he's not. He's got a mind, and he feels things. Knows thing. I can't explain it, but it's a bit like he's a part of me. Is it like that for you?" Jon asked him directly.

Before Stannis could respond, Jaime Lannister interrupted. "Ummm could someone please explain to me what the fuck is happening? Why would Stannis be a dragon rider? It makes sense that it is you, but ...." Then Jaime Lannister shut his mouth when he thought about Tyrion's true father.

"My grandmother was Rhaelle Targaryen," Stannis said to the small group of people gathered in the Lord Commander's chambers. Jon nodded; it made sense that those with dragon blood would be the riders.

"When did the dreams start for you?" Jon asked, and Stannis told him a couple of months ago, and Jon nodded.

"Three?" Jon asked, and Stannis nodded.

"I wonder where the third one is?" Jon mused out loud, and Bran Stark looked at Jaime.

"Should you tell them or I?" Bran asked, and Jaime swallowed hard. He had never thought he'd see the boy he pushed from the window, and knew that they would have to speak. He wondered if the Bran would tell everyone what he had done all those years ago. Everyone was looking at him, and Kevan sighed. Tywin had sent a raven and told Kevan all about the fallout with Tyrion and that he'd finally told him who he suspected his true father was.

"Tyrion," was all Jaime said, and all eyes swung to him, incredulous looks on their faces. Jaime sighed and rubbed his face. "Aerys raped my mother."

It was all that needed to be said and horrified looks marred everyone's faces as they processed that piece of news.

"His dragon is named Viserion and yours, Lord Baratheon is named Drogon," Bran said. "He is the most resistant. He was bonded the most with the Dragon Queen," Bran told them.

"Can they breath fire?" Stannis asked, immediately seeing their potential usefulness of such beasts in the war to come.

"Yes," Bran said without elaborating.

"Bran," Jon said exasperated. Bran looked at him. "How?"

"_Dracarays_," Bran said, and Jon nodded. By this point, night had fallen, and Jon and Robb could see the exhaustion on everyone's faces.

"That's enough tonight," Jon said, and Stannis agreed. After everyone had left the room, Stannis stayed behind. He was uncomfortable with this new information about the dragons while he should be concentrating on the war.

"Oh," Jon said to Stannis almost as an afterthought. "Someone showed up at the Castle while you were away. A Melisandre," Jon said and had a distasteful look on his face. "She tried to seduce me," Jon said, and he gave Stannis a look. "I don't like or trust her, My Lord."

Stannis grunted his agreement and felt a sliver of shame scurry down his spine. Since he'd been away from her, he'd come to realize the Red Priestess had lied; he was not the true King of Westeros if the young man standing in front of him could be believed.

And while she had seen death at the Wall, she hadn't been able to tell him more, and nothing had prepared him for what he had seen. He thought of her role in eliminating Renly as well as the blood magic he had used to try to destroy Joffrey and Robb Stark. She and her magic should have never seduced him; he had been weak as Jaime had indicated. He knew now that was not the path to victory and he knew that a man like Robb Stark had not deserved to die in the way in which Melisandre had conceived of.

"I will deal with her," he told Jon Snow and then sat slowly in a chair at the table in the room. Jon set a mug of ale in front of him, and the weariness of the past few months washed over Stannis.

"I guess you're family," Jon said conversationally, and Stannis nodded. He sensed the young man had more to say. "It's not just the dragon. I can do that with my dire wolf as well," Jon told Stannis, and he shot a look to the massive beast that was sprawled out in front of the fire.

"I thought I was mad, the first time it happened," Jon told him. "Thought I was a bird, and then when I saw the other dragons, I just knew."

Stannis nodded. It had been the same for him, and he'd thought he'd been losing his mind.

"The whole North has to be evacuated," Stannis said after a time and Jon nodded his agreement.

"The battle's south, which was something I was not expecting," Jon said, and Stannis saw his face settle into a grim line. "But we can't let him add all these people to his army. How do we convince them that he's coming? They won't believe us without proof."

Both men thought about it, and then a slight grin creased Stannis's face. "You rode a dragon, Lord Commander."

Jon nodded and gave him a funny look. They'd been over this.

Stannis leaned forward, face and voice intense. "You rode a fucking dragon. I'd imagine showing up on the back of a dragon at Deepwood Motte would convince the Glovers to come south," Stannis said, and Jon let out a soft chuckle.

"Aye, I suppose it would," Jon said, a feeling of contentment washing over him now that Stannis was back. He didn't know if it was because they were family, no matter how distant, or because they both had an iron will to see to their duty, but Jon liked the Baratheon Lord. He would follow this man into battle and willingly fight by his side.

Stannis rose. "The next time they're back, we go to them together, Jon," Stannis said. "We need to call all the Lords and bannermen at the Wall and start moving people south. In two days we tell them all that we know and the great march south begins."

With that last statement, Stannis took his leave to find his chambers and sleep, wondering tonight, if knowing the dragon's name would make things better or worse if he visited him in his dreams.

When Jaime and Kevan Lannister left the Lord Commander's chambers, Kevan pulled his nephew aside to speak privately to him. He asked first about the two princes and Jaime happily told them they looked just like Tywin and that his father was enamoured with them. Kevan smiled at that; Ty deserved a second chance.

"And the Queen?" Kevan asked.

Jaime gave him a wry look. "Pregnant again because my father can't keep his hands off his wife," and Jaime watched as Kevan laughed at that.

"He does love her," Kevan murmured, and Jaime gave him a skeptical look.

"He's beyond love, Uncle," Jaime said, shaking his head. But truthfully, both men were happy for the Old Lion. Everyone prospered now that Tywin Lannister had found a wife that was worthy of him again.

Then Kevan's face turned serious, and he asked how everyone was coping with the Tyrion situation as he called it. Jaime's face tightened into a hard line. "He was an innocent, Uncle."

Kevan nodded and sighed. He wouldn't excuse his brother's behaviour, but he had understood it. He'd cajoled the truth from Tywin when Tyrion had been around four years of age, after a particularly brutal fight between the children and the Great Lion. He would make no excuses, but it was in the past.

"How is Tyrion?" Kevan asked, and Jaime let out a small smile.

"Happily ensconced on Dragonstone. Do you remember when he asked for a dragon for his name day? And Father and Cersei mocked him relentlessly," Jaime said, shaking his head. "And now I suspect he will be getting one. I wish I could see father's face when he realizes that his bastard dwarf son has a pet dragon that could burn the city down."

Kevan had a worried look on his face, and Jaime clasped him on the back. "Not to worry, Uncle. Tyrion is as loyal as ever to House Lannister. He is a lion in all but blood, and he is singularly devoted to Lady Sansa. They are good friends, and he loves her dearly and would never betray our house. He hasn't even told his wife about his true father." Kevan felt a wash of relief at this news.

"I will send a raven to your father with this latest news about the dragons, and another to Tyrion," Kevan said. Before Jaime took his leave of his Uncle, Kevan called out, "She's in her chambers."

Jaime whipped around to pin his Uncle with a look and a knowing smile creased the man's face. "Jon gave her a chamber on the first floor of the Castle. He insisted. She's been training men, beating everyone into the mud in the yard. Half respect her and half are afraid of her. And she misses you, Jaime."

Jaime nodded.

"She's a good woman, Jaime. Nobel and true born," Kevan said and winked at him before he left to send the ravens to King’s Landing and Dragonstone. _Tyrion with a dragon_, Kevan thought, shaking his head.

Jaime stood outside Brienne's chambers, hesitating about knocking. It felt like a lifetime ago when they had cheerfully made their way up the Kings Road to Winterfell and then to this awful Castle at the edge of the world. A lifetime ago, when Tommen had been alive, and they had no idea about the actual threat facing them.

Now there was a Night King, and reanimated corpses and fucking dragons and Jaime's head was spun. His brother wasn't a full brother; only half and his daughter seemed lost to him, so far away in Dorne. The only person that Jaime had felt any connection with in so long, he'd barely seen for months. Still, he had nowhere else to sleep, and he was exhausted, and he knew that Brienne had cared for Tommen, so he let his hand knock on the solid door and smiled crookedly when she opened it.

Time away from Brienne had not changed her looks, but she was the best thing Jaime had seen for weeks. She saw him and breathed his name, Jaime, into the space between them and then stepped back to allow him entrance.

"I realize it is entirely improper for me to be here," he started to say, and she shocked him by throwing her arms around him. She'd been frantic to find him when she had heard about Tommen and devastated to learn he'd gone south with Stannis Baratheon without even speaking with her. She had issues with the Storm Lord and his role in Renly's death, and she had worried about Jaime being alone with Stannis, but he'd come back.

As if Brienne realized what she had done, she blushed and stepped back from Jaime and mumbled an apology. "For Tommen," she explained, and he nodded. She saw the exhaustion lining his face and gestured to a small table and two chairs which he gratefully sunk into. They were quiet for a time, and Brienne said nothing, just watching him.

"Did Tommen die because I'm an awful person?" He said suddenly, and Brienne startled. Where on earth had that come from? she wondered.

"Jaime no," she said and shook her head, and he laughed a bit bitterly.

"Stannis told me that my one good act does not wash out the bad," he said to her, contemplatively. Brienne bit her tongue about Stannis Baratheon, knowing Jaime didn’t need her commentary when he was trying to unburden himself right now.

"Perhaps he's right. Tommen had no business being there," Jaime said softly, almost too himself. "I got him killed."

"Jaime, stop," Brienne said, but she could see her words had no effect. Silent tears streaked down his face.

"My arrogance got my son killed Brienne, and no one will ever convince me otherwise," he stated, and Brienne fretted about what to do. He was inconsolable. She finally managed to get him up and out of his armour, and he collapsed into the bed.

"Do you know? About the dead? He's coming for us Brienne, with an army of dead men, and Tommen is one of them," he said as he rolled over, dragging her down with him.

Brienne froze; she had heard about the army of the dead from Kevan Lannister, and she knew what awaited them. But now Jaime had pinned her arm beneath his body, and his body was wrapped up around hers, and he was passed out; exhaustion, grief and hard travel making him immovable. Brienne squirmed a bit, and Jaime muttered for her to stop moving before he went back to sleep. Her face heated, and she wondered what might happen should someone find out he spent the night. Not that she had much of one, but her reputation would be ruined, and she was sure that they would be forced to wed.

"Jaime," she hissed at him. He needed to let her go so she could leave. She would find Pod and take back her tent in the field.

"I'm trying to sleep," he muttered and closed his eyes again.

"If someone finds you here they'll demand you marry me," she hissed at him again and tried to push him off of her. He clung tighter, and a green eye cracked open to meet her blue ones.

"So?" He said casually, and she stopped moving.

Her jaw dropped. "Marriage, Jaime. To me," she said as if he were a particularly slow child.

"You're a true born woman," he stated, giving her a look. "Tell me, Lady Brienne, are you still a maid?" He wiggled an eyebrow at her.

How Jaime could go from an emotional wreck to flirtatious in minutes was beyond Brienne's comprehension.

"You are tired, exhausted and too emotional to be having this conversation," she said primly, and he grinned.

"You are. Even my father couldn't object to you," he murmured, and Brienne felt the heat build in her, which she ruthlessly tamped down. "Tell me, Brienne, how old are you?" he asked, and she blushed.

He thought she might not answer and then whispered, "Twenty-six." She knew she was past marriageable age.

"Perfect," he said, winking at her. 

"Jaime, this is ridiculous," she stated, and he gave her a hurt look.

"Why?" He asked confusion, marring his handsome face.

"Why? Why?" Brienne said, her voice rising. "Because you are Jaime Lannister and I'm ... I'm me, Jaime."

"I like you, Brienne," Jaime said and smiled that devastating smile at her. "I like who I am when I'm with you. When I'm with you, I feel like I can be a better man, a worthy man. Someone good."

He saw Brienne's face fall, and she cupped his cheek. "Jaime, that's not enough," she said to him. "You can be a good man on your own. You don’t need me for that."

"Most noble marriages start with less," he said and shrugged a shoulder. "Most are made in infancy or for political gain. We like each other. We are friends. And I'd never hurt you Brienne; you have my word on that," he said softly.

Brienne sighed. She knew she was no beauty; perhaps it was something to consider. She knew that Jaime still loved Cersei and now he'd lost his son. Perhaps all he wanted were heirs, and while she might not turn heads the way the Queen did, she was sure that she could give him those. Before she could respond, she glanced down and saw that he was back asleep; and this time he was snoring. There would be no leaving the chamber tonight for either one of them. Brienne supposed that if he were caught here in the morning, the worst thing that might happen would be a forced marriage between the two of them, but even that did not seem like the worst thing in the world at this point. Brienne let herself get comfortable, and settled in to sleep, wondering if Jaime would even remember this conversation come the morning.

Any chance that Jaime might have forgotten their conversation the previous evening was destroyed in the morning when Brienne heard him whisper in her ear, "Wake up Brienne unless you want me to compromise your honour and force you into a marriage with me."

She jolted awake and saw him leaning down over top of her, grinning wildly. He was so handsome he stole her breath.

"It was all a jape then?" She said and tried to keep the hurt from her voice.

Jaime's smiled dimmed, and he shook his head, and then a look of amazement came over his face.

"I don't think it was," he said, and he looked towards her. He grinned, slow and lazy, and Brienne felt a ball of lust curl in her stomach.

"Jaime," she said, and her voice was a mere whisper, and had a tone she'd never heard before.

He leaned down and kissed her and Brienne was too caught up in the moment even to protest that it was wrong; that he was tired and grieving and that he couldn't possibly want her.

"Other than Tommen, you're all I've thought about. All the way down to King’s Landing, on that miserable fucking boat, and all the way back. I had to get back to you Brienne," Jaime muttered and kissed her again, not even giving her a moment to think. Before either could do anything more, shouts of the dragon were heard throughout the castle, and they broke apart.

As they dressed in their armour, Jaime grabbed Brienne with his one hand and spun her back to him. He knew she could cut him down at any time, but it mattered not.

"This isn't finished, Lady Brienne. I was serious about my proposal," he said and then kissed her hard once more, before leaving her and slipping out the door.

When Jaime entered the yard, he had a spring in his step that had previously been missing. He knew now that he was deadly serious about marrying Brienne of Tarth. She was his salvation, the only person who he even felt remotely like himself around, and if he died in these upcoming wars, she'd have his name and his protection, and perhaps even his child. He was the son of the King, and it would keep her and any child of theirs safe. He wanted something good in this life, and he could not stop thinking about her; he hadn't been able to for months if he was honest with himself. He remembered that moment outside his father's dining hall when he'd confessed that the children were his and Cersei's, and she still hadn't turned away from him. The thought of having a wife, a lover, a child that wasn't a secret, that wasn't shameful made Jaime almost giddy.

When he reached the field outside the gates, he stepped up beside Lord Stark and saw two figures walking towards the dragons in the far area near the woods.

"He's going to do it, huh," Jaime said, shaking his head at Stannis and Jon. Robb grinned at him and slapped him on the back. Yesterday he had looked like he was going to collapse from exhaustion and today he looked like he could take on the Night King himself. Robb wondered where Jaime had spent the night; other than Wildling women, there weren’t many available ones up here.

Stannis had barely made it back to his rooms before it felt like he was being woken, told the dragons had returned. He knew that he had to take a chance; they could mean the difference between winning this war and everyone in Westeros becoming one in the Night King's army.

"So you just, pet it?" Stannis asked, voice incredulous. Jon shot him a grin.

"At least you know the name of your beast," Jon said, and Stannis shook his head. The closer they got, the more massive the dragons seemed, and neither one looked the least bit friendly in Stannis's opinion.

They approached the green-gold dragon first, as Jon had established a bond with him, and the black one was busy stomping his feet a few feet behind him.

"Rhaegal," Jon said, and Stannis swore the dragon preened under the name. "Aye, I did it; I found out your name. I told you I would," Jon said and grinned at the creature and reached out to stroke him.

Stannis watched in utter fascination as the dragon's eyes tracked Jon, but there was no animosity or fear there. The dragon seemed to want him to touch him.

"And what about your brother?" Jon asked, his voice almost crooning to the animal. "Drogon," he said, and they both heard the roar of the black beast and felt him stomp towards them. Rhagael puffed up a bit protectively if Stannis were, to be honest as the larger dragon approached them, his head almost snaking around to look at the two men standing before him.

The black one rose up, and roared again as if to let them know he was the undisputed big brother.

"Enough," Stannis said, his voice hard and commanding and he looked Drogon directly in the eye. Faster than he thought possible, the dragon's head came swooping down, and he bumped it slightly against Stannis, making him fall back on his arse. Grimacing, Stannis scrambled to his feet, only to be met with the dragon's nose again, and this time a warm huff of breath washed over him.

"Enough!" Stannis bellowed at him, never taking his eyes from him. The dragon shimmed and looked away, before swinging his head back around. Stannis held out his hand, and Drogon bared his teeth, but Stannis did not flinch.

"You came to me, not I to you. Best remember that" Stannis told him. He felt the dragon settle at that and he finally reached out and touched him, wonder and awe and pure fear crashing through him. "Fuck me," Stannis breathed. "You're magnificent," he said, overwhelmed to be in the dragon's presence. He stroked the dragon's snout and felt him shudder out a breath.

Jon had climbed back on Rhagael and was grinning.

"I'm not riding him," Stannis said and felt Drogon bump him again. He shook his head and then saw Drogon lower a wing. "You can't be serious," he muttered but found himself moving as if his feet had their own will, until like Jon, he climbed over the dragon's wing and onto his back. The dragon was warm as Stannis discovered and tried to find purchase of his hands.

"Where do you hold on?" He shouted, and Jon grinned.

"Anywhere you can. I like the spikes," Jon replied. Stannis barely had time to get his grip, and he felt Drogon take three lunging steps and then almost catapult himself into the air. Stannis held on for dear life as the dragon soared higher and higher until they levelled out and he could look over and make Jon out on the back of the other one. It was beyond anything Stannis Baratheon had ever imagined in his entire life, and the two men, free for once in their lives of the heavy burdens placed on their shoulders, let the dragons soar over the Northern landscape.

Those at the Castle were in awe; two dragons and two dragon riders. It was like something from legend and a day that would not soon be forgotten. Robb was grinning, and Jaime shook his head. He had no desire himself to be on the back of such a beast, but if nothing else they would give them an advantage in the war to come.

When the dragons finally returned them to the frozen ground, Stannis awkwardly slid off Drogon's back and stood in wonder at what had just happened. Few things in Stannis Baratheon's life could make him genuinely gape in awe, but this had been one of them. He let his hand rest on the black scales and saw Drogon's head swing around to his.

He murmured a soft thank you to the dragon and felt that sudden push against his heart and his head, that let him know the dragon was connected to him. Stannis didn't believe in magic per se, but standing beside a mythical beast from history that he had somehow bonded with, he knew whether he believed in magic or not, the proof was right there in front of him. With the last flick of his tail, the dragon shimmied, and they took a few lunging steps and along with his brother, took the sky. They were by no means tamed beasts; they were barely controllable. But their potential in the upcoming war could not be underestimated.

Stannis was approached by Jon, who clasped him on the back. There was a bond between the two of them. It had begun the moment Stannis had come to Castle Black and had only grown stronger. Jon Snow might have been the son that Stannis never had or a brother that he liked. Either way, he was family, and the two men had something no one else did, save perhaps one another; dragons.

"That was," Stannis said, at a loss for words. For once Stannis Baratheon had nothing to say.

"Aye, I know," Jon agreed. There were no words.

"If we can understand them, control them better," Stannis was saying excitedly as they walked back to the Castle, Jon's direwolf Ghost coming to walk beside the two men. Stannis reached down and stroked a hand over the snow-white wolf, and Jon's eyebrows arched at that. Ghost was usually reserved about those he would let pet him, only letting close friends and family touch him. Stannis didn't even realize what a big deal it was.

When they came to the outside of the Castle, they were once again accosted by people in awe of the two dragons. Ser Davos approached Stannis shaking his head.

"You're a fucking fool," he was muttering, but even Stannis could see the slight awe on his most loyal companion's face. "I expected it from the young one there, but you?"

"Imagine the advantage the might give us," Stannis was saying, still high from adrenaline. He clasped Davos on the back, and they turned to walk into the Castle when Stannis stopped abruptly.

"Aye, she's here," Davos said, his voice low and distrusting. Stannis sighed and approached Melisandre. He knew it was past time they had this discussion, and he indicated for her to follow him to the Lord Commander's chambers. Jon had said as long as he was here, they were his to use as he liked.

"Lord Stannis," she said when they were alone. Davos had growled when Stannis hadn't let him enter the chamber, but this was between him and Melisandre.

"Lady Melisandre," he said and sat at the table. "It appears you were correct about the true threat beyond the Wall," he stated.

"How is it you came to no longer believe you were the one true King?" she asked, trailing a hand along with the table in front of Stannis.

He barked out a short, harsh laugh. "The throne has been taken twice by conquest." He shrugged. "And the King gave me what should have always been rightfully mine."

"And the Princess Shireen? Where is she, My Lord?" Melisandre asked, and Stannis's eyes narrowed, and he rose, leaning into her.

"You and your blood magics have no place here, My Lady," he growled. "You will stay away from my daughter."

Melisandre shrugged. "There are others with royal blood," she said, and at that moment Jon Snow walked in, and saw the two of them, close but with apparent anger palpitating between them. Jon knew that Stannis was not happy, and he saw the Red Priestess eyes swing towards him, greedy and knowing. She almost purred.

"Yes, another with blood more royal than anyone's," she murmured, and Stannis lunged for her before she could take what she wanted from Jon. In the process, his hand caught her neck and ripped the large jewel from around her throat. There was a moment of shocked silence, and she screeched and clawed at Stannis, who stepped back. Jon drew his sword and the two men watched in horrid disbelief as she withered and aged before their very eyes, until a crone stood before them, gnarled and old.

"Fuck me," Jon said and watched as the old woman hobbled towards Stannis.

"What are you?" he asked in disgust, the feeling of shame washing over him at what he had done with her at Dragonstone threatening to make him sick.

"Magic comes in many forms," she struggled to say, each word difficult. She was ancient, and both men knew she would not last the night. Stannis looked at the jewelled necklace in his hand, and before he could think, smashed it on the stone floor and ground his heavy boot until it was dust. Melisandre shrieked again and tried to claw at him, but she collapsed into a heap on the floor, and both men watched as she withered away, leaving behind a dress and a robe.

They stood looking at one another, unable to fully comprehend what had happened, but Stannis felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Her magic had been strong and powerful, but also dark and dangerous. She was an unknown player in the game, from far across the sea, and she couldn't have been trusted in the wars. Stannis gathered her clothing and threw it into the giant fireplace in the center of the room and turned back to Jon.

"We speak of this to no one," he said, voice hard. Jon nodded his agreement and Stannis yanked open the door to find Davos waiting outside.

"Where is she?" he asked, and Stannis shook his head.

"Gone," and his tone and look brooked no opposition. Before he left the Lord Commander's presence, he turned back to Jon.

"Tomorrow we hold our last war council at Castle Black before we prepare to evacuate south, Lord Commander. Ensure everyone that needs to be is there," and then Stannis strode from the room, needing space and time to process what had just happened.

The next morning Jon Snow and Stannis Baratheon stood at the front of the Great Hall at Castle Black, their allies ranged beside them and told all those assembled where the war against the dead would take place. The Northern Houses reacted first, demanding to know why they should abandon their homes and their crops when winter was coming.

Jon, Robb, Bran and Benjen Stark stood before them, speaking of the threat that was soon to be upon them, and that this army cared for none of that. A few of the Northern Lords that had been at Hardhome stood and added their voices.

"Stannis and I will fly to Deepwood Motte, and Bear Island, to ensure the message is received. Send the ravens, today, and urge everyone to make their way to Winterfell. The King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms have promised refuge in the south," Jon said, and someone cried out why should they believe a southern King.

"Because of my sister. Queen Sansa is of the North, and she will do anything she can to protect the people here. She can be trusted," Robb said, growling at the insult.

"It's an impossible story," Jon said, his voice low and almost soft, as he looked at the assembled lords. "I wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't seen it. I'm asking you...." He paused. "No, I'm begging you, make your people listen. Crops can be replanted, lands resettled. But this army, they will not stop until we defeat the Night King on the Isle of Faces, in the Gods Eye. And everyone you love will just become another member of the dead if you don't leave. If you don't go south."

Reluctant murmurs were heard, and Jon saw the tide turn. The North would leave, at least as many as could go. They all knew some were too old, some too young. Some would die on the journey, and others would refuse to go. But by and large, the North would flee south.

Lord Royce asked about the Eyrie, and though the castle was impenetrable, thousands lived in villages and towns in the lowlands, including the Saltpans. He would send the order immediately.

The Blackfish had already agreed to evacuate the Riverlands; ironically, many people were making their way to the Westerlands, towards Casterly Rock. He hated Tywin Lannister fiercely, but he loved his niece and Edmure had told his Uncle there was no other choice. All men who could fight from these regions would meet at Harrenhal; the single most significant force ever gathered in Westeros' history to meet such a foe.

As the plans and words washed over him, Jon felt a moment of peace amongst the din. He knew there were no guarantees; hell they still had no idea how to kill the Night King, only where. But he had allies; friends. Seasoned commanders and a King and Queen that believed him. He had his brothers and his Uncle by his side, and a new relative, in Stannis Baratheon, one of the most impressive men that Jon had ever met. They had the might of the Lannister army, and the Knights of the Vale, some of the best-mounted cavalry in the realm. They had food from the Reach and weapons that killed the dead from Dragonstone and Sansa was sending warm clothing, for everyone knew Winter itself could kill as many as the army of the dead.

He had his wolf and a dragon and his family, and he knew, for the first time since he'd seen his first White Walker, that what they had, more than anything was a chance. It might not be the best chance, but they had a chance, and that was all he'd ever wanted. He looked around this Hall that had seen him become a man and knew he'd never return. He'd either die trying to defeat the Night King, or they'd be victorious, and there would be no need for the Wall, and the Night's Watch. And if that were the case, then Jon Snow would return home to the North, to live his life in peace, with his family, in the place where he belonged, no longer the bastard son of Ned Stark, but something new, forged from fire and ice.

_ King’s Landing  _

When Tywin walked into his private study late one night, he was preoccupied with thoughts of everything that was going on in the Kingdom. It felt like things were moving quickly these days, and he was reluctant to admit that it was hard to keep up sometimes.

Jaime and Stannis had arrived back at the Wall. Everyone important now knew about Jon and Tyrion's parents, and everyone knew that Jon Snow would not press his claim for the Iron Throne. Tywin thanked the gods daily that Sansa's family had more honour than most, or he knew they would have had another war of succession on their hands after they had just ended one.

The more exciting news was that now instead of one dragon, there were two; one for Jon and one for Stannis. Tywin hated the thought of dragons; he knew his history, and he knew what they had done to Westeros three hundred years ago. The Targaryen's hadn't been superior to the men and women who had lived in Westeros when they had invaded; they had weapons at their disposal that had been impossible to fight back against. That was all. They had been goat herders in Valyria before they'd tamed those beasts.

Tywin knew the dragons might be instrumental in the fight against the dead. And if he trusted anyone with a dragon, it would be Stannis Baratheon and Jon Snow. But there were three dragons according to the information coming from the Wall and only two up North. Tywin wasn't an idiot; he knew where the third dragon would be headed- Dragonstone.

He wondered what his son might do with such a creature. It was true their relationship was as good as it had ever been, but Tywin had done some truly awful things to Tyrion. Would his son use this creature, if he could tame it, and fly to King’s Landing, demanding his father relinquish his Throne?

Tywin didn't want to believe such a thing, and Sansa had almost laughed when he had suggested it, but he worried about it. And despite the advantage, three dragons might give them in the upcoming war, Tywin loathed the beasts. He had summoned Jerrod and Addam Marbrand, and Maester Pycelle and told them to begin research and work on anything that could be used as a weapon against such beasts; just in case. Tywin didn't get to where he was by being a blind fool, and he would not leave the Red Keep defenceless against such creatures no matter who rode on their backs.

"Your Grace," came Shireen's soft voice, startling Tywin out of his musings and he turned and pinned the girl with a look. To her credit, she met his gaze.

"What is it?" He asked, his voice harsh and rough with exhaustion. He watched as she straightened her spine and met his eyes. He knew she would make an excellent Lady of Storm's End one day. She was a testament to her superb breeding and upbringing.

"I wish to speak with you about the Tyrell's," she said, serious and stern. "Specifically Lady Olenna and Lady Margaery," she said sounding so much like her father at that moment.

"What about them?" He asked his eyes narrowed.

"I'm small, Your Grace and I can go places where people can't or don't see me," she began to explain. "I don't trust Lady Margaery, and I haven't from the beginning. She is jealous of the Queen, Your Grace. Her eyes, when she looks at the Princes," Shireen said and shuddered.

Tywin nodded. He tended to agree, but he could not act on feelings alone and told her this.

"I know, Your Grace, which is why I have said nothing up until this point. Today in the gardens, Lady Olenna was speaking of this Jon Snow and his dragon. And his claim to the throne," she said and met Tywin's gaze. "I don't know how she knows what she does, but she told Margaery that he is young and unmarried and the true heir to the Iron Throne. Lady Margaery agreed and said she had heard he was quite handsome."

Tywin's fist tightened, and his face was a controlled mask of rage. "Are you sure, child?" He asked, and she nodded. She didn't flinch from his gaze and held his look.

Tywin had known that Olenna would never take her eyes from the Throne; she wanted her granddaughter crowned Queen, and though the threat of Joffrey had been too much for even them, it seemed now that the realm was at peace she was back to her manipulations.

"Thank you," Tywin said, and Shireen left the room. Tywin sat for a time until Sansa came and found him, and he told her what he had learned.

"Summon Varys," he told Jerrod. He cared not that the hour was late. When the eunuch entered the room, Tywin asked what he knew about such plots by Olenna, and the Master of Whispers confirmed that the Highgarden matriarch did know about the dragon and Jon Snow.

"I'm afraid my little birds have heard nothing else, Your Grace, but it is not surprising. So many things could happen to your son, alone on Dragonstone and then Lady Margaery would be free to marry again," Varys said, and Tywin nodded.

"Send the raven to Tyrion and get him back to the Capital immediately," he told Jerrod, and his loyal man nodded. After Varys left, Tywin looked at Sansa who appeared devastated.

"My gods, Tywin, what this will do to him," she said, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. Tywin felt the same, oddly enough. He wanted to take Olenna's head himself, and he wanted to punish Margaery for playing with his son.

"Perhaps it is only Olenna," Sansa said almost desperately, and Tywin gave her a look. She sunk into a chair and rubbed at her face. She, too, had seen the changes in Margaery.

It had started shortly after their coronation and had gotten progressively worse when the twins were born. The snipes, the nasty comments, the jealous looks. Her and Margaery hadn't been close in months, and Sansa had attributed most of that to being a new mother and the stress of this new threat. She hadn't had time for her friend and thought it would pass. But she could see if she were honest, that Margaery had been increasingly jealous of her position and her power.

Tyrion and Sansa were still extremely close, and Sansa had learned just the other day that she was one of the only people that regularly sent Tyrion ravens on Dragonstone. Margaery hadn't even bothered to hide her displeasure at the seat they had been given and had told Sansa that she would never leave the Capital. Sansa had thought she had meant while she had been pregnant, but now she wasn't so sure.

Tywin approached her and brought her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms. He felt her shudder again and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"We will be there for him, Sansa, but we must deal with this threat. Left unchecked, they will murder him and try to wed Margaery to your cousin and take the Throne," Tywin said.

It wasn't a half-bad plan, in some regards, but sloppy. There was no world in which Jon Snow would ever want anything to do with such a plot and had Olenna known anything about the Lord Commander, and she would have known that the Starks were too honourable to ever work against one another. Tywin also needed to ensure that Shireen Baratheon was protected; he could see the Tyrell's attempting to take revenge on her if they ever learned that it had been her that had come to Tywin in the first place.

Before they went to bed that night, Tywin and Sansa stopped by the nursery to check on the Princes. They both seemed so much bigger and at four months had come into their own. Tywin let his hand rest on Tysan, his heir and watched his small, helpless child and he knew that he would need to remain extra vigilant against the threats towards his children and Sansa.

The Tyrell's had acquiesced too readily to Margaery's marriage to Tyrion, and now the price needed to be paid; he just hated that it was Tyrion who would bear the greatest burden of their betrayal.

Sansa came and took his hand and led him back to their bedroom. She undressed him, saying nothing, simple touch enough for both of them. They had been married for over a year now, and there hadn't been a single night they had spent apart from one another.

Tywin turned her and undid the stays on her dress, knowing that these easy tasks between the two of them were part of the solid foundation of their marriage. He let his hands wander her form, cupping her breasts that were still heavy with milk. He smelled her arousal, and though they hadn't made it to the bed yet he let his hand reach down, and she parted her legs quickly for him. He leaned down and suckled on her neck, finding the spot he knew would make her moan and feeling her arch into his hand as he sunk his fingers deep into her. He walked the back towards their bed and lifted her, and she wantonly spread her legs and with a single look invited him into her heat, which he willingly surged.

Being in Sansa was unlike any feeling that Tywin had ever experienced and it never lost its power. He leaned down to kiss her, and she cupped his face, and he murmured how much he loved her and saw all of it reflected in her eyes. When those eyes he loved glazed over a bit, he reached down to stroke her and brought her over, feeling her tighten on him and groaned as he spent deep inside and she shuddered in his arms. Afterwards, she curled up into his embrace as she had since the first night together, and he fell asleep to the scent of their passion surrounding them.

A week later, Tyrion arrived back in King’s Landing, having received the summons from his father. He had realized on Dragonstone, that while he may have dragon blood, he also had Lannister blood, and as long as he lived, he would be a Lannister.

He had been a bit surprised at the lack of communication from his wife, and the increased ravens from Sansa. His mother seemed to be especially concerned about him after everything had been revealed. His friendship with Sansa had never been stronger, and he had missed her as much as he'd missed Margaery. Tyrion couldn't say why, but a distance had sprung up between him and his wife. There was no way she knew about his parents, and he wondered why he hadn't felt comfortable sharing it with her. What it came down to, he decided, was that he loved his wife, but he didn't trust her. Or her grandmother.

Sansa had written about how they had given Lord Willas the title of Master of Coin, for a time she stressed, because he was still Hand, but no word had come from Margaery which had made Tyrion suspicious. Even with his position, second only to the King himself and a brand-new Castle in his grasp, he knew it wasn't quite enough for Olenna and Margaery, and those fears were confirmed when Tywin and Sansa sat him down and explained what they had learned.

For a horrified moment, he wondered if this were another one of his father's cruel games, but he could actually see the anger and devastation the King's face, and surprisingly enough, some of that was on his behalf.

"No one insults our family like this," Tywin was seething, and Sansa had a hand on his arm.

"And I am family?" Tyrion said before he could think better of it.

"Of course you are. You are my son. You might not have my blood, but you have my name. You have conducted yourself honourably, Tyrion and this is an insult, to both of us," Tywin said, and Tyrion nodded, wondering how it came to be that the Great Lion was defending him, while his wife looked to stab him in the back.

"And we have no idea about her plans? Surely she cannot marry Margaery to another while I am still around?" Tyrion stated, his world shattered, knowing Olenna clearly meant to kill him. He wondered if his wife had been in on the plan to dispose of him, or if she would have gladly benefited from it.

"We will confront the three of them; Willas, Margaery and Olenna today, Tyrion," Tywin said, and he saw his father get a worried look on his face. "Mace is away from the Capital, taking the first shipment of weapons, food and warm clothing to Harrenhal."

Tyrion nodded, and Sansa grasped his hand.

"Come, Tyrion," she said gently and led him to the small room adjacent to Tywin's solar. Once there, she fretted over him, and he sent her a small, painful smile.

"Am I that difficult to love, Lady Sansa?" He asked her with brutal honesty and her eyes filled with tears.

"Gods, no," she said and threw her arms around him. "I am so sorry. I pushed for this marriage and the fact that she is willing to betray us... This is all my fault, Tyrion," Sansa sobbed into his neck, and he felt this arms come around to comfort her. There was no one like Sansa on this earth, Tyrion was convinced. She was goodness personified and they’d never deserve her, these snakes in King’s Landing that clawed for power and position. 

"Shhhh," he said to her and stroked her back. "Perhaps it is not as bad as we fear," he said, although the pit in his stomach made a liar out of him.

Later, Sansa and Tyrion stayed hidden as Tywin and Varys called the three Tyrell's into Tywin's solar and laid out the crimes, Sansa gripping Tyrion's hand the entire time.

"It's too late," Olenna said smugly, denying nothing. "I've dispatched men to Dragonstone. It is amazing what accidents might befall a dwarf, alone and without his family to protect him. He is so near, yet so far from his powerful father," she said gleefully, delighted that she’d outfoxed the Great Lion finally.

"You dared," he spat, and she shrugged.

"Of course I dared," she shot back and gave him a look that had cowered lesser men. But not Tywin; not the King.

"Grandmother, no," Margaery cried.

She had heard her grandmother discuss this Jon Snow of course, but she had never imagined that Olenna would act so suddenly. Or decisively. Margaery had thought it had been talk; a plan for the future. Willas Tyrell looked like he was about to be sick.

"My dear," Olenna said, patting her hand. "It is an insult to our house that you were married to that creature. A part of me prays that the abomination in your stomach dies upon its birth. Regardless, you were meant to be Queen," she said, waving a hand.

Olenna gave Tywin a triumphant look. "I've already sent the raven to Jon Snow. All he needs is the right wife, which thank gods cannot be his cousin, and men will rally behind him. And your heirs are so young, Tywin. Accidents can so easily happen to babies."

Tywin snorted at her stupidity. For once, Olenna Tyrell had severely miscalculated.

"Frist, Jon Snow would sooner slit his wrist than betray his family. Second, my heirs are guarded day and night. And third, your granddaughter is still married," Tywin said and grinned a particularly nasty smile.

Olenna felt the cold fear of death skirt down her spine. She'd seen that look on Tywin Lannister's face before; most often when he'd looked at Joffrey and everyone knew what had happened to the previous King.

"How did you know?" She asked, and he shrugged.

"I am the King," as if that were answer enough and Tyrion and Sansa entered the room.

Margaery gasped and stood as if to go to her husband, but he sent her such a look of loathing, she recoiled back.

"I wish I could say I was surprised, but I'm afraid I am not," Tyrion said to the old woman. He stood in front of her and poured her a glass of wine and emptied a vial of poison into the glass and slid it across the table to her.

"Tyrion!" Margaery gasped, and Ser Jerrod stepped forward to hold her back.

Tywin looked at Willas. "Unless you want the full force of my army to come crashing down upon Highgarden, I suggest you tell your sister to control herself," Tywin spat at him.

Margaery looked wildly around the room, first to Sansa and then to her husband. She had no idea how things had spun so wildly out of control. Her grandmother had said it was merely an idea to contemplate. Margaery was eight and a half months pregnant and unwieldy, but Jerrod held her tight.

"Bottoms up, grandmother," Tyrion said sarcastically, and Olenna snatched the glass and drank down the poison, knowing there was no escape.

"What will become of her?" She asked and gestured towards her granddaughter.

Tywin shrugged. "The child is a Lannister and will stay with our House. Lady Margaery will be put under arrest until she gives birth and then she will be sent back to Highgarden after her marriage is annulled to my son on the grounds of treason."

"No," Margaery screeched. Olenna rose and cupped the young woman's cheek.

"We tried, my dear. And we were outplayed again," she said and looked towards the guards that would take her back to her room. By nightfall, she would be dead, and the last thing she would know would be that Tywin Lannister had won again. They grasped her by the arms and escorted her from the room.

Willas Tyrell rose and looked like he might be ill. "I resign my position, effective immediately, from the small council. I will return to Highgarden to be with my wife." He was sickened by the games in King’s Landing and the role both his grandmother and his sister played. They would have killed an innocent man and two innocent children and all just to put Margaery on the Throne. He shook his head.

"Lord Willas," Tywin called out, his look cold and remote. "Any indication that Highgarden means to move against the Throne, and I will not hesitate to smash your house into oblivion. The shipments of grain and food will continue, and nothing will be said to your father."

Willas Tyrell nodded and turned and left the room without looking back.

Varys also bowed and took his leave, promising Tywin that he would ensure his little birds were in place in The Reach to report on happenings there.

Tywin rose and looked at Tyrion's wife, who had collapsed into a chair. "What do you want with her?" He asked his son, and Tyrion shrugged.

"The Tower of the Hand is only accessible one way. It's as good a prison for her as any." He was numb and watched as the guards hauled her to her feet and practically dragged her from the room, her crying and sobbing horribly for all to hear. When it was only Tywin, Sansa and Tyrion left, an awkward silence descended on the room. No one knew what to say. It had been more than a plot to kill Tyrion; Olenna would have had the princes murdered as well. Suddenly Sansa felt her stomach roil, and she darted from the room to find the nearest chamber pot.

"Go," Tyrion said. He felt ill at everything that had just happened and wondered when he might recover. He knew he'd spend the night on his father's daybed in the study; he had no wish to see his wife, although he was sure to have to speak with her at some point. He also needed to discuss the odd raven he'd received from the Wall, confirm that there were indeed dragons at Castle Black and update his father about the mining of the dragon glass. Tyrion had left Dragonstone before the raven from his Uncle Kevan arrived.

But all of that could be done tomorrow, and Tyrion settled into to get himself unhappily drunk, alone as seemed to be his lot in life.

He was well on his way to being buzzed when his father walked back in the room and poured his goblet of wine.

"Sansa?" Tyrion asked, and Tywin shook his head.

"Sleeping," was all he said and he sat down heavily across from Tyrion. The two men, who'd hated each other their whole lives, were oddly comfortable with each other now.

"Dragons," Tyrion said, and Tywin sent him a look.

"You know who Jon Snow is and that the other one is for Stannis," Tywin said and gave his son a knowing look. "When is yours showing up?"

Tyrion laughed until he realized his father was serious. "You can't possibly think that I will get a dragon. We all know what happened when I asked for one before," Tyrion said and saw that his father was serious.

"There are three living people with Targaryen blood. You are Jon Snow's half Uncle. If he can ride a dragon, why can't you?" Tywin stated and gave his son a look. He saw the wonder on Tyrion's face and knew at that moment his son would not be flying the dragon to King’s Landing to roast him alive.

"Viserion, they say his name is," Tywin said conversationally.

"Cream and blue scales, and beautiful," Tyrion muttered to his father and told him about the dreams.

"Are you prepared to fly this beast into war, Tyrion?" Tywin asked and saw his son startle at that question. "If they breathe fire, they could be the most useful weapon we have."

"I never even thought about their application," he said, wonder and nervousness in his voice. He'd only been in a few battles, and he hadn't fared well. But to be above the battle. He shook his head and laughed. "No dragon has shown up yet, Father. Perhaps one won't."

The two men sat for a time, silent and happy to drink in each other's presence.

"Sansa feels this is all her fault," Tywin said after a time and Tyrion shook his head.

"She did nothing, Father," Tyrion said and shook his head. He glanced at Tywin. "Will you keep the baby with you?" He wanted to know. In the eyes of the world, it would be a Lannister, even though he was not, but he was legitimate, so the child would be as well. There was no place for the child with him on Dragonstone, and he could not imagine Tywin leaving it with Margaery. Tywin nodded.

"Sansa has already said the child would be raised with ours, at least until the war is over and you can take your place on Dragonstone," Tywin said, and the two men nodded before Tywin rose to go and find his wife.

"Thank you," Tyrion said to his father's back, and Tywin turned and nodded once.

"You are a Lannister, and you are my son. And no one will undermine our house, nor try to kill my son and not pay the price," Tywin said, and Tyrion felt a warmth that wasn't just Donnish Red settle over him, despite the awful circumstances of the day

The next day Tyrion went to visit his wife. He had mixed feelings about the entire state of affairs. He knew better than anyone that you could never stop playing the game of thrones, but somehow he never saw this coming from her. He supposed he should have. He didn't doubt that they still had feelings for one another, but he'd seen how she had changed after his father's heirs arrived. He wondered then if she'd had a plan all along for Sansa. After all, his father's first wife had died in childbirth; why not his second?

What hurt more than that was the thought that she meant to replace him with this Jon Snow. He had thought that Margaery hadn't cared about his stature, but he'd been mistaken. He entered the apartments of the hand and was assaulted by the memories that washed over him. So many included Sansa and his father. He'd spent hours here with the new Queen, and she remained, as always, his most faithful and most loyal friend. He would have to visit her after he'd seen to his traitorous wife.

For some reason, this betrayal hurt less than the one from his father and his brother all those years ago. A part of him could understand it and perhaps a part of him had been waiting for it. He had no doubts that had he been King she gladly would be by his side. But he was not and never would be, and that driving ambition between her and her grandmother would never allow for them to settle for anything less.

He found her in their bedroom; he'd been gone mere weeks, and he could already tell she'd redecorated it to suit her tastes. There were far too many roses and not nearly enough lions as far as he could tell. He wondered then if she'd ever had any plans of joining him on Dragonstone and they were the first words out of his mouth when they spotted each other from across the room.

"Grandmother wasn't sure that was a good idea," she said, slowly and almost lifeless.

He frowned. Clearly, grandmother had a great many plans for her darling granddaughter and most did not include Tyrion.

"Did you know she sent men to murder me?" he asked bluntly and Margaery shook her head.

"But you did discuss the possibility of Jon Snow. Rather hard to marry a new man when the old one is still alive," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm and Margaery flinched.

"It was only a thought," she murmured, and Tyrion snorted.

"It's treason, you fool" he hissed at her, and she flinched and then raised her jaw in defiance. "Did you ever love me?" he asked, and she nodded.

"For a time..." she said and then she had the presence of mind to look away. "Then I saw what Sansa had, and knew it should be mine. Both grandmother and I knew. Perhaps if I had made the match she had...." Margaery said, trailing off and Tyrion was stunned. He'd met few creatures as hungry for power as his dear sister, and yet somehow he'd ended up married to the second most devious woman in the seven kingdoms.

"Well played, you fooled us all," he said and saluted her. "It's wasn't all lies," she said softly, and he shook his head.

"Ahhh, My Lady, that ship has sailed. You may fool me once, but never again," he told her and stood to take his leave.

"Once you've delivered my child, you will be sent back to Highgarden immediately, and our marriage annulled. I warn you now, Margaery, my father, will not hesitate to remove you, your brother or his new wife if he feels at all threatened by Highgarden," Tyrion said and took his leave from her.

He went and found Sansa, who was playing with the twins in the nursery, and she hugged him tightly, once again apologizing. Her eyes were bruised blue pools of hurt, and he waved a hand.

"She fooled us all," he said, and that was the end of it. They would not discuss Margaery Tyrell anymore.

A week later, a steward informed Tyrion, Tywin and Sansa that Lady Margaery had gone into labour but that there were issues. The three lions made their way to the Tower of the Hand, and though Tyrion no longer loved his wife, he did not wish her dead. When they entered the bedroom, chaos reigned, and Tywin reeled back, recalling a similar scene from so long ago. Sansa grasped her husband's hand.

"What is going on?" Sansa demanded, and Maester Poole turned a helpless glance her way.

"The Lady refuses to push," he said, his voice taking on a near panicked tone. "She is bleeding heavily, and I fear if we do nothing, we will lose them both."

For a moment, no one said a word, and then Tyrion shook himself. "Can you save my child?" he asked, and the Maester looked at him.

"I believe so, Lord Hand," he said, and Tyrion nodded. "Then do so," he ordered, and Sansa gripped his hand.

"You cannot be here," the Maester said, and both Tywin and Tyrion shook their heads. They would not leave and sent Sansa from the room.

"She was my friend, Tywin," she said when he embraced her.

"I know love, but this is not for you. Please trust me, Sansa," Tywin almost begged her. She nodded.

What followed was a horror by anyone's standards. Women were always at risk whenever they got pregnant, and everyone knew this. In the end, the babe was saved, and Lady Margaery was not. It was only the skill of the new Maester that Tyrion now cradled a daughter in his hands and not a dead babe. She was perfect; not a dwarf as had been his first fear but normal and healthy.

Tywin stood over his son, proud of the choices he had made. When Tyrion's eyes met his, he said, "I want to name her after mother," and Tywin nodded, a lump forming in his throat.

"Joanna Lannister," Tyrion said, awed and humbled by the child in his arms. "Can you bring Lady Sansa?" he asked Tywin, and his father nodded and sent for his wife.

No one looked at Tyrion's dead wife in the bed as they left the bedroom behind. Soon enough, Sansa swept into the room, and she took one look at the baby, and her face broke into a soft smile.

"Tyrion," she gasped, stroking the baby's tiny cheek. She was a beautiful child, and Sansa told him so. He felt himself swell with pride. He'd once hoped to have a wife, a family; children. He'd convinced himself for so long that the path he had wanted couldn't possibly be his. And then he'd married again and become entangled with the Tyrell's and death. Out of all that misery, he had a daughter. A perfect, beautiful daughter. He eventually handed her off to Sansa and felt his father embrace him, telling him he'd made the correct choice.

For a week, Tyrion spent every single waking moment with his child, ensuring only the best-wet nurses were available. Shireen, Sansa, Genna and Catelyn were like a pride of lions surrounding Joanna, ensuring she never wanted for love or attention. Tyrion himself felt his heart mend, due in large part to the child he held in his arms. His desire to return to Dragonstone was at an all-time low when his father entered the nursery in the Tower of the Hand and had a grim look on his face.

Tyrion saw Sansa grimace, and she rose to meet Tywin, and the other's hurriedly left them alone. The King handed Tyrion the raven he had received from Dragonstone, and Tyrion's eyes widened as he read it.

"Surely they jest," Tyrion said, and Tywin shook his head.

"There is a dragon waiting for you on Dragonstone, and while I know you are reluctant to leave your child, you are the only person that has a hope of taming such a beast," Tywin said, his words brooking no argument.

Tyrion nodded and glanced at the sleeping babe in Sansa's arms. He knew he couldn't say no; riding a dragon may mean the difference between life and death, and he had someone more than just himself to fight for now.

"I'll go," Tyrion said. Sansa placed his daughter in his arms, and Tywin and Sansa left the nursery, leaving Tyrion time to say goodbye to his new daughter, afraid that if things didn't work out, the only time this child would know her father would be this short week. Sansa watched them and vowed that baby Joanna would understand why her father left, and she prayed that Tyrion would return to them all.

Late that night, wrapped in Tywin's arms, Sansa wept for Westeros. The threat seemed so huge; families were being forced to leave their homes; young and old would die on the road south, and the realm groaned under the weight of the threat from this Night King. Her family was more in harm's way than ever before, and even her husband, her fierce, demanding, determined husband wore a worried look most days. Sansa knew this was the gravest battle they had ever faced and she clutched at Tywin, who held her tight. She could do nothing more than hope, powerless as the Queen against such a foe; the Night King and the army of the dead was coming for them all.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I combined a few smaller chapters to make one large one

_ Road to Winterfell  _

Brienne was avoiding him. It wasn't obvious, not at first. But by the time they had made it to Last Hearth, Jaime Lannister knew that he had scared her with his talk of marriage and being bedded. If she was avoiding him, that meant she was thinking about marriage. And if she was thinking about marriage, well, then he might be able to convince her to go through with it. He had been one hundred percent serious about marrying her. He spent hours each day in his saddle, thinking of all the ways his life might change if he had a wife by his side.

He grinned when he thought about his father's reaction if he married Lady Brienne of Tarth. He was sure that Lady Sansa suspected something between the two of them. That woman had an uncanny ability to figure out everything Lannister men were thinking. Tywin might object to it being Brienne, but that was all. She was noble-born, a maid and would strengthen their ties with the Stormlands. His father had begged him for years to do his duty and marry, and now he was finally ready.

Jaime knew he was a better man when he was with her, not that that was saying much. Since his discussion with Stannis, Jaime had come to realize that he'd missed out on opportunity after opportunity to be the type of man he had sworn to be when he'd become a Kingsguard. Instead, he'd allowed Cersei and her poisonous tongue to make it seem like it had to be the Lannister's against the world. He was as much at fault as her. He knew exactly what she was, and he'd loved her anyways. But still. She was dead and gone, and he'd somehow, against all odds, been given a second chance.

His father had proven that Lannisters need not marry each other to be happy when he had married Sansa Stark. His marriage to the Northern woman had all but saved the Kingdom from itself, Jaime was sure. He could look around, right now, and see a plethora of banners, all pledged to different houses and all here because of one man and one woman. The King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. No one else would have been able to rally such a show of force, and no one else would have had a hope in hell of stopping such an enemy as this Night King.

Jaime grunted when he thought of how Tyrion had always described their father. The most powerful man in the realm; certainly, the richest. It was true on both accounts. If Tyrion had thought that Tywin Lannister was powerful before Sansa, it was nothing compared to the loyalty he now commanded with her by his side. Jaime still shook his head when he thought of how his father acted around his pretty wif, andd her with him. That was the strangest thing of all. Sansa Stark fully and completely loved her husband, a man that Jaime had thought was unlovable until she'd proven him wrong.

Kevan rode beside him, his Uncle anxious to get south and see his son Lancel whom had been left at Harrenhal. He asked Jaime, before they reached Last Hearth, what his good cheer was about, but it was a secret Jaime was keeping to himself for now. Until he had Brienne's agreement, he would not risk anyone spoiling his plan; not even to his Uncle.

They reached Last Hearth a week after leaving Castle Black. Big Jon Umber had been with them at Hardhome; he knew the threat they all faced so it wasn't too difficult to rally the people to pack their belongings. Those at Karhold had also been told to evacuate, although when they spoke with the Lords at Last Hearth no one had seen them, nor heard from them.

A raven had been sent to Jon and Stannis. They were planning on visiting Deepwood Motte and Bear Island, and now it seemed Karhold. Jaime shook his head at the Northern stubbornness, but who could blame them. How did you convince people to flee something that by all rights of man and gods shouldn't even exist? It would get worse the further they went south. At least those in the North had grown up with these tales, these myths and legends. Most of those living below Moat Cailin held with the Seven Gods and the Andal tradition. The concept of a Night King and the White Walkers would be foreign to them.

Robb too had these thoughts. He shook his head and wondered how many Northern men and women would become part of the Army of the Dead because they were too stubborn to leave. He understood; the thought of abandoning Winterfell ate at him. He hated that this threat was going to tax the North the most. They were the ones directly line of the Night King's invasion, and they were the ones that had the most to lose. Still, the King had promised compensation, and Robb trusted his sister and her husband.

He'd hardly had a chance to speak with Jaime since he'd been back and chose today to ride beside the golden-haired knight. Something had changed; Robb had seen it at Castle Black, and in his limited experience, when men changed like that it usually was due to a woman. So, he watched his friend all day and saw how Jaime always knew where Lady Brienne of Tarth was. For her part, the large woman never looked directly at Jaime, but if Robb had to guess, the two of them could find each other in a moment, they were so aware of one another. The air between them fairly crackled with unresolved tension.

"When are you going to ask her?" Robb asked offhandedly, as the lead rider called out that the Castle of Last Hearth had been spotted.

Jaime's eyes narrowed, and his mouth thinned, but he denied nothing.

"She's a loyal and honest woman. Good fighter. Maid. Noble birth." Robb listed off her attributes as if she were a prized hog going to slaughter and Jaime's eyes narrowed further.

"It's not like that," the Kingslayer finally muttered. Robb laughed, and Jaime scowled at him.

"Brother, I'm married. It's exactly like that." Robb was chuckling. Jaime was looking at Brienne the way Robb looked at Jeyne.

"I haven't dishonoured her. Haven't stolen her maidenhood. Yes, I want to lie with her. But I want to be married to her."

Robb nodded solemnly. He'd seen hints of the cocky Kingslayer he'd known all those years ago when Jaime had first shown up at Castle Black. Something had changed in Jaime though, and they had become close. Robb could admit to having a bit of idol worship of the man. He probably always had, even when he'd been in the field and fighting a war against him. Hell, even when Jaime was his prisoner, he'd practically begged the man to admit how impressive it was that he'd captured him. Through it all, Jaime had retained his cocky Lannister attitude. Robb knew there was a part of him that was seeking validation from Jaime; and that Jaime was someone Robb had always aspired to be like.

Then they'd gone to Hardhome and Tommen had died, even knowing who the boy's true mother and father were, well, that almost broke Robb. Tommen had no control over who his parents were, and Robb knew that Jaime loved his son. Robb couldn't even imagine the horror of watching something like that happen to his son.

The fact that his sister seemed to know all the Lannister secrets and still seemed to love them, allowed Robb to feel like his friendship with Jaime wasn't something to be ashamed of, and it permitted him to forgive the man for his sins.

They were all different people now, knowing what was coming for them.

Robb had seen a difference in Jaime since he'd come back to the Castle with Stannis; he seemed calmer, more at peace. He seemed to allow himself to want things that most men did: a wife, a keep, a future. Robb had no idea what that might mean for Sansa's children; if Jaime married would he take Casterly Rock? But that was a worry for an uncertain future, and Jaime had never seemed to be the man that coveted his family's great Castles. Besides, given the rate in which houses were sure to fall before the Army of the Dead, Robb would lay gold dragons on the fact that there would be more than one empty Castle in Westeros if they survived this war.

"Brother, we have got the army of dead men hot on our tails and a world that has gone mad. If she makes you happy and you plan to offer her marriage, then I for one will stand by your side."

Jaime looked to his once former enemy. He wondered how they had become friends and then family. He knew the secret of him pushing Bran Stark out the window at Winterfell still hadn't been revealed, but even now, Jaime knew that Robb would stand by his side, no matter what he learned. He was his brother, if through marriage only, and it warmed something in Jaime to have his friendship.

"She's not who my father would have picked," Jaime stated, and Robb laughed. "No, I can't imagine she would be."

Jaime grinned and told Robb the story of how Brienne almost made Sansa late for her wedding to the Great Lion. Kevan chose to ride up then and laughed and joined in.

"My gods was your sister angry. All she wanted was to get to Ty, and here was this brute of a woman, trying to offer to steal her away. She huffed and puffed and then told Jerrod he had permission to run her through. I never thought I'd see the day when someone loved my brother that much again."

Robb loved hearing stories like this about Sansa. It made him feel close to her even though he hadn't seen her in years. It was shocking to think that Jaime might know her better than him now.

"So, she was happy? On her wedding day?"

"Oh, seven hells, she practically floated down the aisle to him. She told me she had to clutch my arm, so she didn't just run up to him, embarrassing him in front of the entire sept."

Robb grinned. He could see that of Sansa.

"And Tywin, he loves her as well?" Robb knew this, had been told this, and yet, it still helped to hear it again. Sansa had always wanted a great romance, and it was hard to reconcile the idea of Tywin Lannister and romance in the same sentence.

Jaime snorted.

"My father is stupidly in love with her. He can't keep his fucking hands off of her. She's pregnant again, much to both of their delight, and his chest is so puffed out with his two new heirs I'm surprised Lady Sansa hasn't had to let one of his doublets out."

Robb grinned. It was nice hearing about Sansa's life in the south. "I'm glad."

Kevan shook his head. "No one loves as Ty does. When he finds someone...." His voice trailed off. "She makes him a better man, a better King. She makes him whole. They are a force, Young Wolf. A truer partnership does not exist in the seven Kingdoms."

"I hope to see her again," Robb's voice came, soft and longing. "My sister. She's the only one I haven't been reunited with. I know she's safe and loved. But I hope to see her again. See her as Queen."

Both Lannister men were quiet at that. They knew how lucky they were to have been in her presence. Sansa Lannister was a woman without equal in the realm.

* * *

When they reached Last Hearth, a flurry of activity greeted them, and it wasn't until late in the night when Jaime finally had a chance to sneak into Brienne's tent. She had taken off her armour and was sitting in a large bath, and she hissed out a shocked whisper.

"Jaime!"

He grinned and drug a stool close to her. Of course, he couldn't see anything in the dim light, but that was beside the point.

"You've been avoiding me, My Lady."

She glared at him and crossed her legs and her arms.

Fuck, he thought, she was adorable. Of course, he was most likely the only man in the entire realm that considered a woman who wanted to be a knight and who had the skills to back up such a ludicrous endeavour was adorable, but that was love.

"So, about our marriage," he began, and she huffed out a breath.

"We are not getting married."

"Brienne, do I need to have the King order you? I could you know," he said and sent her a devastating smile.

Brienne huffed again and tried to figure out what she could do to dissuade Jaime. He'd seen her naked once before of course, but at that time he'd been a broken man. He didn't seem quite so broken now. She grinned wickedly and stood, letting the water pour off her body and stepped out of the bath. She watched as his eyes darkened. But not with disgust. With desire. Too late, she realized her mistake.

"Brienne," he breathed her name, and she felt something funny clench in her core. She squirmed at his frank assessment of her. He stood and walked towards her and reached his one hand out to cup a breast, which he rolled and played with the peak. Brienne sucked in a breath. He lowered his head and took the peak into his mouth and sucked hard, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

He looked up at her, his hand on her flesh.

"I won't do this the wrong way. I want you Brienne but as my wife. Marry me."

All Brienne could do was nod her agreement. Jaime rose, kisses her hard and left her tent.

Brienne had no idea what had just happened, other than she had somehow become betrothed to the most eligible man in all the seven kingdoms. Given how she was feeling, she couldn't argue with his methods or the results. She was helpless to say no to him. She knew she had been in love with him since he'd rescued her at Harrenhal and she knew as well as anyone that they might all perish in the upcoming war. She was done fighting him. If he wanted to marry her, she would say the words. He might never love her, but he wanted her, and marriages had been built on less.

Jaime left Brienne's tent to find Robb and was handed a raven from the King. He read it and collapsed into the chair, sickened. The Tyrell's had tried to kill his brother. Olenna was dead, Willas had gone back to Highgarden and Margaery, after giving birth to a daughter, gone as well. Jaime was stunned. He looked to his Uncle to see the tears streaming down his face.

"He named her Joanna. And she's normal, Jaime. He has a daughter." Kevan had always had a particular soft spot of Tyrion.

At least it was something. Jaime ached for his little brother. All he'd ever wanted was a family and a wife.

"Father?"

"Outraged, but coping, along with Lady Sansa. She blames herself of course, but the lionesses have rallied around Tyrion. Genna and Lady Catelyn, Shireen and Sansa. The child will be well loved."

Jaime swallowed hard and nodded.

"Lady Brienne and I will wed when we reach Winterfell. In the godswood."

Robb nodded and clapped him on the back. "Good choice, brother."

Everyone knew that Lady Brienne would never play the game of thrones the way that Lady Margaery had tried. She'd sooner cut you with her sword. She was honourable to a fault. And loyal as hell.

"I need to send a raven to father," Jaime said, and Kevan nodded and left him to write it. Later, Robb came back in the tent, and they spoke of nothing and everything, comfortable in each other's companionship.

* * *

It took two weeks before they were ready to leave Last Hearth. Jaime sat on his horse and watched as those too young and those too old were loaded into carts.

"They won't all make it," came a soft voice from his side and he found Brienne sitting beside him. She'd made herself scarce over the last fortnight, and he'd missed her.

Jaime sighed. "No, they won't. And there are those further North that may also refuse to leave." He shook his head. "Watching Tommen turn into that...." He said nothing, knowing she would understand. She was the only one who knew the depth of his grief for his son. She was more of a mother to him these last few months than anyone else save Sansa.

"Jaime, I have no words." Brienne's eyes had a sheen of tears.

He sighed and turned to look at her fully. "I won't force you. I want you to marry me Brienne, and you've said yes. I'm a better man with you. But I'm not a monster. If you don't want to marry me, I won't hold you to it...."

She swallowed hard. And took a chance. "Do you think you think you will ever feel more than just friendship for me?"

He snorted. "I'm half in love with you woman," and watched as her blue eyes widened. He leaned closer in his saddle. "I can't imagine it would take much more to tip me over, My Lady." His voice had lowered, and she felt the curl of heat in her tummy.

"Jaime," she almost whispered. He loved it when she said his voice like that.

"Brienne."

"Yes."

He arched an eyebrow. She cleared her throat.

"Yes, I will marry you."

He grinned and then leaned even closer as she did as well, and he kissed her. In the middle of an army, where all eyes of the Lords of Westeros could see them, Jaime Lannister kissed Brienne of Tarth.

"You're mine now, My Lady," he said grinning, and she smiled and shook her head. He was utterly incorrigible, and he was to be hers.

* * *

_ Winterfell  _

Arya Stark had been a pain in Sandor Clegane's arse for years. Ever since he'd rescued her from those fire worshiping cunts, she'd dogged him, fought him, curse him and made his life a living hell. After she'd disobeyed him and left Theon, Jeyne, Rickon and little Ned vulnerable, she became a different type of pain in his arse.

She'd retreated inside herself, mopey and depressed. He understood it; he remembered when his brother had ruined his face, and he'd hated everyone once the pain finally receded. He'd stayed an angry fucker his entire life. But he didn't want that type of life for her.

It took months until her arm was finally healed. She had limited use of it; she could hold a quill or a spoon, but she'd never regain the strength to swing a sword or fight with it again.

The only time he ever saw her brighten was when word came from the Wall. First that Jon was back. That elicited a small smile. She was a little bit more verbose when word came that Bran and her Uncle Benjen were also safe and at the Castle. Her entire family, save her father, were alive and both her and Rickon were excited about that. For too long the Stark siblings had been scattered across Westeros, but no more. Soon four of them would be in the walls of Winterfell.

When Sandor shared the news with everyone about the White Walkers and the army of the dead, the Stark siblings scoffed until he showed them Robb's raven. Then they paled and wondered how Old Nan's tales could be true?

The best reaction from Arya, was when Sandor shared the news of the dragon and Jon's true parentage with them. They were all stunned. Arya stomped and insisted he was still her brother and Sandor smirked at her, glad to see her anger and resentment.

"Missed the best part, girl. He's got a fucking dragon." She stopped and turned and looked at him and he watched as her eyes widened in wonder.

"A dragon. Fuck me." Then she grinned, and it was the best thing Sandor had seen in months.

He missed his little wolf. He had no experience being a father, no capacity to try to help someone heal emotionally. He had been nothing but an angry drunk for years in King's Landing. He remembered the hateful things he had said to the Little bird and hated himself for who he'd been then. Even though he'd found his place in the North, it didn't mean that he had somehow acquired the capacity to be a man that could share his emotions. Still, it hurt a part of him to see her in so much pain. And if dragons could get a smile out of her, well he'd take it, even if the thought of such beasts terrified him.

"Aye. A dragon. And if you want a ride, it's time you do the hard word to get stronger." He would use whatever leverage he could to make her start to train again.

"Do you think it's possible?" He could see the fear and the doubt in her eyes. He knew she was afraid of failure.

He barked out a harsh laugh. "Jaime fucking Lannister learned. Why can't you?" Arya nodded. "I'll be in the training yard first thing in the morning."

He met her gaze and nodded, not letting her see how it made him happy to see the spark of interest in her.

Sandor Clegane's place was indeed established in the North now. He was the undisputed Master of the Keep with Robb away, and men deferred to his orders. His men trained every day, and Sandor swore there wasn't a better group of trained men at arms in all the seven Kingdoms save perhaps the one down south under the King's command. Sansa and Catelyn had been supportive, sending raven after raven to Arya, and Sandor was proud of how the Little Bird hadn't given up on her sister.

The training was brutal on purpose. Arya was out of shape and angry, pissed at him and the world. And yet. She hadn't felt like this for months. She showed up. Everyday. Rain, sun, sleet and snow. Her sword arm would never function fully again, but even it got stronger. And it was almost like a game, training her left hand and arm to work the way her right one had.

She also got to observe Sandor. He had a swagger she'd never seen. She realized one morning as she was splayed out in the mud that he was happy here. And it was because of her. He'd chosen to come back North with her; he'd chosen Winterfell because of her. She knew him, and Robb were close, but more, she knew she'd chosen her, overstaying in the south with Sansa. Because he was the closest thing she had to a father and perhaps she was the closest thing he had to a daughter.

He was ill-tempered, foul-mouthed, crude and loud. And she knew he'd kill any man who tried to hurt her, and he'd protect her with his life. She'd never been more grateful for the day that he'd kidnapped her from the Brotherhood. He'd been by her side the whole time, and she knew, no matter what happened, no matter how dangerous this Army of the Dead was, he'd be by her side.

She trained harder after that. She ate properly and slept, willing her body to become leaner and stronger. She wanted to be an asset when her brothers came home. As far as she was concerned, Jon was her brother and nothing Bran said or a note in the citadel by some Maester she didn't know, would change that.

Sandor told her that Robb and the southern army were days away from Winterfell; he had Bran and Benjen with him as well as thousands of Wildlings and women, children and men that were fleeing the North. Nothing chilled Arya's blood than the thought that people from the North were coming south. She knew that Northerners were proud people; that more than anything made the threat real to her.

When Sandor's men announced the army had been spotted, both Rickon and Arya could hardly contain their excitement. It had been so long since they had seen Bran and Rickon barely remembered their Uncle Benjen.

Three days later, Robb rode through the gates, his family waiting for him. He was off his horse before he'd even stopped, wrapping Jeyne in his arms and cradling his huge son. He'd been a mere infant when he'd left, and now little Ned was eight months old.

Behind him was Jaime Lannister, along with his Uncle Kevan, and Lords Tarly, the Blackfish and Royce. The Lady Brienne of Tarth was there as well, and she smiled at Arya, knowing the young woman had been injured.

Then the litter carrying Bran entered the yard, and Robb went and brought him out, taking him in his arms and placing him in a chair. Arya and Rickon ran to him and hugged him. Bran said nothing and they were baffled at his lack of reaction.

"He's changed," was all Robb would say, and they could see his face was tight. Robb turned and found Sandor and embraced the large, scarred man.

"I owe you everything," Robb said, emotion choking his voice. Sandor waved a huge hand, uncomfortable being the subject of such admiration.

"It was my job, and I did it poorly."

Robb shook his head. Losing Theon was a blow, but Sandor had saved Winterfell and his wife and child. He embraced the big man again.

A slight cough sounded and then Arya saw her Uncle. He was different, but he was still Benjen, and she threw herself in his arms, crying as he held her. He stroked her back, unable to believe he'd made it back to his family's home.

That night there was a great feast in the hall. Ale and mead and wine flowed, and tales of the Army of the Dead and the dragons dominated the conversation.

Arya met Tormund Giantsbane and Ser Davos Seaworth and scores of others. The walls of Winterfell were teaming, and she knew it wouldn't be long before Jon was here.

The next night after Robb had come home, he called a family meeting in the solar. Sandor was there, along with Jeyne and little Ned, Rickon, Arya and Uncle Benjen as well as Jaime, Kevan and Bran.

They'd heard bits and pieces of the story, what had happened at Hardhome, but now they heard everything, from Bran, becoming the three-eyed-raven, to the battle with the Night King, to the death of Tommen. They spoke of the dragons and those who had Targaryen blood, and who Tyrion was.

It was a colossal amount of information. Arya thought she had absorbed as much news as she possibly could when Bran looked to Jaime. "The things we do for love."

Jaime paled, and Robb startled and stood. "What's going on?"

Jaime swallowed and looked Robb in the eye. He knew it. The time for secrets was done. They had an army of the dead bearing down on them, and these people were his family. A family he had harmed and actions he had to answer too.

"I'm the one who pushed your brother from the tower."

It was his last great secret and his greatest shame. And he wondered if he would die before he could even marry the woman he thought he might be in love with. Before Robb could draw his sword, Bran's voice rang out.

"Stop."

All eyes turned to him. "It was how it was meant to be. It was how I needed to become the three- eyed-raven. None of us would have a chance of surviving the battle with the Night King, had Jaime not pushed me."

Robb scoffed, and Sandor huffed out a breath. Arya was ready to run the Kingslayer through.

"I wasn't sorry; not then, not when I did it. I did do it for love. I loved my sister, vile and horrid creature that she was." Jaime sighed and sat. These Starks were his family now, and they were owed the truth. Stannis knew. Tywin knew. Sansa knew. Why not them?

Robb and Arya looked ready to kill him, but he begged for them to listen, and they finally relented. Jaime began at the start, leaving nothing out, making no excuses. He told them how he'd been made a Kingsguard to thwart his father, to take Tywin's heir. He spoke of the mad King and his love of pyromancy and burning people. He spoke of the madness that consumed Aerys. He told them of the caches of wildfire and the increasing hatred towards House Lannister. He spoke of his choice, how he saved the people of King's Landing, only for Ned Stark to label him a traitor, an oath breaker.

When Robb and Arya glanced at Bran, he nodded. "It's all true." Jaime sighed and scrubbed his face.

"My honour was gone, my vows broken. Everyone hated me. But I knew, I knew I had done something good. And I used that, that knowledge that I could be good to justify the horrible things I did. I let Cersei convince me that a child of Robert's would be like him. I let her convince me that House Lannister should rule from the Iron Throne. I did nothing to stop her or Joffrey from their cruelties. I told no one what I did, how many people I had saved. I wore the names they called me like armour and became more hardened and bitter as the years passed. When Bran caught us...." Jaime sighed and looked like a shell of the man he used to be. "There is no excuse. I wasn't sorry at the time. I've paid. My sons are dead. Dear Tommen, who only wanted to be a knight, is dead. And I am unsure that there is enough time left in this world for me to make amends. But I vowed to fight for the living, and that is what I plan on doing."

Those in the small room were stunned.

"Does Sansa know?" Robb asked. He was disgusted, curious and angry all at once. Jaime nodded. "And she forgives you? Loves you?"

Jaime nodded again.

"And my mother?"

Jaime nodded. "Before she let me go. When I was Robb's captive." Jaime's eyes slid to his friend; his brother, but both knew how Robb had held him, chained like a dog, was wrong. Still, this wasn't about Robb Stark's crimes, just Jaime Lannister's.

Robb sighed and shook his head. It was an unbelievable tale. The man sitting before him had saved half a million people. And he'd caused countless others to die due to his inaction against Cersei and his willingness to lie with his sister. And despite it all, Robb liked him- and still did. He wondered how Sansa reconciled everything with this complicated family.

"Your story isn't over yet, Jaime," came Bran's eerie voice. "You have a role to play in the upcoming wars. And you're a good man. A changed man."

Arya wasn't convinced, but she'd spent much less time with Jaime Lannister. He and Robb had been the one to form the bond at the Wall and beyond. She looked to her brother, and then her gaze slid past and thought of Theon. If she could forgive him, did that mean she had to forgive Jaime as well? Bran was still alive, and he wasn't angry at him, but Bran wasn't Bran these days for the most part. Arya didn't know what he was. Sansa loved Jaime; Arya knew this much to be true from her time in King's Landing. Arya wondered what Jaime would say if he knew that it had been Sansa to kill Cersei. But he'd never hear it from her.

Then Jaime surprised them all by announcing he wanted to marry Brienne of Tarth in the godswood. Arya startled at that thought. She was sure the large woman would never marry.

Arya looked around the room and realized that somehow, these people were family. Kevan, Jaime, Jeyne and Sandor were all from the Westerlands. Her and Robb, Rickon and Bran the North. And the reason they were family was that Sansa had married Tywin. Arya sighed and nodded to Jaime, and he bowed slightly to her.

"If you ever want some tips," he told her and held up his golden hand. She grunted out a reply but appreciated it none the less. The tension in the room bled out, as those who were there realized that an often messy and painful history connected them, but one that included marriages, children, love and respect. Sansa and Tywin had united the two houses in more ways than even they could have conceived of, and now those bonds, while tested, had not broken.

Jeyne called for ale, and the men sat and drank, while Arya observed and wondered. She thought of her father and wondered what might have been different for Jaime had Ned Stark asked him why before declaring him an oath breaker. She'd gone through the painful process of self-doubt recently, and still carried the guilt of Theon's death on her heart.

Several hours later, a drunken Jaime stumbled to his room. Only it wasn't his room he was looking for. It was his wife. Or his soon to be wife. Tomorrow night. That was what Robb had agreed too. Somehow, the Stark's had forgiven him. He felt like a different man. His family, and make no mistakes; these wolves were his family, knew all his darkest secrets. And they fucking forgave him for them. It helped that Bran stated what he did to him had to happen, not that Jaime could understand that, and it helped that Arya herself was dealing with some great guilt. Or perhaps it was just that they were too fucking honourable for the likes of the Lannister's, but somehow, against all the odds, they'd forgiven him. He'd ride beside Robb, and fight with him and know that the man had his back. It was a heady feeling for a man who'd lived with a lifetime of secrets, shame and guilt. For the first time, nothing was eating at Jaime's conscience.

He slipped into Brienne's room and shucked off his tunic and breeches. He grinned when he saw her sprawled out on the bed. She was magnificent. He had no idea how he'd become lucky enough to have her, but she was his. He crawled beneath the furs and wrapped her in his arms and smiled when she curled into him, not even waking up. She didn't realize it, but she was already responding to him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and for the first time in his life, fell asleep completely unburned and genuinely looking forward to tomorrow.

Brienne awoke instantly and knew she wasn't alone. Before she could reach for the dagger she always kept under her pillow, she risked a glance and saw that Jaime had somehow crawled into her bed, all without her even knowing. She cursed herself for not reacting, wondering if it was because it was him and she knew she had nothing to fear from him, or if it was because she'd been so exhausted from the endless march from Castle Black. Either way, she was wrapped in his arms and lying naked on his chest.

"Stop squirming," he mumbled and pressed another kiss to her forehead. She had to tell him to stop doing that, even if she liked what it felt like.

"Jaime, what in seven hells are you doing here?"

He quirked open a green eye and winked at her. "Lying with my wife."

"I'm not your wife," she practically hissed at him.

"Tonight, you will be."

Brienne gaped at him, having nothing to say to that. What on earth was he talking about? She knew he'd said they'd be married when they got to Winterfell, but they'd only been here a few days, and surely, he'd changed his mind by now. There had to be someone else, anyone else, in the realm that he wanted.

As if he could read her mind, he reached down and brought a raven to her hand. "Read it."

She sat up, clutching a fur to her chest, not that she was even naked, and scanned the scroll. It was from the King and Queen who gave their blessings on their union.

"What did you do?" she asked, horrified.

Jaime sat up, uncaring that he was naked and grinned when Brienne's eyes slid over his chest. He cupped her cheek and pressed a kiss to her lips.

"I did it right. I got my father's approval. I can't promise you Casterly Rock, My Lady, but I promise you won't be poor," he said grinning.

"Casterly Rock?" her voice squeaked, and Jaime thought it had to be the most adorable sound he'd ever heard.

"Hmm, well by rights it's mine, although I've done a fine job of avoiding taking it. Until you." He wiggled an eyebrow at her, and she blanched further.

"Jaime, I can't. There's no way. Jaime." She was at a complete loss. How on early could she become the Lady of Casterly Rock?

"I supposed we might have to find you a new name. Everyone knows Sansa as Lady Lannister, although technically that would be your title as well. I guess we can work that out if we ever make it back to King's Landing."

"Jaime stop!" Brienne practically shouted at him. "You can't possibly be serious about this. About marrying me before the war."

His eyes narrowed, and she watched as a determined glint came into his eyes.

"I've never been more serious about anything in my life. That is my father's seal on that scroll, My Lady. I've never, in my entire life, asked for my father's permission to marry. You are the first."

She held his gaze and saw the truth and determination in his eyes. "Are you sure?"

He nodded and gentled his tone. "I'm half in love with you Brienne. Don't say no." Any resistance she had, melted away in light of that confession. Then her eyes narrowed.

"I won't wear a dress."

He grinned and nodded. He'd expected nothing less. It would be the talk of the seven kingdoms. The golden Kingslayer was marrying the Lady Knight. He couldn't wait.

Winterfell buzzed with news that a wedding was taking place.

Arya rolled her eyes at how excited people got about such things. She didn't understand. She knew it was something she would never do and Robb understood. He'd gently scolded her for disobeying Sandor, which was odd considering how in the past he'd usually let her get away with anything. It seemed his time up North with all these Lords and Commanders from across the realm had rubbed off on him at least as far as how to be a leader was concerned.

At least Sandor was on her side. He'd barked out a laugh when he'd heard who Jaime was marrying. He couldn't imagine why he'd want to spend time with that woman, let alone marry her. She was always scowling and barking out orders, and she was almost as ugly as him. He still didn't understand how everyone had kissed and forgiven each other, but then he didn't quite understand what the fuck the three-eyed-raven was either. It was an entirely fucked up situation if you asked Sandor; which no one did.

He and Robb had spent some time alone, discussing this Night King. Sandor wanted to scoff, but he could see the real fear in Robb's eyes.

"It was like nothing I've ever seen."

"Harrenhal? That's where we have to go? Do you have any idea how many people are between here and fucking Harrenhal?"

Robb nodded and sighed deeply. "I know you're skeptical. I'd be too if I hadn't seen if for myself." He shook his head and leaned closer to Sandor. "Everyone they kill becomes one of them. Women. Children. Men. Dogs. Horses. Everyone. They don't need food or sleep. They want us all to be like them."

Sandor felt a chill skate down his spine. He'd seen craven men his whole life. Hell, he'd been a cowardly man himself when he'd fled the night of the Blackwater. But Robb wasn't craven; he was just scared about an enemy they might be able to defeat.

"What kills them?"

"Fire and dragon glass."

"Fucking fire," the big man muttered. It always came down to fire. "And these dragon cunts?"

Robb laughed then. "Gods I've missed you. Only you would call a dragon a cunt, Sandor Clegane." He grinned and shook his head. "Two of them up here. One for Jon and one for Stannis. The big one, the black one, he's a mean-looking beast."

"And do we know that they breathe fire?"

"Bran says so, and so far, everything Bran says has been true," Sandor grunted and thought about that.

"And you're ok with the Kingslayer?" Last night had been a revelation for Sandor. He'd always suspected the Lannister's had something to do with the boy's fall all those years ago, but to hear it spoken about so plainly and then accepted was something foreign to him.

Robb shrugged. "Bran said it was what had to happen." Then he sighed and rubbed at his eyes. Gods, he was tired. Since he'd been back, everyone wanted a piece of him. There were endless decisions to be made, weeks of work, and so much fear and anger. His task seemed monumental; evacuate the North, defeat the army of the dead, resettle the North.

He didn't have time to be angry at Jaime Lannister and to be honest; the man had been through hell. Robb didn't know why it felt right to forgive him; only that he had. He tried to explain it to Sandor but knew he didn't understand. And that was alight for now. They had a complicated history.

Robb supposed it was a bit in the way that Sansa could love a man like Tywin. She had to know the things he had done, and yet she loved her husband in spite of what she knew he was capable of. It seemed everyone was a shade of grey; doing what they needed to ensure their house survived. And Robb knew the more they blended with them through marriages, friendships and children, the tighter the bonds would become. He certainly had his own choices on his conscience as well.

Moreover, Robb knew that had Tywin not been King the, reality of the Night King's victory over humanity almost be inevitable. He was a man that commanded a vast amount of respect and deference, and he was the only person that Robb thought capable of rallying the armies of Westeros to stand against this threat.

Beyond all of that, Robb liked Jaime Lannister which was almost a jape when he thought about a few years ago and having the man as his prisoner. That seemed almost like a different time; so much had changed since then. Regardless of all those observations, Robb was happy to stand beside Jaime and watch him get married. Kevan did not know the words or the ways of the North, and Robb had been honoured when he had been asked.

Jaime was fidgeting, half nervous that Brienne would bolt and make a fool out of him. He had never really stopped to consider his wedding day, or night as was the case in the North, but he liked the simplicity of this ceremony. He heard a hush over the assembled crowd and then she was there. She was faithful to her word and wore her armour, although she must have had Pod clean it because it fairly gleamed under the moonlight. Her hair looked freshly washed, and she had an uncertain scowl on her face.

Jaime grinned. Pod walked with her to where Jaime stood and called out her name, clear and true for all to hear. It was vastly different than the south; only Robb was asking who claimed her and if she accepted him. When she said yes, and Jaime's felt the relief trickle through his body. He'd been so afraid she wouldn't go through with it. He was allowed to kiss her and then they knelt before the weirwood tree and prayed. They were husband and wife, and Jaime felt a surge of protectiveness so vast it dwarfed any feeling he'd ever felt. She was his. For the first time in his life, he had something was his alone. He had a wife. She wasn't a secret; he hadn't bedded her or gotten a bastard on her. He'd married her, as a maid, with the full intention of honouring their vows. She clutched at him, hating to be the center of attention, and Jaime stroked her hand. He had never had such a feeling, where his relationship was known and was accepted.

She stayed stiff during the ceremony in the Great Hall, and Jaime knew she worried about the wedding night. If there was one area he was confident in, it was that he could make his bride happy.

Robb winked at him at one point and told him to leave before the Lords could call for a bedding ceremony. The Lord of Winterfell was worried that the bride might cut a man in half if he touched her in any way she didn't approve.

Jaime rose and dragged Brienne to her feet before they went and found their chambers. Once the door was closed, he watched with amused eyes as she all but paced the room. The nerves somewhat poured off of her.

"Brienne, enough," he said softly, and she pinned him with a look. Her bright blue eyes were wide and nervous. Jaime did the only thing he could think of. He captured her lips in his and kissed her as if his life depended on it, which it might, given her propensity to beat him up. He gentled the kiss when he felt her start to relax. "Trust me, My Lady, I will make it good for you." She nodded and then begun to peel her armour off, until she was left in a tunic and breeches, much like him. He grinned. Trust him to fall in love with two vastly different women. Brienne was as unlike Cersei as any woman in Westeros.

She jutted out her chin and then yanked the tunic over her head and grinned slightly when she saw his eyes widen. She liked that she could make her husband's head spin. She knew her body was long and lean and muscled, and for some reason, Jaime Lannister seemed to love it.

He reached out and cupped a breast, testing its weight, before he leaned down to suckle on her nipple. Sparks of lust shot straight to her groin, and she moaned. She didn't know what to do with her hands while he stood there and nibbled at her. She felt the wetness in her core and wondered if that was supposed to happen. That question was answered when Jaime worked his hand into her breeches and found her wet. He praised her.

"Brienne, so ready for me. Such a good wife," he said in that purr his voice took on when he wanted something. She startled to realize that what he wanted was her.

Within moments he had his tunic off as well, and Brienne let her hands wander over him. She knew she would not leave this room with her maidenhood intact, and she was determined to learn as much as she could about the art of coupling from him. When his hands went to the stays on his breeches, her eyes widened.

"Strip Brienne. I want to taste you." She blushed but hurriedly complied. Soon enough, she was naked and standing before him, and he grinned before he dropped to his knees and pushed her legs apart.

"I could feast on you each day, wife," he growled and drove his tongue into her. When she felt her juices coat her leg, he worked a finger inside her. "So pretty," he was saying, and she would have blushed but what he was doing felt too good, and all she could do was moan.

"Wider, Brienne," he commanded, and she spread herself wantonly before him, and he renewed his efforts with vigour until she shattered and shouted his name, clutching at his hair and pinning him to her.

"Jaime."

He grinned and licked his lips, and she shook her head at the pleased look on his face. "Bed."

She hurried to comply and let her legs fall open, seeing his eyes narrow. She knew then that women had a certain amount of power over their husbands. Jaime kissed his way up her body until he pressed his lips to hers.

She moaned and nodded and felt him probe her.

"I'm sorry, love," he said as he thrust inside her. He knew it would hurt, but only for a moment, and he watched as she clutched at him. He had stilled once he was past her maidenhood, and then, when her eyes met his, he kissed her and begun to stroke in and out of her slowly, building her passion back up. Her hands never left him, holding him close to her, and he worked his body until he could see the lust glaze her eyes again. He grinned at her and kissed her, nuzzling softly.

"My wife."

The way he said it made Brienne almost believe that he loved her. "Jaime."

It had been an age since he had been with a woman and she felt so good, and he felt the telltale tingle in his spine. He knew he was close but wanted her to peak as well.

"Touch yourself," he told her and watched in delight as her hand rubbed at her core and she cried out his name, pulling him over with her.

He emptied himself deep inside her and wondered if it were possible, he might have a child that would have his name, that he might proclaim as his own. One who would call him father. He couldn't help himself, as he all but collapsed on top of her, but Brienne seemed to welcome his weight.

When he finally gathered himself, he pressed a kiss to her lips. "Wife."

"Husband." She smiled then, and it was unlike anything Jaime had seen before. Gone was the guarded look she always carried with her. It was soft and open and full of love. For him. The most unlovable man in the realm, or so he had believed.

"I don't deserve you," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "But you're mine now." She nodded and kissed him and then shockingly enough, let him wrap her in his arms when he had finally rolled off of her.

"Brienne Lannister," Jaime said into the darkened room. She smiled and closed her eyes, unable to believe that she had a husband. War might be bearing down upon them, but this was something beyond either of their wildest dreams. Neither one of them could have imagined that this would have come out of Lady Catelyn Stark's request.

* * *

_ The North _

Jon Snow and Stannis Baratheon learned quickly that dragons were not horses, although both soon agreed that horse riding had been all but ruined for the two of them. There was something inherently freeing about riding on the back of a dragon, and the ground they covered was vast. It would have taken them weeks if not months to reach all these Northern Houses.

They still had very little idea about how to control the dragons. Often it seemed like the creatures did what they wanted, and they only knew a few Valyrian words between the two of them. Those words didn't seem to make that much of a difference.

Drogon, the bigger one, seemed exceptionally resistant to any suggestion Stannis tried to make, and it often fell to Jon, who had bonded with Rhaegal more to ensure that they were going in the correct direction. They had a plan to make it to the furthest and most distant castles in the North.

The first Castle they had to reach was Deepwood Motte, home of the Glovers. Jon knew that it was only because Stannis and the dragons were there that they would listen if they did at all. They were the most stubborn of the houses in the North.

It was trial and error for days before they finally spotted the Keep. Of course, arriving on the backs of two dragons, the entire Castle was waiting for them when they eventually walked towards the main doors.

Galbart Glover met them at the entrance to the Castle, his eyes wide, clutching the raven sent from Lord Robb Stark.

"So, it's true? An army of the dead marches towards us?"

Deepwood was three-hundred miles hard march North of Winterfell, and leagues away from the South.

Jon nodded, and Stannis spoke in a commanding voice.

"You must evacuate your women, children, the old and the infirm. None can stay."

Lord Glover growled at the command but knew it would be suicide to disobey. He had the order from his liege lord, as well as Stannis Baratheon standing before him.

"And them?" he asked, pointing to the dragons.

"They'll be used any way we can," Jon replied. "But the battle's in the South, and any who remain will become part of the Night King's army. Last Hearth, Queenscrown and Mole's Town have all evacuated."

Other's scoffed, doubting the words of these two dragon riders, but Lord Glover looked them in their eyes. He'd declared for Robb Stark, willing to back him as King in the North. He'd also told him not to trust the Frey's, and he'd turned out correct on both occasions. He'd been in the room when Kevan Lannister had presented Lord Stark his family sword, and he knew that his liege lord fully supported the King and Queen. The Queen who had northern blood and had birthed two princes.

He nodded and gave the orders and then welcomed the two men into his keep. They were given food and lodging and warmth.

They stayed for a few days, but they still had miles to cross. This continued as they made their way to Bear Island. It was a way that Jon could never have conceived of ever seeing the land that was his home, and he struggled to deal with the emotion he felt.

At night, when he camped with Stannis, the two men often spoke of command and leadership. They were both worried that their warnings would be too late; that too many would be added to the army of the dead.

Stannis didn't like that Harrenhal was the Keep where they would have to make their stand. They spoke of taking out as many as possible at the choke points along the way; Moat Cailin and perhaps the Twins. But they both knew they needed to get the Night King to the Gods Eye and the Isle of Faces. And even then, they still did not know what might kill him.

"It has to be Valyrian steel or dragon glass," Jon muttered one night, looking into the fire. Stannis grunted his agreement. They were a day away from Bear Island as best they could tell, and they thanked the gods for that. The days had grown increasingly snowy and cold, and they knew that this Winter was here, harsh and unyielding, because of the Night King himself.

"How are we going to get him there?" Jon asked for what he felt was the hundredth time.

"Perhaps your eerie brother will have another dream," Stannis said, uncomfortable with such a statement. He was a man that liked facts and logic. And this defied all of that. Jon agreed. It was true that Bran had changed the most out of the Starks. Jon still didn't understand what Bran meant when he said he was the three-eyed-raven and wasn't sure he ever would.

Their reception at Bear Island was warmer than the one they had received at Deepwood. Maege had received the raven from her daughter Dacey in the South, and the Queen had promised that the North would keep what was theirs after the War with the dead. Jon thanked the gods for his sister and how much she was loved in the realm. Bear Island was small and sparsely populated, but still, every person they might save would be worth it.

The dragons themselves were temperamental; although the more time Stannis and Jon spent with them, the stronger their bonds grew with them. Often once the dragons had gotten them to where they needed to be, they disappeared for days. Both men knew that they were hunting, and both prayed that it was animals they were feasting on and not people.

Jon could feel Rhaegal at the corners of his mind if he concentrated hard enough. It was like the dragon shared a small part of him, and if he pushed, he believed he could have the dragon return at his command. Luckily, they hadn't had to try such measures yet. It seemed as long as Jon and Stannis worked in tandem, and conveyed their thoughts to the beasts, then the dragons were at least willing to listen.

Their last stop before they headed to Winterfell was Torrhen's Square, a southern castle that House Tallhart called home. Jon had very little interaction with the house and was worried about their reception. Their keep was larger than the previous ones they'd been to, and their lands vast, and he worried that they would be the most resistant to their call to leave, having just had their castle liberated by Robb months ago. The Castle before them had four square towers and was an imposing one.

It seemed, though, that their loyalty to Robb was absolute, and those there, pledged to flee south, once Jon and Stannis spoke of the Army of the Dead. Late that night, Jon collapsed in a relieved heap onto the small cot he had been given. Stannis sat on the one opposite.

"Winterfell tomorrow," Jon said, an almost wistful tone in his voice.

Stannis understood completely. While he may now be the Lord of the Stormlands, and Storm's End might be his, it had been years since he'd seen his family home.

"I know it won't be the same, things have changed, but I never thought I'd see it again," Jon continued, the ale and the lack of sleep making him more verbose than usual.

Stannis was quiet for a time before he spoke.

"Does it change things? Knowing you aren't a bastard?" It had been something he'd been curious about.

Jon startled a bit and then shrugged. "My whole life that's all I was. Ned Stark's bastard. His one mistake. His wife hated me and for a good reason." Jon paused. "He didn't treat me any differently than his children, and now I know why. I always wondered who could have made him break his vows to Lady Catelyn in that way. It all makes sense now."

Stannis shook his head. "We should have all seen it. Although, had my brother known about you..." he trailed off. There was nothing more to say. Both men knew that Jon would have been dead.

"I don't agree with what my father did — leaving his first wife. That's not what a man does," Jon blurted out, and Stannis nodded.

He was trapped in a loveless marriage to a woman whose grasps on reality, he was sure, faded by the day. He had coupled with the Red Priestess to his shame and regret, but otherwise, he had remained faithful to his vows. It was part of what he liked about Jon Snow; the core of goodness and duty and honour in the young man. Stannis wished desperately that he had been able to resist the Red Priestess; it would be his shame for all his days, and he wondered briefly about his wife. He'd heard very little about her since he'd sent her back to Storm's End.

"Will you marry now?" Stannis asked, finding it odd they were having such an intimate conversation, but unable to stop it. Stannis wasn't a man that inspired friendship in others, but somehow, he and Jon were.

Jon shook his head. "I took vows for the Night's Watch."

Stannis barked out a harsh laugh. "Jon Snow, we either win this war and save humanity, or we are all part of the army of the dead. What is there to guard if he is defeated?"

Jon thought about that. He had of course, in his mind, when he was alone on Rhaegal, hoped for something that might free him from his lifelong vow. Knowing now that he wasn't a bastard, could take a wife, give his child his real name, it had sparked a longing in him. A child that didn't have to be tainted as a Snow, the way Jon had been his entire life.

But to hear a man like Stannis voice that it might be a possibility made it seem that much more real.

"I don't know," Jon said quietly. "I'd like to think if we defeat him, I could come home. To Winterfell for a time. Be with my family. I'd like to see the south. To see Sansa. To visit her and her children, ensure that she is happy and loved."

Stannis nodded. "She is."

"Tell me."

Stannis sighed. "I was a boy when my father brought me to King's Landing. I thought we were there to visit King Aerys. My father, Tywin and Aerys were close when the Mad King first started his reign. Anyways, I digress. We entered the throne room, and I watched as a man with golden hair ruled with an iron fist. Fair. Logical. Pragmatic. When I told my father that the King was these things, he laughed and said I had seen the Great Lion and not the King."

Stannis paused. "My father spoke of how Tywin Lannister was one man to the Kingdom and another with his wife. It was said that he loved her so much that she fairly ruled her husband when they were alone. I never knew Lady Joanna; she died before I ever came to King's Landing. But what I saw between your cousin and her husband." Stannis shook his head. "The man is besotted with her and makes almost no attempt to hide his love for her. She is beloved by the common people. She and my daughter were working on a new initiative to help the orphans of flea bottom read. She opened a home for women who are widows and have nowhere else to go. She looks at Tywin Lannister as if he's everything. I've never seen a love match quite like them, and I'm unsure I will again."

Stannis was quiet then, unsure where such words had come from. "I'm glad. She deserves it."

That was the last of their conversation, and they left the next day to fly to Winterfell, but neither man forgot the bond that they had forged.

When Winterfell came into sight, Jon felt a tight band that had been around his chest loosen. They had seen some of the southern army moving south along the Kings Road, and he wondered how long before Robb would give the orders for everyone to leave their family home.

The moment the dragons touched down outside of Winterfell; Jon turned to see his family waiting for him. He felt the tears come to his eyes as he took in Arya and Rickon. Alive. Whole. And safe. He felt his knees threaten to buckle under the love he had for them, and Stannis's hand on his shoulder steadied him as he walked towards them.

Arya was the first to reach him, and she sobbed his name and clung to him as he swung her around. He kissed her cheek and pinned her to him.

"Jon," she cried, and he wiped away her tears.

"Aye, I'm here."

She wouldn't let him go.

Rickon was next, and though he'd been so young when Jon had left, he still came to him willingly.

Robb clasped his hand and drew him in for a hug and asked how their mission had gone. Jon was happy to report that the houses of the North were willing to listen, and he saw the relief in his brother's eyes.

"Welcome home, brother," Robb said then and grinned. He didn't give a fuck if Jon was his cousin; he'd always be his brother and Winterfell would always be his home.

Jon's eyes filled with tears. "Aye, it's good to be here."

Robb could see the truth in Jon's eyes and nodded once before he grabbed Rickon, the direwolves running and playing with one another, and they headed back to the Keep. The war with the dead was still to come, but for tonight, the Great Hall at Winterfell would be filled with Starks once more. The way it had almost been, all those years before, when they had been a family, and they had been happy.

* * *

_ King's Landing_

Tywin growled softly into his wife's ear as she squirmed in the early morning trying to get comfortable. She insisted on sleeping wrapped around him, but with her growing stomach that was becoming much more difficult by the day. She liked to nuzzle into his chest, but her tummy prevented that, and it annoyed her. He knew; she'd told him on more than one occasion, put out that she couldn't get closer to him.

Tywin could never hear enough how much Sansa loved him, and each time she told him such things; he felt his chest puff out in pride. There were still days when he could hardly believe she was his.

He flipped her around so he could cradle her to his chest and leaned down to whisper into her ear. "Stop being so stubborn, woman."

Sansa giggled and then sighed when she felt him place his hands on her stomach. After the drama with Tyrion and Margaery, both of them hoped that this next birth would be easy. It was still something that struck fear into Tywin's heart. He loved his sons, and he wanted a daughter, but the thought of going through childbirth again with Sansa, especially watching Lady Margaery die from it, had kept him from his sleep many nights.

Tyrion had refused to go back to the Tower of the Hand, and since he had to go back to Dragonstone soon, Tywin had been the one to suggest he stay in one of the rooms in their apartments. The nursery was close, and Tyrion wanted to spend as much time with his daughter as possible before he left.

It was odd having their living quarters so full, with Shireen and Tyrion here now all the time, but Sansa loved it and dreaded the day when Tyrion, Joanna and Shireen would have to leave.

Tywin watched as she doted on their sons daily, and he was excited to see them growing stronger. Each time the princes did something new, Sansa almost proclaimed it from the throne room. The threat by the Tyrell's had driven home how vigilant he needed to be to ensure they all continued to be safe.

The realm was still obsessed with her; she was more loved now than she had ever been. The measures she had put in place, giving jobs to so many, educating them, teaching them useful skills, ensured that their loyalty was absolute. Lord Varys often commented that there had never been a Queen quiet so beloved as Tywin Lannister's and the Old Lion swelled with pride.

When she did allow the princes to come to court, the nobles fawned over them. Tywin had put his foot down at taking them into Flea Bottom, even though Addam had practically transformed the place single-handedly with Sansa. Tywin still didn't trust the commoners the way his wife did.

With war upon them, Tywin had also given Sansa the task of meeting with the petitioners once a week. It freed him to meet with the war council more frequently, and she had proven on more than one occasion she was fully capable of such a task. Often Varys sat at her side, and funnily enough, Tywin knew the man was devoted to his wife.

It was these stolen moments when they were alone, that he treasured the most. It had often been said that he had ruled Casterly Rock, but Lady Joanna had ruled him. That statement was no less true with Sansa. Perhaps even more so. They were near inseparable now, and he relied on her for almost everything, including her in all correspondence and decisions he was faced with making. The exodus of people from the Riverlands and the Vale had begun in earnest, along with those from the North. He knew the south would groan under the pressure of so many. And there were sure to be skirmishes; theft, rape and fights if he didn't have men in place to oversee it all.

Tywin had sent the raven to Mace Tyrell, telling of the tragedy of Olenna and Margaery, and the man seemed to buy it. He'd agreed to let settlers, evacuees from the North into his lands, not that he'd had much choice, but Tywin had sent his approval to Highgarden to ensure that Willas would welcome them.

He knew that the North was slowly being emptied and wondered how many people might perish simply by being moved. It felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on him, and it would be crushing without Sansa by his side. She was his escape from the burden that had been placed on his shoulders.

She placed her hand over his as they cradled her stomach. How could he be faced with such utter destruction and at the same time, be responsible for a new life? He always worried that keeping her and the Princes with him in King's Landing was the absolute height of arrogance and stupidity, but he was unable to be parted from her.

He leaned down and nuzzled her neck, loving when she arched into him.

"Husband," she said softly into the room, and Tywin felt his heart clench.

"Wife," he responded, and she pressed harder into him.

They knew each other so well, and while some men found excitement in a new woman, Tywin took his pleasure from knowing how his wife loved to be touched. She was always so responsive to him, and he was as eager for her today as he had been when they first married. He couldn't even imagine a day when he might not want her. He felt her wetness and let out a little purr, one she had come to know well, as she shifted her legs so he could sink into her. She let out her sound of contentment. She had never imagined so much pleasure could come from the marriage bed. Tywin murmured to her as he nuzzled her neck, knowing his whiskers would leave the telltale marks on her neck, also knowing that she loved it as much as he did. They belonged to one another in a way that few couples in the realm could claim to.

"Tywin," she said in that breathy voice that made him smile, and he hardened further. It did something to his ego to know he could make her come apart underneath him.

He increased her pace and played with her, knowing how to stroke her so that she would peak on him, pulling him over with her.

When she cried out his name into their bedroom, he grunted as he finished deep inside her.

"I love you, Sansa," he almost whispered to her, and she tilted her head so she could kiss him. It was always a wonder to her that he was able to express himself with her. She knew how difficult it was for him.

"I love you."

And he knew it to be true. She was his in every way a woman could belong to a man, and there was no one he trusted more in the entire realm than the woman in his arms.

He was just about to deepen the kiss when an urgent knock sounded at their door.

He growled at being denied this time with her, and threw the covers back, dragging a robe over his naked form.

Jerrod stood, huffing on the other side.

"Dragon, Your Grace," he said, barely able to catch his breath. Tywin's eyes widened, and then he felt his stomach drop.

"Where?"

"Kingswood."

"Find my son."

Jerrod nodded and went to rouse Tyrion. Sansa had belted another one of Tywin's robes around her center and arched an eyebrow at him. She rose to dress, and soon they were both in the main room, watching as Tyrion's eyes lit with excitement and fear.

"Father," Tyrion said, nodding. Ironically, their relationship was the best it had ever been. Something had inevitably changed between them. They had bonded over dead wives and raising children alone; the two had more in common than ever before, and though neither would acknowledge it, they had started to enjoy one another's company.

"I'll accompany you," Tywin said, and he could see the relief in Tyrion's shoulders.

"I will, as well."

Tywin spun and pinned his wife with a look. The first image that came to mind was the dragon going rogue and burning her alive.

"No," he snapped out.

She stiffened her spine. "Tywin," she said, almost stomping her foot, and he strode over to her. He cupped her cheeks and pressed his forehead to hers.

"Sansa. Do not make me worry about you. We have no idea what this creature might do." She heard the fear in his voice.

"And what about you?"

He pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to get her to understand that her life was what he valued about all else.

"Please."

A single word and it undid her. They were so often of one mind that her husband rarely had to ask anything of her. But he had this time. That was when she knew he was deeply worried. She nodded. Almost no one had ever heard that word from this man's lips.

"Don't get eaten," she said to both of them, a bit put out that she was being left behind and trying to make light of the situation. The only reason she was able to hold herself together, as two men she loved walked out the door, was that she knew the dragons hadn't eaten Stannis or Jon.

Tyrion grinned and for a moment and looked happy and carefree while Tywin looked worried and stressed. Just as the two men left, Shireen entered the chambers, yawning. She still fit in seamlessly with their family, and she asked the Queen where they were off to.

When Sansa explained that a dragon had been spotted, the girl's eyes lit with excitement.

"Shireen, no love, you can't go see," Sansa said, the endearment slipping in unnoticed by her. Shireen paused and looked at the woman who had become her mother in all but name. Sansa might not have noticed the endearment, but Shireen did.

"Why?"

"Because we have no idea what might happen, and I cannot have you in danger."

Shireen nodded and then Sansa came and drew her in for a hug. Sansa pressed a kiss to the girl's head and then cupped her cheeks.

"Promise me, Shireen. I know how much you love dragons; I know how you've studied them. But promise me you'll never go near the dragon alone." Sansa looked directly in her eyes, and Shireen nodded.

"I promise."

"You are precious to me; as precious to me as the princes, and baby Joanna, and this new child that grows in my womb. I would not survive something happening to you," Sansa said, her voice thick with emotion.

"I promise, Sansa. I won't." Shireen might have had a thought to go and see the dragon, slipping out when the Queen was busy, but not after such a declaration.

"I love you," she blurted out and buried her face into Sansa's chest.

"Oh, my girl, I love you too."

It was true. And if pressed, Sansa knew her husband felt the same way. It would kill them when Stannis returned and took Shireen to Storm's End, knowing how close they had grown to her. She had brought such joy to their household, and Sansa would miss her dearly. Then they heard the babies cry, and they grinned at one another.

Clasping hands, Sansa arched an elegant eyebrow. "I promise we will not be sidelined forever. If my husband thinks he can pat me on the head and tell me to stay, well, Tywin has another thing coming."

Shireen grinned. It was one of the things she loved the most about the Queen; how much she loved the Great Lion. It was evident in everything she did. Shireen had even found out that Sansa stitched his tunics, despite their wealth. She had explained that it made her feel close to him, and she often added some decoration that Tywin would find amusing. For a young girl who still believed in love, their marriage was everything she wanted for herself.

Sansa sighed, thinking about her day. She had decided, with Tywin's blessing, that she would finally tell her mother about Jon's true parentage. It hadn't been something that had been widely revealed. They had seen the damage it had done when Lady Olenna had found out about it, and Tywin still didn't trust the Dornish or the Iron Born. But Sansa had argued that her mother had a right to know that her husband had broken his vows to her, and she explained that Lady Catelyn and her brother, Edmure, would be more willing to understand Jon's role in the upcoming war if they knew who his birth parents were. Tywin had finally agreed, but he said he needed to be there as well.

Sansa hoped this business with the dragon didn't take too long; she was anxious to reveal the secret to her mother and hopefully bring the woman some peace.

Then she heard her firstborn son's increased wail and hurried into the nursery. She had all but weaned herself from Jason, but Tysan was a demanding creature like his father and would often only feed on her. She cooed to him as she picked him up, and he instantly settled. His eyes locked onto hers and she smiled at him and watched as he smiled back.

They had both rolled over for the first time, delighting her and Tywin, and Tysan was able to sit for a few moments, unsupported. Jason wasn't quite as strong, and Tywin crowed that Tysan was his true heir in every way. She gave her husband a look, and he looked slightly sheepish at his blatant favouritism. Later, she had caught him holding Jason and speaking to him about Casterly Rock. There was still a wistfulness in Tywin when he spoke of his home, and Sansa knew that he missed it. She hoped that one day they would be able to visit it and Winterfell; that they could take a grand tour of a peaceful Westeros and show their children what they had built for them. For now, though, she settled in to nurse the next king, knowing that only she could make him happy. He was truly like his father in all but name.

* * *

"They are intelligent creatures, you know," Tyrion said conversationally as he walked with his father towards the Kingswood. There was a part of him that was ecstatic that the dragon had come to find him. He'd dreaded leaving his daughter behind, now that she was here and still so new and small. And there was a part of him that revelled in having his father by his side. It was no use in thinking of Tywin as anything but his father. They may not share blood, but the man had been the most influencing factor in his life. Ever. Tyrion took delight in the change in their relationship. While losing Margaery was still something he was coming to terms with, being around his father who treated him with respect now, was something he had waited for his entire life.

Tywin grunted at Tyrion's musings. He hated the very idea of dragons. They had given the Targaryen's, little more than goat farmers in Valyria, an unnatural advantage when they had invaded Westeros. He hated that noble houses had bowed before their might; not because they'd defeated them in battle, but because everyone knew just what a dragon could do.

Tywin recalled being at Harrenhal and seeing the utter destruction they could inflict. A million men and they hadn't stood a chance against the beasts.

He snorted when he'd told Joffrey that they were nothing to worry about. And now one was at his very doorstep. He risked a glance back at the Red Keep. Everything that was most precious to him was there; Sansa and his sons. Tyrion's daughter and his new child, safe in Sansa's womb. Even Shireen and his sister Genna. All in that Castle. And he would be powerless to do a thing if this dragon decided that breathing fire into those stones was what it felt like. He could not, nor would he ever, feel the excitement when he thought about dragons.

Still, he was pragmatic enough to realize that when you faced an enemy that could only die by a few means, one of them being fire, you used every advantage you could get. And three beasts that could spew fire on command would give them a distinct advantage in the wars to come.

Before they could turn the corner and lay eyes on the beast, Tywin stopped Tyrion with a hand on his shoulder.

"Promise me; you'll be careful. Not just for your sake, but..." Tywin trailed off, and Tyrion swallowed hard and nodded.

"I love them as well, father."

Tywin nodded. At least they were in accord on that front.

Both men stopped and took in the sight before them. Neither one had ever thought that they would see a living dragon in this lifetime. It was something that was beyond the scope of reality.

"Fuck me," Tyrion said, and Tywin grunted in agreement. In front of them, stomping its feet was a blue and cream dragon.

Tywin stopped and stared and felt the power of the beast before him.

Tyrion looked up at his father. He swallowed hard. "If I die, you'll look after her?"

Tywin glanced at him. "Of course." Tyrion stepped forward and began to walk towards the dragon.

"Tyrion," Tywin called, and the dwarf looked back at his father. "Be careful."

Tyrion nodded, wondering how things had come to be that his father cared for him. Then he pushed all thoughts aside and concentrated on the task in front of him.

He strolled, emptying his mind of all but the dragon. Viserion, if the raven was correct. The closer he got, the more he could see the beast was slightly agitated, as if he'd been waiting for him and was annoyed that he'd had to come here to find him.

Tyrion chuffed softly to him.

"Yes, you're quite a sight, aren't you. You realize you've got the Great Lion, the King in a state." The dragon's orange eye blinked once and Tyrion knew that he understood him.

"It's true. He's not quite as fond of dragons as I am. Since I was a child, I've always wanted one. And now, here you are."

Viserion preened. There was no other word for it, as Tyrion came closer to him.

"You're marvellous," Tyrion said, wonder in his voice. As if the dragon knew that he was truthful, he shimmied slightly, and Tyrion raised his hand and laid it on his scales.

"You're warm." His voice was full of wonder. His entire life he'd been waiting for this moment as if he'd always known this was his destiny. The dreams, the fascination, the sheer longing for a dragon of his own. He chuckled softly when the dragon dipped his wing. Tyrion looked down at his stubby legs.

"Ahhh my friend, not today. I will need to bring someone with me before I can ride you. But I promise I will make it my mission to find a way."

Viserion shook himself, bumped Tyrion softly and then took three lunging steps and spread his wings, and took to the sky, circling twice around the Red Keep before flying off over Blackwater Bay. When Tyrion let his mind go, he felt him there and knew he'd be back.

He made his way back to his father, who had a look of amazement on his face. "How?"

Tyrion shrugged. "There is a connection. It must be part of the Targaryen blood." Tywin nodded. It was the only thing that made sense.

"And you felt no malice from him?"

Tyrion shook his head. "I need Qyburn."

"The disgraced Maester that made Jaime's hand?"

If anyone could figure out how to fit a saddle on a dragon, it would be him.

When Tywin and Tyrion entered the King's chamber's, they found Genna with Joanna in the solar along with Shireen. "Sansa is in the nursery. Your heir is fussy, Tywin."

He grunted and made his way to find his wife. He knew she would be worried about him until she saw him again. When he entered the nursery, he stopped and stared at the scene in front of him. Sansa was nursing Tysan, as he had been the most reluctant to feed on any of the wet nurses. She was singing softly to him, as she stroked his cheek, and his son, his heir, the next king of Westeros was gazing at his mother with pure adoration in his eyes. She was everything he could have ever wanted in as a mother to his children; protective, loving, warm and fiercely devoted. He felt the love for her almost bring him to his knees at the picture that they made. Jason was sleeping nearby, and she made a point of glancing at him to ensure he was content.

Then her eyes met his, and he saw the relief and love there for him.

"Tywin," she examined happily. He crossed to them, kneeling in front. He cradled his son and joined his hand with Sansa's to trace his cheek.

"He still wants only you?"

She chuckled. "He's stubborn, like his father."

"He has excellent taste."

Tywin smiled at his heir. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his son's head and then one to Sansa's lips. She used her free hand to burrow into his whiskers, keeping him close to her for a moment longer. Everything he loved the most was here in this room at this very moment.

Then they both heard Jason stir, and Sansa held her arms out for her other son, handing Tysan to Tywin. She rarely needed to nurse them both now, but every so often it happened, and the moment currently called for it. Tywin took a chair across from her as he held Tysan and told her what he had witnessed. She was stunned and delighted. Her eyes narrowed.

"You won't keep me locked away next time, Tywin."

He gave her a look which she returned. It was one of the things he loved best about her; she was a passionate woman, and most of it was directed towards him. He knew he was a lucky man.

"You may come, but you must maintain your distance. Tyrion needs to have a saddle built, and he will need a Maester's help as well."

She nodded at that.

"When is your mother set to arrive?"

Sansa sighed. "Soon." She was glad he would be there with her.

As if thinking about her had summoned her to their chamber's Catelyn Stark appeared within the doorway to the nursery, breaking the family moment. Tywin sighed and gave her his son and told Sansa and her to meet him and Addam in his solar once they were finished. Sansa nodded and allowed her mother time with her grandsons. Despite everything she and her mother had been through, there had always remained a slight distance between them; even after the two princes were born.

Sansa believed part of it was that her mother would never fully accept her husband, no matter how much they loved one another. There was no denying the brilliant match that Sansa had made for herself, and becoming Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was certainly nothing that Catelyn Marbrand could complain about. But it would be a lie to say that she was ever really comfortable with Tywin.

When both princes had been burped, changed, cuddled and swaddled, Sansa led her mother to Tywin's solar. Edmure was also there, and Sansa took a seat beside Tywin.

"What I have to say is not easy, but Mother, we believe you deserve the truth." Sansa met her mother's eyes and saw her reach for Ser Marbrand's hand. Thank the gods for the man; he loved her mother dearly and clutched her to his side.

Sansa sighed again. "We know who Jon's parents were."

Catelyn's eyes narrowed. "Why would you tell me this? Is it to punish me? To tell me who my husband slept with? Can't you leave it in that past? Sansa, I am appalled."

"Enough," Tywin's voice boomed, and her mother's mouth snapped shut. Sansa gave him a grateful look and then just spoke, forcing the words out of her mouth.

"Jon was Lyanna's and Rhaegar's mother. Not fathers."

Sansa watched as her mother processed that information. She watched as her face crumpled, and she leaned into her husband. "No," she said, feeling broken once again. "No, it can't be. He would have told me."

She looked to Addam, and he shook his head. He had never understood how a man like Ned Stark had broken his vows to this woman.

"Oh gods, how I treated him, and all because I blamed him for Ned's mistake," she said, rocking and keening. Addam wrapped her in his arms. Sansa moved quickly and dropped to her knees.

"Mother, look at me. I do not tell you to add to your guilt. Only you can make amends with Jon. But you have to know who he is. He was the true heir to the Iron Throne. Aunt Lyanna, she made father promise. Robert would have killed him. Others would have killed him. Father did what he had to, so he remained safe."

Catelyn latched onto Sansa's hand. "Why didn't he tell me? If I had known, I would have protected him with my life."

Sansa shook her head. "I don't know Mother; only that father made his choices." She enfolded her mother in a hug. "Everyone knows. Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon. They are all at Winterfell, and they know. And they've all accepted him. A dragon showed up at the Wall for him mother, and Bran, well Bran isn't Bran anymore."

"What do you mean?"

Sansa looked to Tywin who explained as much as he understood about the three-eyed-raven and what her son had become.

"But he's alive? Bran?"

"Yes." She cried then, huge gulping tears. The meeting broke up soon afterwards, and Addam took his wife back to their chambers. Today had been a shock to her system for sure, and he knew she would need time to process what she had learned. The idea that her husband's bastard wasn't one was sure to haunt her for the foreseeable future.

When it was just them, Tywin wrapped Sansa in his arms. "It was the one strain on their marriage their entire life."

Tywin grunted. He remembered when he'd suspected that Joanna had been raped. His wife had never confirmed it; they both knew that had she, Tywin would not have let the King live, no matter what the consequences to himself. He'd carried the guilt that he had been unable to protect her for his entire life.

Sansa turned and cupped his cheek, stroking his whiskers.

"I couldn't even imagine the pain of you showing up with some other woman's bastard," she said, and his eyes widened.

"Sansa, love, the fact that you think I could even...." he started to say, and she shook her head.

"I know you, Tywin. I know. But still, to even imagine that," she said, and the tears were in her eyes, and she shuddered at the thought.

"Wife, I am pledged to you for all my days. There is no other woman Sansa. There was hardly anyone before you, and there will be no one after you." Tywin wondered how he could explain to Sansa that he'd barely looked at another woman after Joanna died; that it was only her, that he'd even been willing to have a wife again, to love once more. He would never, until his dying day, ever even look at another woman the way he did her. She had him completely.

She nodded and let him lead her back to their bedroom. The entire day had been one of emotional upheaval, and she could feel the exhaustion. It was only mid-afternoon, and she was ready for a nap. Tywin tucked her in, wrapped in his robe, and pressed a kiss to her lips.

"Sleep, my love. I will be here when you wake."

She clutched at him once more. "I love you, Tywin. For all my days."

"As I do you, Sansa." Then he took his leave as her eyes closed, needing to find Tyrion and send ravens North. The march to Harrenhal should be underway soon, and he required daily updates. He would do whatever it took to beat back the threat that could destroy them all.

* * *

The next few weeks saw a flurry of activity in King's Landing. The dragon came back, every other day, and eventually, Tyrion was able to get Qyburn close enough to him to see what might be done. Viserion seemed to understand instinctively what Tyrion needed and would stand as still as possible while the two men examined him.

Sansa had finally convinced Tywin to let her come and see Viserion, and even though she knew it made him nervous, she chatted happily as they made their way to the Kingswood clearing. Tyrion walked around the Red Keep these days with a chest almost as puffed out as Tywin's. A dragon and a daughter. He chatted each day with Sansa as he held Joanna, and she had the princes. Shireen was a veritable font of information on dragons and was equally excited to speak with Tyrion each day.

When the raven came from Jaime stating that he had married Brienne of Tarth, Tywin paced and muttered for a whole afternoon.

"I won't have her inheriting my castle," he seethed. Sansa tried to remind him that he'd given Jaime permission, but that fell on deaf ears.

"He's reacting, the way he always has. Tommen's death broke him, and she pounced." Sansa barely refrained from rolling her eyes at him.

"Tywin, I'm sure it is nothing like that. The last possible thing I can see is Brienne wanting to be the lady of Casterly Rock."

Tywin heard the amusement in his wife's voice. "The Rock is Jason's, Sansa." She nodded sagely.

"It is my love. It is his."

"Good, just so we are in accordance." He paused. "Brienne of Tarth. He was the most eligible man in the Kingdom." Tywin had a look of disgust on his face.

Sansa laughed then and shook her head. His green eyes narrowed on hers.

"What?"

"He loves her Tywin. And he's lost so much. You've always wanted this for him."

He grunted. It was true he'd been begging Jaime to marry for years, and now he finally had. But still, to that woman? What on earth did Jaime see in her?

That night when Tywin finally came back to their chambers, he found Sansa in their bathing room. She smiled when she saw him, and he saw the desire in his eyes.

"Strip, husband."

He arched an eyebrow and complied until he was seated behind her. He cradled her in his arms, and washed her hair, leaning down to nip and suck on the back of her neck. He leaned down to tell her how much he loved her, and he heard her contented sigh.

Tywin had finally come to terms with Jaime's marriage, surprisingly after he'd spoken to Tyrion. His youngest son reminded him that a woman like that had no craven nor deceitful bone in her body. Tywin jolted at that thought. It was true. She would be loyal to Jaime until the day he died.

Tyrion had also informed him that they were ready to test the small saddle Qyburn and he had been working on. He asked his father to be there when they tested it. He shared all of this with Sansa, who was happy that Tyrion was finally ready to ride his dragon.

He eventually dried them off and crawled into bed beside her, letting her settle and find her spot. When she was finished moving, he leaned down to whisper how much he loved her and she smiled, so in love, with him, she almost ached with it.

The next morning, early, since Tyrion didn't need a huge crowd to witness his spectacular failure, he, Qyburn and Tywin made their way down to the Kingswood. Viserion seemed to know what was happening, for Tyrion had never seen his dragon so subdued. It was the closest that Tywin had ever come to the beast, and Tyrion tried not to smirk at the look of awe on his father's face. He'd only seen the Great Lion look like that when he was gazing at Sansa or his sons.

"You can touch him." Tywin's eyes widened. "Try."

Tywin's spine stiffened. He was not a man that could back down from a challenge and held his hand up to the dragon. Viserion turned his head and gazed at Tywin, who held his look. Then he held up a hand and laid it on the dragon's snout. Viserion bared his teeth, but Tywin did not flinch. The moment was broken when Qyburn announced the saddle had been attached and Tywin stepped back. He watched as the Master help Tyrion climb atop the dragon, and when he was secured, both men stepped back. They watched as Viserion shook himself, and then took those three lunging steps and swopped into the sky. Both of them heard the sheer joy in Tyrion's voice and watched as he soared over the Red Keep and out over the Bay.

Tywin knew at that moment, that no matter what happened they would have three dragons in the upcoming war. Tyrion had proven that he was half-dragon and though it was dangerous, he would ride the beast into the battle against the Army of the Dead. For the first time in his life, Tywin Lannister felt nothing but pride for his son. He might not be his blood, but he was his son, all the same. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more big, combined chapter to go, and then this entire fic has been edited and posted. This was a huge undertaking, and I hope to be able to finish it sometime soon
> 
> I'm not big on battle scenes, so I'm not sure exactly what will go down on that front, but I will do my best. 
> 
> Also, there will be MAJOR character deaths in the upcoming chapters. I can't imagine getting through the whole battle with the Night King and not having them.


	33. Chapter 33

_ Winterfell _

It took Jon Snow a few days to adjust to being home at Winterfell. There was a part of him that never thought he'd see these walls again, and he relished the time with his family. The warm walls from the hot springs, the Great Hall, even his old room, far away from the rest of the Stark's so he wouldn't sully Catelyn's children with his bastard status. It was the one thing in him that still burned. He understood why she had treated him the way she had, but he'd been a child. A motherless child and Lady Stark had made it more than clear that she would never have allowed him to step foot in Winterfell if she had her way. He wondered, for the hundredth time, why Ned hadn't at least told her. It would have changed everything; his life choices included.

When he asked Robb where Lady Catelyn was, his brother got a funny look on his face.

"South, with Sansa." He sighed and ran a hand through his curly hair. "She's remarried and happy by all accounts. Sansa has spoken to her about you. Her guilt, along with everything else, is tremendous."

Robb saw the look on Jon's face and waved a hand.

"Jon, none of that is on you. She treated you horribly. But," Robb sighed. "Fuck. I don't know why Father never said anything. At least to her."

It was eerie how close his and Robb's thoughts were these days.

Jon spent time with Jeyne, Robb's pretty wife. She was a lovely woman and loved him dearly. Little Ned was adorable, and Jon watched with ill-disguised longing towards his brother; a married man and father. He thought back to the conversations he'd had with Stannis and wondered if that might be in his future one day. Then he wondered what type of woman might want him. He had no keep, no lands, no money. He had a bastard last name that he was still using. And he'd pledged himself to the Night's Watch. Not precisely what well-born women of the realm were looking for. Still, the possibility of children was suddenly back on the table for Jon, and he could admit, even if it were only to himself, that it was something he might want. One day.

He watched in amusement as Jaime Lannister, and now a married man harassed his wife. The woman was a fierce fighter to be sure, and she scowled at her husband more often than she smiled. But every so often, Jon would see a look of love on her face and knew that Jaime had chosen someone who would stand by his side. The Kingslayer was besotted with his bride, and Jon had come across him, pounding three men into the mud when he'd heard them speak poorly of her. Jon had jumped in, knowing they were family, and they grinned like loons when the three men were bloodied and begging for mercy. Stannis shook his head at their antics.

He and Arya spent hours together. He'd heard about her adventures in the south, her bond with Sandor Clegane, her rescue of Theon and then his subsequent death. Her injured arm was still unable to hold a sword and true to his word, Jaime Lannister spent time with her each day helping her relearn with her left.

Standing on the high walkway one day over the training yard, Jon pointed to Sandor and asked Arya to explain him. He saw the grin come across her face and the love in her eyes.

"He's a shit. Worst shit in the seven Kingdoms if you ask me." Jon looked at her closer. "You love him. Like a father."

She turned and looked at Jon and nodded.

"I do. He saved me. Time and again. He has protected me. Fought for me. He's a miserable bastard. I think he's half in love with Sansa, but when he had a choice to stay by her side or come back North with me, he chose me."

As if he knew they were talking about him, Sandor's pale grey eyes met theirs, and he grunted out his acknowledgement. He was a fearsome fighter to behold, and Jon wondered if anyone could beat him. Maybe Jaime's wife; otherwise, the man was in a class all his own.

"He's a good man?"

"In his way. He hates knights and all that bullshit. But he's got this weird code. He loves Robb. Loyal to him. Rescued Theon and Rickon. He's good for the Stark's, and he's good for the North." She paused. "I should have listened to him. Theon is dead because of me."

Jon laid a hand on her shoulder. He wouldn't lie to her and tell her she was wrong. They all knew the truth.

"Men die, Arya. In battle. In skirmishes. For the stupidest reasons. Men die. And sometimes it's your fault."

She felt her eyes tear.

"But you'll remember those lessons best."

"I'm glad you're here, Jon."

"Me too." Then he grinned at her. "Want to meet Rhaegal?"

He watched her eyes light in glee. "Are you serious?" He nodded, and she grinned.

They found Stannis; both men knew the dragons had come back after being away for so long. They had been hunting, that much was apparent when they made their way to the clearing where they were bedded down. Stannis had frowned when he saw Arya, but Jon had waved a hand. He knew Rhaegal would accept her.

"Fucking seven hells," Arya breathed as they got closer. She had wanted to see a dragon her whole life. And now her brother had one. "He's beautiful," she said about the green beast, and Rhaegal preened under her attention.

Jon laughed and stroked him. "Aye, he likes to be praised, this one. A bit of a sucker for endearments," he japed, and the dragon's nose bumped him.

Drogon snorted, and Jon swore he rolled his eyes at them. Arya's attention turned to him.

"Careful," Stannis said. He still approached the black one with a healthy amount of respect. "He's not quite as friendly."

Arya grinned. "Well, of course not. He's the King, isn't he? The biggest, the strongest. You're the leader of them, aren't you? The big brother." Drogon turned towards him and shook himself, then quick as lightning darted his nose forward and almost snarled. She held her ground until she reached out. "You're amazing," she told him in wonderment, and he bumped her. Stannis could feel the dragon's pleasure as if someone had finally given him the respect he deserved.

Stannis barked out a harsh laugh. "You bastard," he told him. "Waiting for a compliment from a woman." He shook his head at their antics.

It was one of the best moments of Arya's life, and she thanked them both for allowing her to meet them.

* * *

The War Council in the North meet daily; Kevan Lannister had ridden south with the majority of the army, and the rest were set to follow. They had word from Tywin in the south that the Vale and the Riverlands were being evacuated as well, much to the relief of Lord Royce and the Blackfish. Jaime and the rest were set to leave within the next day, and the only ones who would stay behind were Sandor and his garrison of men to wait for those from the Northern houses that were fleeing down the King's Road. At least that had been the plan until a raven arrived from the few men stationed at Castle Black.

Jon handed it to Stannis who paled.

"The Night King and his army have breached the Wall."

A chill went through the room. Lord Glover's people were still a good two weeks away from Winterfell, and it would be a race to see who made it here first. The Mormont's from Bear Island even farther behind. White Harbour had sent its people south by ship.

"It's time, Robb," Stannis said, and the Young Wolf nodded. He felt the tug at his heart at the thought of abandoning his home, but one look at his wife, and he knew there was no other choice.

"Three days and we ride south. All of us." Solemn nods rang the table.

Stannis cleared his throat. "The third dragon has been located." All eyes swung to him. He locked gazes with Jaime.

"He is at Kings Landing and has been claimed by Tyrion Lannister."

Stunned expressions rang the table until Jaime let out a belly laugh. "Fuck me, what I wouldn't have given to see my father's face when that happened."

Even Stannis cracked a smile at that.

"Jon and I will fly south. The dragons need to be reunited, and I need to speak with the King. We will meet you all at Harrenhal."

Stannis had discussed this with him, of course, but Jon still felt the pit in his stomach. He'd never been south and didn't know what to expect. He'd told Stannis he wanted to see Sansa, having felt like their relationship had changed over the past few months, given the number of ravens they exchanged. But it made him sad to leave his home, and he still struggled giving up Winterfell. Still, it wasn't his decision to make and the next day, he tearfully said goodbye to his family, trusting Robb to get them to safety. He promised he would, and that they would see each other at Harrenhal. Bran had been oddly silent, and they all took that to mean they were making the correct decisions.

"Listen to Sandor," Jon told Arya and Rickon. He knew the big man would look out for them. He had a soft spot for the Stark's, and they agreed.

Jon took one last look at Winterfell and felt Rhaegal in his mind as they soared away.

"Aye, that's my home. I'll miss it," he told the dragon and stroked his green scales. He felt something then, emotion from the dragon as if he too would miss it because Jon would. Their bond grew daily, and Jon was grateful that they seemed so in tune with one another. The trip south would be brutal; they aimed to cover as much distance as they could, and Jon held on, lost in thoughts about the North and wondering if he'd ever see it again.

* * *

_ Kings Landing  _

When Tywin told his wife that her cousin was coming to Kings Landing, on his dragon no less, he swore he had never seen her so happy except save perhaps when she looked upon him, or their sons. It had been an age since she had seen any new family members, and she was beside herself with joy that Jon was coming here.

Catelyn Marbrand was much more subdued in her reaction. She had been miserable ever since she had learned about Jon's true parentage, and Tywin knew why. Still, he had little sympathy for the woman. He and Tyrion's relationship was more fraught than hers with Jon, and he'd managed to salvage something good out of the ashes of their past. She had to try.

"What if he doesn't forgive me?" Lady Cat had asked the other day. It was all Tywin could do to not growl at her and dismiss her from their solar. Her attitude grated on her nerves. Before his wife could answer, she was far too accommodating to her mother as far as he was concerned, Tywin broke in.

"Then, he won't. You were the adult, and you treated him horribly. There is nothing you can say or do to undo what was done in the past. You can, however, attempt to move forward."

She glared at him, and he returned the stare until she stood abruptly and took her leave. He had half a mind to order Ser Marbrand to send his wife to his family's seat in the West. The woman drove him crazy.

Sansa soothed a hand down his chest and pressed a kiss to his lips. As if she could read his mind, she wondered when her mother might visit her husband's seat.

"It can't be too soon if you ask me," Tywin muttered and heard her laugh prettily. It made him preen each time she chose him over anyone else. Then he grabbed Sansa and hauled her onto his lap; he had time before his next appointment, and his wife was warm and willing and in his arms.

* * *

It was ten days before word came that the dragons had been spotted. Shireen was ecstatic, along with Tyrion. He'd been training with Viserion each day, and the two were closely bonded. Now Kings Landing would be subject to a sight it hadn't seen in hundreds of years; three dragons in the Capital. The buzz in the Red Keep was astronomical when Tyrion rode the beast, and he had never commanded such respect in his entire life. The only thing he had not tried was getting the dragon to breathe fire; he hoped that Stannis or Jon Snow, his nephew, might have some insights into that. It was odd to think that the bastard boy he'd met at Winterfell and travelled to the Wall with, was his blood relation and that he was the bastard.

It was incredible what the addition of Viserion to his life had done for him. He was now a man to be respected, and he strutted around the keep. He'd been able to bring both Sansa and Tywin to touch the dragon, and Sansa especially had expressed her delight in his new friend. She often spoke about the direwolves her family had, and how house sigils were sacred and how she wished her sons might have one each someday. He saw his father frown at the idea of a giant wolf loping alongside his sons, but his father had to understand; he hadn't married a lion but a wolf this time.

The only ones who were allowed into the clearing to wait for Jon and Stannis were Tywin, Sansa, Tyrion, Shireen, Dacey and Jerrod. Tywin had virtually ordered the Red Keep to be locked down by Addam Marbrand and to keep everyone inside. This was family business and they did not need an audience.

It was Viserin himself that first alerted them to the other dragons, and he shrieked restlessly. Tyrion knew immediately that he needed to be in the air and mounted his back. The saddle had been fitted, so it stayed on him permanently, and it seemed to cause him no concerns. Then Viserion leapt into the air, and the other's watched in awe as three dragons, all with their rider, circled Blackwater Bay and the Red Keep.

Sansa clutched Tywin's hand in awe, as he scowled. He had told her his feelings about the dragons, and she tended to agree, but still; to see such a sight was beyond anyone's comprehension. Eventually, the three dragons returned to the clearing, and the riders slid off.

Before Tywin could stop her, Sansa was off like a shot, moving as fast as her pregnant form could carry her. Jon fairly sprinted to her and clutched her to him, swinging her in his arms, tears streaming down both their faces. He put her down, laughing at her belly, and cupped her cheeks, brushing away her tears.

"Sister."

"Brother."

Then they smiled and hugged again.

Tyrion had sauntered up to his father. "She loves you best," he said in a sotto voice to the Great Lion. He could see the jealousy brewing on his face as the handsome young man touched Sansa. A young man that was the true heir to the Iron Throne and a prince of the Kingdom. Tywin might be King, but Jon Snow was her family.

Then Tywin saw Jon Snow's eyes meet his over the shoulder of Sansa and she turned to face him. Her face broke out into a smile, and she clutched Jon's hand.

"Come and meet my husband. He's scowling now because he doesn't like that you are so close to me, but I promise he's a good man."

Jon grunted. The stern, harsh, older man standing above them looked like he'd sooner run Jon through with a sword than welcome him to Kings Landing. Everyone had told him that Tywin Lannister loved his sister; but looking at him now, Jon had his doubts.

It was only when they got closer that Jon saw the change. Everything softened in him as Sansa made her way to her husband. He clutched her to his side, holding her protectively to him. He admonished her gently.

"Love, you could have hurt yourself," he murmured to her and let his lips linger on her ear. She blushed and smiled and kissed him. Openly. Passionately. Without shame or guilt. Jon watched as she cupped his face.

"I was fine. I haven't seen my family in so long, Tywin."

"I know. But your safety is always my priority."

She nodded and then kissed him again. He laid his hand on her stomach and whispered something too low for the other's to hear, and she blushed prettily and laughed.

Then she turned back to Jon, who stood there with his mouth ajar.

Dacey Mormont laughed and clapped him on the back. "They take some getting used to."

Jon looked at her and was stunned by the Northern woman. She was incredibly beautiful; tall, imposing with long black hair. She winked at him and nodded to them. "He loves her, Jon Snow. Trust me. There isn't a woman in this entire land that is treated as well as your sister. He would crawl through fire for her."

Jon nodded.

"And you are?"

"Dacey Mormont," she said, and he grinned.

"I've met your mother."

Dacey let out a laugh. "Oh, and a treat for you I bet that was."

He grinned. The ladies of Bear Island were legendary, and Jon felt something stir in him that hadn't since Ygritte. Desire. Then Sansa was calling his name.

"Jon, come. Meet my husband."

Jon walked up and nodded to the Great Lion. This was the man that he had heard stories about his entire life, and Sansa was wrapped around him like a vine and looking at him like he was her hero.

Jon shook his head. Never in his entire life would he have imagined this was the man Sansa would fall in love with. His reputation was legendary.

"Tywin, my brother, Jon. Jon, Tywin."

Both men held each other's gaze and then nodded.

"Your Grace," Jon said, giving the man the respect he deserved.

"Jon Snow." Tywin's voice was slightly warmer now that Sansa was in his arms and looking at him adoringly.

They were joined shortly by Stannis and Shireen. The girl had run to her father and was excitedly telling him everything that had happened since he'd been gone.

When he reached the small group, Stannis finally noticed the golden stag around her neck. "What's this?" he asked, and his daughter beamed at him.

"From the Queen, father. For my name day. King Tywin gave me two rare books on the Stormlands as well, and I also received your present," she said beaming.

He met Tywin and Sansa's eyes, and he saw the love they had for his child. It almost brought him to his knees. He had known they would keep her safe; he had never expected they would make her part of their family.

"Thank you," he said, and Sansa smiled. He was struck, once again by her beauty. And her fertility. Tywin Lannister was a lucky man, indeed.

"Well, this is pleasant, but there are small children that will be needing their parents and wine to be drunk. Let's take this indoors, shall we?"

Tywin grunted at Tyrion's lighthearted tone but agreed. The weather had turned decidedly cooler, and everyone knew, even in the south, that winter was on its way.

Jon tried not to let his mouth drop when he saw the Red Keep. When they had made their way south, he couldn't imagine the size of some of the cities, but nothing had prepared him for the mass of humanity that was Kings Landing. He watched in awe as Sansa, the Queen, and he kept having to remind himself, easily chatted with nobles and commoners alike as they made their way deeper inside the Castle.

"They love her," came the feminine voice beside him and he turned to see Dacey walking beside him. "The commoners, the nobles. Everyone."

He nodded. He could see that.

"It's a bit much, all these people. You and I, Jon Snow, we're not used to such a crush of them. Makes me itchy sometimes still," she said, and he let out a relieved sigh. It was nice that someone understood how he felt. Sansa looked like she had been born here- she was so comfortable with it.

"Stannis, your rooms are ready for you. Jon, you'll stay with us," Sansa announced when they came to the King and Queen's chambers. Over the past few months, Sansa had more rooms added to theirs, and now they occupied several suites of rooms, a sprawling space that her ever-growing family could be accommodated in.

Jon nodded and then watched as his sister's face lit even more when she heard the soft cry of a child.

Jon remembered the births of Bran and Rickon and looked to Tywin to see how this man reacted to the demands of a child. Jon startled. The man wore an expression of pure love when he spotted the two princes.

Sansa and he each had a child, and Jon moved towards her. "Jon, meet your nephews. Tysan and Jason."

He grinned, looking down at the towheaded children in her arms. There was no mistaking; these were Tywin Lannister's sons. Sansa was gazing at them with pure adoration.

"Sansa," Jon said, awe in his voice. "You're a mother."

She raised her eyes to his, tears in them. "I am."

Jon spent the next hour getting to know the princes. He decided, after holding them both, he liked Jason best. He was more relaxed; Tysan was fussy and demanding if he wasn't in either Tywin or Sansa's arms. Still, it was a sight to see, and Jon felt awash in love and family sitting in his sister's solar, playing with her children as her very fearsome husband looked on.

Soon Tyrion joined him with baby Joanna, and Jon startled as they told him the story of the Tyrell's. Ironically, he had never received Olenna's raven, so all her plans involving him were for naught. Genna Lannister joined them as well, and she took a keen interest in Jon; japing at how young and good looking he was. Jon was positively scarlet by the time she took her leave.

Dinner was an exciting affair, with Stannis and Shireen, thankfully joining them. Tyrion was well into the wine now, and toasted Lions, Wolves and Dragons. Tywin glowered at him, and Tyrion waved a hand.

"Not to worry father, I'll keep it amongst family," he quipped and winked at Jon. Jon shook his head at the dwarf; his Uncle. He still hadn't wrapped his head around that idea yet.

"Have you seen my son? How is Jaime?" Tywin finally asked, and both Jon and Stannis smiled, although Jon's was wider. The wine in the south must be stronger, he thought, his head already felt fuzzy.

"Happy and in love," Jon quipped, and Tywin grunted. Sansa was overjoyed at that news, and she clutched Tywin's hand. Jon watched as her husband stroked his fingers along her arm, and Sansa leaned closer to him.

He wanted to ask where Lady Catelyn was, but he admitted, he didn't want to ruin the evening. The King knew the Wall had fallen, and both Jon and Stannis knew there would be talk of war and strategy, but for tonight, it was a celebration.

After dinner, they retired back to the family solar, and the three children were brought in. Shireen was a great help, and Stannis was proud of how well she had integrated herself into the Lannister household. She grinned at Tywin and spouted off some random fact. Stannis watched in amazement, as Tywin smirked, knowing exactly what she was talking about.

She rolled her eyes at the king. "Who knows Dothraki war cries?" she groused, put out that he had won their game tonight.

Tywin rose and went to his impressive collection of books. "How is your Valyrian these days, Shireen?"

"Ok," she said and then she groaned.

He smirked and handed her a book. "Children's tales. Beginner. It will help."

She rolled her eyes but took the book.

Stannis was stunned. Sansa laughed. "They do this every evening. It's a game, you see."

He did, but he was shocked at just how familiar his child was with the ruling monarchs of the realm. When the babies cried, Sansa reluctantly rose to feed them and put them down for the night. Tywin rose shortly afterwards and followed her into the nursery. He loved to watch her with their sons, and she smiled happily at him.

"It's good to see him," she told Tywin, and he grunted. He hated that he was jealous of a man like Jon Snow, but he was.

She laughed. "Don't be silly, Tywin. I love you best of all."

He grunted, and she felt Tysan's little mouth fall from her. She looked down at him, awed that he was hers. The wet nurses then brought Jason and Joanna in, and the children were put to sleep. She went back into the room, to find Jon, Tyrion and Stannis deep into the wine. She kissed Tywin and murmured something about not too late and then retired to the bedroom. Tywin sat and joined the men in their drinking, for once comfortable in the company he kept.

Jon was still trying to get a feel for the man, and Tywin could feel him staring. "Ask me," Tywin said to Sansa's cousin.

"How?"

Tyrion barked out a laugh. He tipped his wine glass at Tywin. "No one knows Jon Snow. Just that they had a meeting, and then within two weeks, they were betrothed and had ended the war with the North."

Jon grunted, studying the Great Lion. Tywin held his gaze. After several minutes, Jon's eyes lit. "It was her," Jon said, wonder in his voice. "She's the one who approached you. Fuck me." Tywin grunted but said nothing. Tyrion's mouth dropped open, and even Stannis looked stunned. "Your sister is an impressive woman, Jon. No one should ever underestimate her."

Jon nodded and then sat back. "Was it bad for her, here? Before you?"

Tywin nodded. His gaze narrowed. "Joffrey and Cersei were not what you would call kind and benevolent rulers."

Jon tipped his head at that.

Tywin could see there was something else on his mind, and he braced himself for the next question. Their conversation riveted Stannis and Tyrion.

"Would you have killed me? If you had known who I was?" Tywin met the young man's gaze.

"Yes."

"Does she know that?"

"Yes."

"And she is alright with that?"

Tywin sighed and rubbed his whiskers. Family was always so complicated. "She makes me a better man, Jon. But I will not pretend that I am a good man. I have done horrible things for my family, for my family name, and to secure my legacy. And I would do them all over again if they would lead me here to her. I will do whatever it takes to keep her and my sons safe. She has given me everything."

Jon cocked his head, the winemaking his tongue free. "My father, well, my Uncle, he used to say he'd find her someone good. Someone noble. Someone honest. Someone kind. That he'd make her a good match one day, I don't know if you are what he had in mind, Tywin Lannister, but I can see how much you love her. Perhaps that's enough."

"If I die, in the upcoming war, she will carry the realm on her shoulders. And she will succeed. I have no doubts about my wife."

All three men looked at him.

"Father, you can't be serious," Tyrion said, his mouth agape.

"Your Grace, no," Stannis said, shocked. Tywin met their gazes.

"I will not cower here like a scared boy in Kings Landing while men fight for our very survival. I have never been that man, and I do not plan on being a King that is remembered for his cowardice."

"She'll kill you if you leave to fight in this war," Jon said, conversationally. He could see the intention in Tywin Lannister's eyes, and his respect for the man grew.

"She'll live. That will be reward enough."

And that was it. There was nothing more to say to a man who was willing to lay his life down so his sister might live. Whether Tywin Lannister was a man that Ned Stark would have chosen or not, didn't matter. He was the man that Sansa had chosen, and he loved her beyond all reason. That was all Sansa had ever wanted.

The small gathering broke up soon afterwards, and as Tywin made his way to his bedroom, he thought about what he had told the men in that room. He had always planned on being at the battle. He was one of the most brilliant military minds in the country. And he would do whatever it took to keep her and his sons safe.

He saw her there, spread out in their bed, hair a fiery waterfall of red and gold. She stole his breath, even now. It would kill him to ride away from her; knowing it was his last war. The odds of his survival were dim, he knew. But he would never forgive himself if him being here instead of there was the difference between the survival of humanity, and it's utter ruin.

He crawled into bed and gathered her in his arms and smiled as she murmured his name. He would steal as many moments as possible before he had to leave, knowing that Sansa Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms would be more than capable of ruling in his absence. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

"I love you, wife," he told her, and then slipped into sleep, dreaming of white walkers, death and dragons.

Sansa awoke to her husband stroking her stomach, his gold-green eyes, loving but guarded. It was not a look she was used to seeing on her husband's face when he looked at her. She let her hands drift down to cup his where they rested together on this new life they had created.

"Tell me," she said, reading him with ease. She knew his every look. There was nothing Tywin could hide from her anymore, and nothing he wanted to.

His gaze travelled up her body to land on her face. Her beautiful, exquisite face that he loved more than any other in the realm.

"I'm going to ride to Harrenhal."

He watched as the devastation came into her eyes, followed by sadness, anger and then worry. She tried to squirm away, but he held her fast.

"Sansa, stop."

He saw the tears then, and he cursed himself for hurting her. He leaned down, to nuzzle at her neck. "Wife, I am what I am. I cannot hide in the Red Keep while men fight for our very survival. I have never been that type of man."

"It's different, now," came her broken voice.

"Why?"

"Because you aren't just Lord of Casterly Rock, Tywin. The realm needs their King. Not at the front, but here."

He shook his head, wanting to argue with her, half wanting to believe her words and stay. It would destroy him to ride away from her and the princes. Before he could respond, she lashed out.

"Is it your ego?"

He startled a bit and let out a low growl. "Careful, Sansa." His eyes had narrowed.

But it was time her husband realized he had married a wolf. Not a rose. Not a stag. Not another lion. But a wolf. She glared at him.

"My husband has just informed me he is riding to war when every competent military commander in the realm is already there. Tell me, what is there to be careful of?"

He reared back a bit, processing that statement. She was correct, of course. He had somehow amassed the best army that Westeros had ever seen, and they were all more than capable.

She moved then and pinned him to the mattress, sitting on top of him. Her eyes were glittering pools of blue hurt.

"Tell me, how long after you leave, will the Dornish move against me, Tywin? Against your sons?"

He narrowed his eyes. They both knew he didn't trust the southern region. They also knew that the moment he stepped away; they might strike. She would be seen as vulnerable, despite Jerrod and Addam and her Queensguard.

"It is you that holds them back. You that they fear. You are the reason the realm is at peace. It is Tywin Lannister that strikes fear into the hearts of men, that makes them second guess themselves."

He couldn't help it; his ego preened at her praise.

"You are more than competent to rule, Sansa," he started to say, but she interrupted him.

"In peacetime? Yes, I am. And if I had men like Stannis Baratheon, Jon Snow and Jaime Lannister beside me in King's Landing? Then yes, I would agree even more. But they are all gone. It is you Tywin that brings peace to the realm, that keeps the Princes safe. That keeps me safe. You know this."

He grunted and looked at her, seeing nothing but the truth in her pretty blue eyes. His voice dropped, low and raspy.

"The nightmares, Sansa. Of you and them... if this Night King should win." He shuddered, and she pressed closer to him, running her fingers through his whiskers. She could see the genuine fear in her husband's eyes. She grabbed his hand and pressed it to her stomach. She watched as he felt their next child move. His eyes always filled with love when he saw her ripe with his seed.

"You are needed here. With us. We need you. Why are they fighting if the realm is to fall into chaos, Tywin, the moment you leave?"

He pressed his forehead against her.

"How do I send men to war, if I am not willing to go?"

She let out a small cry.

"Gods, Tywin, no one doubts for a second you would ride beside them. Fight and die beside the men you send. Your courage has never been questioned, my King. But that is not your role anymore. You must be strong, here, in the Capital, for the millions of people who will look to us to be brave. They will look to us to save them, should our army fall at Harrenhal. What becomes of the second front if you are not here, my love?"

"Fucking hells," he whispered, undone by her passion for him, her need for him, her love for him. And her brilliant mind.

"I am selfish. I love you too much to see you ride off to war. I want you here, by me. I want as much time with you as possible. I want you to hold me as I birth our child again. I want you to be the King for an age, to be by my side, ruling our Kingdom," she pressed her lips to his. She had tears streaming down her face. "But if you must go, if this is what you are sure the correct path is, I will support you, Tywin. You are my husband first. Thousands of wives are sending the men they love to war. I will do the same."

Tywin captured her lips in a passionate kiss. She completely undid him. Not even Joanna had loved him, understood him, fought for him, the way that Sansa did. He ran her words through his head. He was worried about Dorne, but his ego all but demanded he ride to war the way he had in the past. These two thoughts battled in his head.

He wished that Kevan were here; his brother would give him the advice he needed. The thought of leaving her, not knowing if they would be successful, that he might die far away from her, all but brought him to his knees.

And if they did fail, then how would she escape if he were not here? The city would be chaotic.

If he were by her side, he could get them to safety; get them to Dragonstone and then Essos. He could regroup and lead the second wave to fight back against this Night King from across the Narrow Sea.

"I will think about it," he told her and saw her nod.

"I need you, wife," he murmured into her and drew her sleeping shift off her form, drinking her in. She sat on him, ripe and lush and his. _She was his,_ his brain all but screamed at him. The last thing he should be doing was leaving her.

He thought of her here, alone, trying to birth his child, and his blood ran cold. He thought of her here alone and vulnerable, at the whims of the Dornish and knew she'd be vulnerable. 

He thought about what he had ordered done to Elia Martell and what they might do to Sansa. The chaos of war would be a perfect time for them to strike against him through her.

He growled at that thought and cupped her heavy breasts, running his hands over her body, staring at her in wonderment at what she looked like. She was a goddess, and he was the man that got to worship her. He grunted as he lifted her to slid onto him and watched as she rocked herself to her first peak, her voice crying out his name and filling the room. He wasn't done; he'd barely even begun. He laid her on her back and settled in to taste her, drawing her up again, and then finally, sunk into her. He urged her to stay with him, and she met his eyes.

"I'm always with you, Tywin. Always you."

"You're mine, Sansa," he told her almost savagely, and she nodded.

"Yours, yours, yours," she chanted. "Don't leave me, Tywin. Not like this."

He cupped the back of her head and suckled on her neck, needing to mark her, to show the realm that she was his and always would be. She held him there, murmuring how much she loved him, how she needed him.

When he felt her tighten, he finally let himself spill deep inside her.

Afterwards, he ran them a bath and washed her, cleaning her hair and pressing kisses to her neck; cradling her as if she were the most precious thing in the realm because she was. She was everything.

"I'll stay," he told her finally, and she turned, her eyes alight before they filled with tears, and she nodded and kissed him.

"I love you," she told him, and he felt himself settle for the first time since he'd announced his plans last night. He wouldn't leave her. He couldn't.

If men wanted to call him a coward, he'd let them try and then cut them down. His legacy and his life were here in Kings Landing, and he'd put the men in place to deal with the threat they were now facing. She had been right as she often was. His ego had demanded that he be the commander he knew he was, but his heart and brain told him his place was here.

"I'm afraid," she said softly in the cooling water. He grunted into her ear, kissing the nape of her neck, trailing a hand down her spine. "Men I love, men I respect. Some of them will die. My family is there, Tywin. I couldn't stand it if you were as well."

"I won't leave, Sansa. Not now," he told her again, making it a vow.

He knew he'd still need to discuss it with those he was closest too, but he could give her this promise and know it was true. "I promise you, wife, on the lives of our children. I will stay and defend the realm from the Red Keep with you by my side."

"Thank you," she said and cupped his face in hers, kissing him again.

Eventually, he drew her from the bath, and dried her, pressing a kiss to her stomach where his next child safely grew. His pride in her fertility was evident each day, and he wondered just how many lions they might have. He desperately wanted to believe his children would grow up in Westeros, able to inherit the Kingdom he had built for them.

When they entered the dining hall, Sansa and he were in perfect accord.

Jon, Tyrion and Stannis all had heavy heads.

Jon took one look at them and met the King's eyes. He wondered if his sister might press herself any closer to her husband? You could barely tell where one ended and the other began.

"You're staying then?"

Tywin nodded.

"Fucking thank the seven gods," Tyrion said, relief evident on his face.

Tywin frowned.

"How long after you left would they have struck out at her?" Tyrion's face was tight with anger. He loved Sansa as well.

"Son," Sansa said and laid a hand on his shoulder. He squeezed her hand.

"You promised to raise my daughter, father, should I fall in the war. You are needed here. By her side- with the Queen."

Tywin grunted. He hated having his decisions questioned, even if in hindsight, it had been the height of stupidity to think about riding off to war.

"You need to trust us, Your Grace. And you promised you'd be here; for Shireen and Sansa, Joanna and the princes if we are losing. You must get them all to safety, and only you can guarantee their survival," Stannis said, his voice almost pleading. He could only leave knowing Tywin was here to protect his daughter. He saw how the King was with her; he loved her as well. "They are our future."

Tywin squirmed uncomfortably. He had never allowed anyone to ever admonished him the way these three were. But they were correct, and he grunted out his acknowledgement at that fact.

Jon rose and came to his sister, seeing the relief and happiness in her eyes. He held his hand out to the King.

"It's the only decision you can make, Your Grace. We can focus on the fight in front of us, knowing that you're here; knowing that you are holding the realm together. Knowing that you are protecting them."

Tywin nodded and clasped Jon's hand to his.

Then Jon pulled Sansa in for a quick hug, but not before he noticed the marks on her neck. When he raised his eyebrows, she blushed, and he shook his head at her. She was so different from the girl she had been in Winterfell when she had seemed petty and trite and mean. Now she was open, demanding, earthy and passionate. She was a champion for the people and expressed herself with confidence. And she was not shy in expressing her love for her husband. Tywin Lannister was a lucky man.

Jon cocked his head.

"I wish Father could see you. You're radiant. He'd be happy, Sansa, with the match you made."

She felt her eyes fill with tears. It was her most profound regret that Ned hadn't lived to see her fall in love and become the woman she was meant to be.

"I think I'd like to speak with Lady Catelyn at some point," Jon told her softly, and Sansa nodded. "I'll stay by your side, Jon."

He nodded gratefully.

After they had broken their fast, they retreated to the small council meeting to discuss the upcoming war. Tywin was done playing with Dorne. He demanded men for the fight and Oberyn shrugged. "The south must protect itself, Your Grace."

"Dorne will send men, or Dorne will find itself at the mercy of the rest of the Kingdom," Tywin growled.

Oberyn looked unconcerned. "With what army?"

Tywin grinned, and it was a fearsome thing to behold. "Three dragons ought to do."

The man paled. "You would not."

"Try me."

Oberyn swallowed hard and looked to Tyrion, Stannis and Jon. The Dornish had been the only Kingdom to repelled the Targaryen invasion, but only because they had hidden in their mountains.

"I will burn every city, every field, every port and every Castle in Dorne to the ground if you do not send men. Your people might live, but they will be little more than peasants pecking at the ground. You have a fortnight. Dismissed."

No one in the room doubted the Great Lion's commitment to such a plan. Dorne would be wiped from the map if he commanded it.

Oberyn shot a hate-filled glare to the King.

"Myrcella is there," he said in one last volley.

Tywin shook his head. And grinned and Oberyn shrank back at such a sight.

"She is on her way back to the Capital as we speak." Tywin had sent some of his most loyal men to fetch her, unbeknownst to almost anyone else but Sansa.

Oberyn glared at the King and stalked out of the room.

"Where are we at with dragon fire?" Tywin demanded when it was just the three dragon riders and Sansa.

Jon shrugged. "We need somewhere to practice. We think it is the command _dracarys_."

"Dragonstone," Tyrion said, and Stannis groaned. That cursed island was sure to haunt him for the rest of his days, but it was close enough to be pragmatic and the least occupied place that they wouldn't be spied upon. The three agreed to leave in the morning.

Word had reached King's Landing that Kevan and Lord Tarly, along with the vast majority of the army had reached Harrenhal.

The rest were nearing Moat Cailin; they had plans to rally those living in Greywater Watch. The Lannister forces that had remained in the south had been deployed to keep the peace in the realm, with settlers from the North arriving by the day. Many were being sent to the Reach and the West, even more to the Stormlands to the south. Stannis had been in contact with his loyal bannermen, and they assured him that after years of war, their region finally felt full again. Others coming by boat from White Harbour would be settled in and around the Crownlands.

Houses Glover and Mormont had somehow outraced the army of the dead and had just left Winterfell, but conditions were bleak.

Each day, even in the south, winter's deadly reach grew. The North was almost uninhabitable now, the temperatures so cold, the winds howling and the snows deep. Everyone knew it was unnatural and brought by the Night King himself. It was as legend had said eight thousand years ago when the Long Night had come to Westeros. Tywin could only pray that this war did not last a decade.

"Now what is there to do?" Jon said. He felt they had been talking for hours, and he was restless. The dragons were gone, and he needed to move.

Dacey Mormont spoke up. "You could spar with those in the south, Jon Snow." She was grinning as she said this and he looked at, and then back to the King. Tywin nodded.

"Men train daily, Jon. You are more than welcome to find them."

Sansa and Tywin trailed after him and Dacey as they walked to the training yard.

Stannis had begged off to go and find Shireen, and Tyrion went to see his daughter. He knew his time with her was fast coming to a close, and he would spend as many moments as he could before he was gone.

Jon turned when he heard his sister laugh, only to catch the King with his hands wrapped around his sister and growling something into her ear. They never stopped. How the man had ever thought he could ride away from her was beyond Jon's comprehension. He shook his head as he saw Tywin lean down to kiss her, and Sansa sighed and wrapped herself in his arms.

"Are they always that... familiar with one another?"

Dacey laughed, and it was a pretty sound. "You make it sound like a bad thing, Jon Snow."

He frowned. He'd grown up in the North and had spent the better part of the past few years around men sworn to celibacy. But even he couldn't recall Ned being so affectionate with his wife.

Dacey shrugged. "Things are different in the south, but every woman longs for her husband to look at her the way the King looks at the Queen. The poems and the songs that they have inspired are truly something to behold."

Jon nodded; he could see why people loved them. Sansa made the Great Lion seem softer; more approachable. And she was their champion, fighting for them to have better lives.

"Even on Bear Island, where we don't worry nearly as much for southern customs such as marriage, we are more discreet than they are. But they are the King and Queen."

Jon grunted. He could never imagine being so openly affectionate with a wife. He eyed the beautiful woman beside him. "So, no marriage for you, then?"

She shook her head. "I'm a bastard Jon Snow, and captain of the Queensguard. What man would want me?"

Jon snorted, and she shot out a hand and stopped him.

"What was that?"

He gave her an incredulous look. "You have a mirror, surely?"

She scowled. "Aye."

"Then you know you're a beautiful woman, Dacey Mormont. And being a bastard isn't the worst thing in the world, is it?"

He winked at her. Then leaned in.

"Tell me, Captain of my sister's Queensguard, will you spar with me?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Careful Jon Snow."

He laughed, and it was rich and deep. "I wonder what I might wager to make you fight me, My Lady."

She stilled and said nothing. But he saw her breath increase.

He leaned closer. "Perhaps a kiss."

He watched as her eyes flared with desire and then she looked and saw it reflected back in his. "And if I win Jon Snow?"

He winked. "I'll introduce you to my dragon."

She threw her head back and laughed. "I hope you mean the beast in the field and not the one in your pants. It'll take more than besting me in one match for you to be given that pleasure Jon Snow."

Jon smirked at her and winked, and Dacey felt her heart race. She knew he was no bastard; he was the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, the true heir to the Iron Throne. Lyanna and Rhaegar's son. But the way he looked at her, melted her heart. He was everything a man should be; dark, fierce, broody and Northern. Dacey loved her Queen and would die for her, but she would never understand how Sansa had fallen so deeply in love with a man from the Westerlands. If there was any man that Dacey could fall for, it would be this one in front of her. She licked her lips and saw the heat flare in Jon's dark eyes.

The King and Queen had caught up with them, and both wore slightly bewildered looks observing the two of them. The tension was thick between them.

Jon shook his head as they rounded the corner and came to the sparing yard. He grinned and rolled his shoulders. He had been itchy for a fight for days, and now there were several before him. Everyone wanted a piece of the Northern man, and he willingly gave it to them.

He was fast, agile, and light on his feet. His Valyrian steel sword sang and he grinned, as he felt untouchable. Man, after man yielded to him until he turned and pinned Dacey with a heated look.

He pointed his sword at her. "Your turn, My Lady."

Dacey sucked in a breath. No one could mistake this for anything other than what it was; foreplay.

She shrugged off her cloak and handed it to Sansa.

Tywin leaned in and brushed his lips across Sansa's ear. "If I'm not mistaken, your brother and your Queensguard captain are all but fucking each other with their eyes."

Sansa gasped and hit him lightly on the chest. Then her eyes narrowed. Tywin was right. They were practically eating each other up. She sighed and shook her head. Who was she to deny anyone, anything these days? Jon was off to war in a matter of days, and Dacey was pledged to her. Sansa would willingly let her go if her brother survived. Besides, Sansa knew the way she carried on with her husband caused more than one tongue to wag in the Capital.

Sansa felt her husband wrap his arms around her, completely at ease with his open display of affection for her. She leaned into him and felt him support her weight as they watched the two of them spar.

"He's good," Tywin grunted, watching Sansa's brother fight. He was young, but Tywin could see the potential in Jon Snow. How anyone in the realm had thought this man, a bastard was anyone's guess. He even carried himself like the Prince that he was. They both watched as he gained the upper hand on Dacey and knocked her into the mud, her face angry at being bested. She jumped to her feet, emotion ruling the day, and pushed back at him, all while Jon grinned. Then he hauled her against him and kissed her and cheers rang the yard.

When she pulled back, he leaned in. "I'll still show you my dragon, Dacey." She grinned and looked to Sansa, who smiled at them both.

Tywin shook his head at him and then looked to the woman in his arms. Men would always be fools for women, and he was no different. Sansa had changed his life completely.

Eventually, he led his wife back to their rooms. Their sons would require her, and they were set to host what was sure to be an uncomfortable meeting with Lady Catelyn and Ser Marbrand. Tywin hoped, for once, that Sansa's mother could keep her opinions to herself. He understood, better than anyone, the harm words could do, and how past actions could not be undone.

He watched his wife pace the nursery, cooing and fussing over his sons. It never got old. She was every inch the mother he had known she could be. He thought back to their first few meetings. He could see now the apparent interest in both of them and wondered at how far they had come. They had gathered such a network of loyal people around them, and he hoped this next meeting wouldn't upset things.

Eventually, Sansa finished fussing, and she took him by the hand.

Jon had taken a bath and Sansa had produced some new clothing for him. He shook his head at her thoughtfulness. She had stitched both a dragon and a direwolf onto his black tunic so that her mother might be reminded of just who Jon Snow was. Sansa would stand for none of her mother's hatred or bigotry today.

When they entered Tywin's solar, Jon was already there, and he looked nervous. He'd worn the new tunic and had tied his hair back. Sansa was struck by just how handsome a man her brother had become. She pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"I won't let her hurt you, Jon," she said, and he quirked out a smile.

They both turned when Catelyn entered the solar, followed by Addam. She sucked in a breath when she saw Jon, then her eyes filled with tears. It was so different to look at him and know he wasn't the living embodiment of Ned's infidelity; that her husband hadn't broken his vows to her.

She rushed to him and hugged him, and Jon awkwardly returned the embrace. She stepped back after a moment and bravely met his eyes.

"I beg your forgiveness, even though I don't ever hope to receive it, for how I treated you. You were a motherless boy, and I couldn't love you. I treated you horribly, Jon."

Jon was stunned. He'd never expected those words to ever come from Catelyn Stark's lips. He bowed his head, almost embarrassed.

"I know it wasn't easy for you..." he mumbled, and she pressed a hand to his lips. She had tears in her eyes.

"Whether it was easy for me or not, is beside the point. You were a child. Blameless and guiltless even if you were Ned's bastard."

He nodded and swallowed hard. "I'm sorry he didn't tell you. That my mom made him promise, he should have told you."

Catelyn nodded and met his eyes. "He should have. Had I known, I would have protected you with my life, because I would have known how much you were loved and who you were. A part of me will never forgive him for what he put us all through. Or her. And a part of me will never forgive myself, for what I put you through. All of us, we were the adults, not you.

He nodded, and they finally sat. Jon met Addam Marbrand who had caught the tail end of him sparring earlier.

Cat asked about Robb and Jon had story after story about his brother. Then Rickon and Arya and Bran.

All three former Stark's cried when they discussed Bran's new status as the three-eyed-raven. "But what does that mean?" Cat said, and Jon shrugged.

"None of us know. He's a greenseer. He can go into the past, the present, the future. He told us where the Night King must be killed. He's linked to all of this."

Cat shook her head. "My children, all so brave." She had taken Jon's hand and squeezed it. "And now you have a dragon?" She smiled softly at him and cupped his cheek at his almost boyish glee.

"Aye," he said.

Her eyes narrowed. "You be careful, Jon. Nothing reckless. Remember what Ned taught you."

He had never been on the receiving end of Catelyn's warmth, and a part of him relished the feeling of finally being accepted by her.

He grinned and nodded. When they finally all made it to dinner, something had changed dramatically between Jon and Catelyn and Sansa was pleased. Tyrion and Genna were in fine form tonight, and Stannis and Shireen joined them as well.

Sansa sighed as she observed the table. The people changed; Jaime and Kevan were gone, along with Arya and Sandor. They'd added Stannis and Jon and Shireen. But what remained the same was the simple fact that they had built something real here in the snake pit that was Kings Landing. It was a place of Sansa's greatest horrors and her biggest joys. She looked around, knowing things would change again. Tomorrow, the three dragon riders would fly to Dragonstone. If successful, they would make their way to Harrenhal. They would be gone and would only return if they emerged victoriously.

"I'm here love," Tywin murmured, reading her thoughts. She looked at him and smiled.

After dinner, Jon begged off more wine and said he needed to walk. Outside the King's chambers, he found Dacey waiting for him. He'd felt the tug of Rhaegal, and he grinned when he saw her.

"I promised you a dragon," he said, and she nodded and smiled, falling into step beside him.

After a moment, he gave her a rueful grin. "I don't quite know how to get to the field where he is," he said, and she laughed.

"Come on, Jon, I'll show you."

They walked in silence for a time, until Dacey stopped at the sight of Rhaegal at the edge of the Kingswood. "Fuck me," she said, awed, and Jon grinned.

He took her hand and liked how it fit in his. "He's curious about you. I've been thinking about you, so he knows you're something special to me," he said, and she gave him a bit of a shocked look. He laughed softly.

"Technically, I'm still the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Lady Mormont," he told her, and she swallowed. He turned her then, so she was in his arms. "I won't break my vows; they talk of marriage, and I'm in no position to offer you that. Yet. And I'll not bed you and then leave for war. I'll sire no bastards, even if we both are ones ourselves, Dacey."

She nodded, feeling her heartbreak a bit. He cupped her chin.

"But it was pointed out to me that should we win this war; they'll be no need for the night's watch. I won't have a castle or land. But I'll have my name. I'll be a Targaryen, and I'll be free to marry."

She swallowed hard and looked at him. "What are you saying, Jon?"

He pressed his lips to hers. "That I pray we win, so I can come south and beg the Queen to give you to me, and take you North, make you my wife."

Her eyes filled with tears. "I'd like that."

He tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Aye, me too."

She pressed her lips to his. "Promise me you'll live," she said, even though they both knew he could do no such thing.

"I'll try, Dacey." Then he heard he gasp and grinned. Rhaegal had crept closer.

"Aye, she's a pretty one, our Dacey, isn't she. From the North, like me," Jon said to his dragon and Rhaegal snorted. Jon grinned and took her hand and placed it on him, and she gasped.

"He's beautiful," she breathed, and Jon laughed.

"Oh, he's a bit of a bastard himself, always looking for a compliment." Rhaegal bumped Jon and then almost bowed to Dacey.

"Well, I think he's quite handsome," she said and stroked his shimmering scales. She had such wonder in her eyes that Jon knew that would be the picture he took with him as he flew North into the war with the dead. He held her close, his woman and his dragon. Never in a million years did he think he'd have these two by his side.

They eventually walked back to the Red Keep, and Jon kissed Dacey goodnight before he went inside and found Tywin and Sansa with the twins in the solar. It was a domestic scene, and he hesitated to enter.

"No, you don't, Jon Snow," Sansa demanded. "Get in here."

Tywin smirked at his wife. She was a wolf indeed; he'd watched powerful man after powerful man bend to her will, himself included.

Jon came in, sheepishly grinning at them.

"So?" Sansa demanded, and he loosened his hair and ran a ran through the dark curls. Then he grinned at her.

She almost squealed in delight, but he held up a hand.

"Sansa, I have to live through the upcoming war. Then, we will see. I'll come south, and if, and only if you agree to release her, will we marry."

Sansa's grin was broad. "I give my permission."

Jon laughed at her.

"There is no use fighting it, Jon," Tywin said, relaxed and comfortable in his home. He gave the prince a look. "Still, she'd baseborn, and you know your lineage now. Is she really who you want?"

Jon's shoulder's stiffened, and he looked Tywin in the eye. "I won't stay in the south, no matter how much my sister seems to love it, and you. Even now, the number of people." Jon let out a small shudder, and Sansa smiled softly at him.

"It takes some getting used to."

"I meant no offence," Tywin said. "Only that there are highborn women that would throw themselves at your feet, with huge dowries and castles."

Jon shook his head and smiled. "That's not for me."

Tywin knew then that he would never challenge them for the throne. His wife had been correct; Jon Snow was happiest in the North. He held out his hands for one of his nephews, choosing Jason, as he seemed the calmest and Tyson was already fussing. He cooed at the child and looked to Sansa.

"I never let myself think this could ever be mine," he said, watching in fascination as she latched Tysan to nurse. He could picture Dacey with a dark-haired babe of their own.

Tywin only frowned slightly at another man seeing his wife like this. "You're a natural with them, Sansa," Jon said, awe in his voice.

She looked down at her son, busily suckling from her. She wondered when she ever might wean him, but these moments were worth it.

"It's a feeling unlike I can describe Jon. And the idea that it might be within your grasp warms something in my heart."

They were silent for a time, and then Tywin coughed. Jon looked at him.

"I do not ask men favours, Jon Snow, but in the upcoming war, if at all possible..." Tywin stopped talking, and he looked uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. "I've watched you fight. You're skilled, agile, fast. He is not. If you could..."

Jon nodded solemnly. "He's my family as well, Your Grace. I'll do whatever I can so he can come back to his daughter." Tywin nodded, and nothing more needed to be said on the subject.

Jon handed Jason back to Sansa and watched as she passed Tysan to her husband before she nursed her other son. He ran his hand over his head one last time.

"I'm glad I was able to come south, to see how happy you are, sister. I will do whatever I can to return here if only to claim my bride," he grinned a bit to lighten the mood.

Sansa's pretty blue eyes filled with tears. "I know you'll be brilliant, Jon."

She cried softly for a time after he left, and then, when Jason was done, they put their sons to bed. Tywin held her hand as they made their way back to their chamber. The fire was always banked these days, the chill of the Long Night pressing further south by the day. His wife didn't seem to be as affected as he was, but he'd ordered more furs for their bed. She stripped down, growing larger by the day, and climbed into bed, where she fit herself into his embrace. The entire day had been one long, emotional journey. Tomorrow would be more of the same as the three dragon riders left for Dragonstone.

Tywin let his hands rest on her tummy, not sure what she'd want tonight until she squirmed and guided his hand down to her entrance. He felt her readiness for him and lifted her leg slightly so he could rock into her from the side. She sighed contentedly and twisted slightly so she could kiss him as he stroked inside her. He rubbed her the way he knew she liked, and she cried softly into his mouth when her pleasure hit her, signalling his release. They stayed twined in one another, lost in worries for those they were sent to war.

"Thank you," she eventually said. "For staying. For choosing me."

He leaned down and nuzzled her neck and sucked on her ear.

"Always, wife. Always." His place was by her side; from now until the end of his days and Tywin would not be parted from her.

The next day a small group stood and watched as the three dragon riders approached the dragons that had come back to Kings Landing late that night. Every goodbye had been said in private. They would send ravens if they were able to make the dragons breathe the fire they had heard about in legend. Harrenhal was not that far from Kings Landing, and they could be back and forth if needed on the dragons. Sansa, Shireen, Genna and Dacey watched them leave, hearts heavy, wondering if they might see them again.

Tywin cancelled all appointments for the day; he knew his wife would need him, and, at this point, he had handed the management of the war over to those on the backs of the dragons, along with his son and his brother. It wasn't in his nature to be a passive observer. He hadn't when he'd ridden out to meet Robb Stark on the battlefield, and again, he'd mounted his horse to lead the charge into Stannis's forces. But he had reconciled the fact that here was where he was needed.

He'd received word that Myrcella was on her way back to the Capital, and Robb Stark's wife Jeyne would also be sent to Kings Landing. The women of the realm, with the next heirs to the kingdom, needed to be kept safe. Roslin Tully was here; Sansa was here; Shireen Baratheon was here. The Vale was sending Robin Arryn south as well, and Willas Tyrell felt his wife and heir were safe at Highgarden. Dorne was the last holdout, and Oberyn had not reappeared to confirm that Dornish forces would march North. Tywin would give him a few more days before he acted. He would not allow Dorne to sit this one out.

The three riders looked back to the Red Keep as they flew away; each was leaving more than one precious thing behind. Daughters, sisters, fathers and in the case of Jon Snow, a potential wife. Each man had more reason than ever to find a way to defeat the Night King. And each feared what might happen should they fail. They knew that Tywin would evacuate the noblewomen and children to Essos, but that thought was almost too depressing to contemplate. They needed the fire of the dragons to even the upcoming battle. When they landed on Dragonstone, they went to an area on the cliffs where no one was.

Jon was looking at the vast, looming Castle in the back.

"I suppose it should be yours," Tyrion said conversationally, and Jon frowned.

"I won't be staying in the south," he replied, and Tyrion cocked his head.

"You don't want it, do you?"

Jon shook his head. Then he gave Tyrion a hard look. "Can you tell me I'd be a better ruler than them?"

Tyrion chuckled. "No, Jon, I'm sorry, but you wouldn't. My father might be a cold man, but he is the best man for the realm. Especially with her by his side."

"You love her." Tyrion nodded. Jon frowned.

The dwarf waved a hand. "Not like that, or perhaps not entirely. She's an impossible woman not to fall a bit in love with. I half suspect that even dour Stannis Baratheon is quite smitten by her. She is a woman that men all over the seven Kingdoms would fall in love with and go to war for. At first, I did not envy my father. How does one keep the attention of such a woman? But she loves him; singularly and without equal and there isn't a person in this country that can come between them."

Jon absorbed Tyrion's assessment and found it to be accurate. His sister had found her place; even he could see that.

"She was my friend when I had so very few. And she demanded things from my father that no other could. It is only because of her that I even have a relationship with the Great Lion after years of ridicule and bitterness."

"She's a good woman."

They were joined by Stannis, who suggested a small wood at the far end of the island, and the three men climbed atop the dragons. Each man had noticed how the three were happiest when they were together. Stannis, ever the military commander, was anxious to get to Harrenhal. It seemed that word came daily of the endless march of the army of the dead, and he wanted to be prepared.

It was trial and error, but it was finally when Stannis bellowed the Valyrian command in utter frustration, that Drogon responded and let out a stream of flame that all but obliterated the small wood.

Jon and Tyrion were stunned with the sheer force of the dragon's breath and gave similar commands to theirs, who complied.

As they walked towards the Castle, Stannis had a rare grin on his face. "At least we have an easy way to prevent our dead from becoming members of his army."

Jon grunted out his agreement as Stannis composed the raven to the King.

"Can you imagine when they burnt castles to the ground," Jon said, almost softly. The thought made his gut churn, and he pushed away his dinner.

"They were indiscriminate in their killing," Stannis agreed, also thinking of what an unnatural advantage dragon gave the Targaryens.

"Dorne better send men," Tyrion said, gravely.

Nobody wanted to be the one sent to make them bend the knee. It was a fate too horrible to contemplate.

"We will need to be careful, deploying them in the field, so our men are not caught in the pathway of their fire," Stannis stated, and both Jon and Tyrion nodded.

Three very different men, linked by the blood of the dragon, destined to play a crucial role in the war of the second Long Night. And each horrified in their way at the power they now held in their hands. A single dragon could bring the kingdom to its knees, and these weren't even full grown.

"We have a responsibility," Jon said, looking at his two newest family members. "We cannot abuse their power." Both Stannis and Tyrion met his eyes and nodded. Of the two, it was the dwarf that Jon worried about the most. He might love Sansa, but his entire life had been filled with a profound lack of respect. There was no more natural way to feel superior than to bend a whole country to your will on the back of a dragon.

"I love my new mother, and my daughter, very much, Jon," Tyrion said, meeting his gaze. "I am here to defend the realm."

Jon grunted. "Your father asked me to look out for you. To keep you safe."

Other men might have been offended, but Tyrion's face broke out into a crooked grin. "You jape."

Jon shook his head. "Last night in his solar, while I was holding the prince."

Tyrion saw the truth on the Northern man's face.

"He asked the same of me," Stannis added, and Tyrion felt something warm spread through his chest.

He nodded at both men and then pushed back his chair. "I suggest we find our beds. It's a long, hard ride to Harrenhal, and the war to come."

Before Tyrion left, he turned and faced them. "I'm glad it's you two." Then he took his leave and Jon and Stannis followed. The days and weeks to come would be brutal, and they would need all the strength they could manage. Winter had come to Westeros; the Long Night was here, and the men in this Castle might be the only reason they had a chance of winning.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major character death in this chapter. 
> 
> I will preface this by saying, I am invested in these characters. I've spent almost 400,000 words writing them. No major character death is easy for me to write, and in fact, I thought long and hard about them all. 
> 
> I cannot in any way, see a major battle like the Long Night, which in my opinion was poorly handled in Season 8 since the one in canon lasted a DECADE, not having MORE casualties. 
> 
> I know these deaths hurt and I think they should. This one was brutal for me.

_ The Riverlands _

The dragon riders arrived at the burnt-out castle Harrenhal in the Riverlands by early evening. Jon, Tyrion and Stannis had seen the vast army that stretched out around Harrenhal, and it was a sight indeed. Tents and banners of all colours could be seen; it would be a war that was fought by all of Westeros and Jon felt such an incredible sense of accomplishment that he had somehow been able to rally the people of this country to this cause when he'd had no hope for so long. As if they shared more than just dragon blood, the three men looked at each other with hope when they landed.

"I never thought I'd see the day when houses that hated one another came together like this," Tyrion said, the most verbose of the three. Stannis and Jon, Tyrion had observed, were quite similar in temperament; broody, stoic and far too concerned with things such as honour and duty as far as he could tell. Tyrion chuckled to himself when he thought how much like a Lannister he was despite who his real father was.

Upon landing they quickly discovered from Kevan that the procession from Winterfell had not arrived; the last raven indicated they were almost a week or two away. Others who had left sooner, like Royce, the Blackfish and Lord Tarly were here. The people living in the regions of the Vale and the Riverlands were moving southward at an impressive clip, driven by loyal men and the looming threat of winter that was bearing down on all of them.

The Lannisters had done an impressive job rebuilding parts of Harrenhal, focusing on the outer walls and defences, and leaving the comforts of the interior to last.

Stannis wanted to spend time in the air, figuring out how far they had to the Isle of Faces and where they had to make their stand against this Night King once and for all if Bran Stark were to be believed.

The castle itself would play a crucial role and one they could not afford the waste. They had promised Tywin that they were the men to get the job done and the price of their failure would be the fall of humanity itself along with everyone they loved.

Seated around the table that evening, supping with the great lords of the realm in a high tower, Stannis looked at Lord Royce, the Blackfish and Lord Tarly.

"You three will come up with us tomorrow, on the dragons," he announced suddenly, too stunned faces.

"You're fucking mad if you think I'm climbing on the back of a dragon," Lord Tarly snarled. He had been shocked to hear of the untimely passing of the matriarch of Highgarden and regarded Tywin Lannister's dwarf son with suspicion, wondering how it was a second Lannister bride had died on the birthing bed.

Stannis glared at the stern lord. "You can ride with Jon. I'll take Royce and Brynden you will go with Tyrion. This is not a debate. We need to strategize, and we can do so best in the air. You haven't seen what we have, and you need to. Set aside your egos and your fear. There are more than a million people south of here. If we fail, then Westeros falls."

The mood was dour after that, each lost in their thoughts at what had been decided. Stannis had been correct, but it still wasn't easy to convince three men who'd only ever been on horseback or ship to climb on the backs of three great beasts. Of course, word spread, so the next morning, when the six men approached the dragons, a crowd had formed.

"Just, no sudden moments," Jon said, unsure about this plan of Stannis's. He understood they needed a strategy to deal with the Night King but hardly knew how the dragons would react to strangers and never for anyone but them to ride them. So far, they'd only brought family close to them, and he could feel the fear rolling off Lord Tarly. Jon needn't have worried; it was as if the dragons had known they were needed for something meaningful and were on their best behaviour.

Jon knew riding a dragon was unlike anything any of the men had ever experienced. It was jolting when the dragons took those running steps and then launched themselves into the air. Lord Tarly held on tightly to Rhaegal's spines, and Jon whooped a bit, giving it back to the man who'd kicked his arse up in Castle Black in the training yard.

The distance between Harrenhal and the Gods Eye lake wasn't that great on the back of the dragon, and when Jon finally looked back at Lord Tarly, he saw the man had managed to open his eyes and was gazing down at the ground below him in wonder.

"It never gets old," Jon shouted at him, as they saw the slow procession of people moving south on the Kings Road below. Up ahead, the lake was before them. It was an eerie place, shrouded in mist and fog. Jon felt a shiver over his back as he looked upon the Isle of Faces where the Children of the Forest had created the first white walkers, including the Night King himself. As the dragons circled and eventually landed, the six men felt a shiver run over their spines. They were, all except Jon, from the south, and not used to the giant weirwood trees, and certainly not an entire island of such trees with carved faces.

"It's just like Bran said," Jon murmured, shooting a look to Stannis. "About the Pact, between the Children and the First Men. They carved a face in every tree, to bear witness to the truce," Jon explained and watched as the others looked on nervously. It was hard to imagine history repeating itself, but they had seen what was coming for them, and now they were all that stood between death itself.

"The real question is, how do we get him here?" Tyrion said, a bite of sarcasm in his tone, unnerved and impatient. He wasn't incorrect. If all the Night King wanted was to turn every living creature into a wight, then why on earth would he come to such a place? And how could they possibly get him here?

"There has to be a reason," Stannis muttered, looking around this place and shuddering. He felt like he was being watched, and it was an unpleasant feeling. "When he got to the water's edge at Hardhome, he turned the sea to ice. I'd imagine the same would be true here."

"How many men would you want here?" Lord Tarly asked, still unsure about his place in this group and what might be done to stop such a creature as he'd seen in the North. But he had people he was here fighting for, and he'd do his duty or die trying.

Stannis shook his head and looked around. "The problem is, how do we get a sizable contingent here while fighting the rest back at Harrenhal? Why would he leave his main army to follow us out to this godforsaken place?"

No one had an answer yet, and they all hoped that when Bran turned up at Harrenhal with Robb and the rest of the Lannister forces, he might be able to shed some light on the issues.

When they landed back at the Castle, all six men met with Kevan Lannister for yet another war council.

"Do we know where the army of the dead is now?" Tyrion asked, deeply worried at seeing Stannis have no answers.

Kevan shook his head. "We know that they abandoned Deepwood Motte and Bear Island and that those Houses are coming south. But neither Jaime nor Robb could stay and wait for them. It was too dangerous."

"Seven hells," Jon muttered darkly, his eyes meeting Stannis. "We need to go North. We need to know where they are."

Stannis's mouth had formed a thin line, knowing it was true. They'd have a better idea of the evacuation and where the rest of their army was; and whether it would make any sense to leave a dragon at Moat Cailin along with some of their vast army. The trouble was, they needed this Night King to come south, to get through such as it were if they believed Bran that he could only be killed where he was created so mounting a defence in the North might be utterly pointless.

How many men was Stannis willing to sacrifice on the word of the crippled Stark boy? What if Bran were wrong, and they could make their stand at the Twins? Would history remember Stannis as the man-made the worst possible choice for humanity?

As if they knew the weight that was pressing down on him, both Jon and Tyrion stood. "It's not just on you, Lord Baratheon," Jon stated, his respect for the stag evident. "This is an enemy unlike any we have ever seen. None of us know exactly how to defeat him. We will fly North and find where Jaime and Robb are, along with the other evacuees from the North. That is all we can do."

Tyrion concurred, and Stannis saw the conviction in his eyes. But he had not seen the Night King and didn't know the terror he induced.

Still, he was grateful for the show of support and Stannis grunted at the dwarf, wondering how it had come that they were now on the same side, only a few short years ago having battled that night on the Blackwater.

"In the meantime, we can dig trenches and fill them with fuel to be lit. We know that fire will be our best weapon, along with the dragon glass ones being sent from the Capital. Lord Lannister, how is the armoury?" Stannis asked.

"Good, my lord," Kevan answered, proud of what Lancel had accomplished since he'd sent him here over a year ago. The Castle walls would hold; and the dead would break on them, high as they were, in massive numbers. It would take thousands of dead for them to scale these walls, and in the meantime, they had dragons which could obliterate the dead perhaps making it impossible for them even to breach the walls of Harrenhal. It was ironic that a castle that had been destroyed by dragon fire had become the last stand for the living with dragons on their side.

The next morning, the three riders once again climbed atop their dragons, lifting off to find the rest of their army and those from the North. Jon's greatest fear was that they would discover entire houses and loyal bannermen to House Stark were now members of the dead. He knew that would all but destroy his brother.

Within half a day they found Jaime and Robb just south of Greywater Watch. They had made impressive time, given the number of women, children and old people they had with them. The bite of winter was stronger the further north they flew, and as they landed their dragons, they could see the strain on their faces, although seeing Tyrion on the back of the dragon made Jaime grin.

"Little brother, I never thought I'd see the day when you actually got your dragon," Jaime smirked, grin wide. So much had happened, including the betrayal of Tyrion's wife since they'd last seen each other, that Jaime knelt to hug his brother tightly.

"Jaime," Tyrion said, tears forming in his eyes, the relief of seeing his brother again palpable.

"And how is baby Joanna, Tyrion?" Jaime asked softly, cupping his brother's face.

"Perfect, Jaime. She's absolutely perfect." Tyrion's face broke out into a wide grin. 

"Nothing less than you deserve, brother."

Tyrion sobbed into Jaime's arms, as the Golden Lion held him.

Stannis watched the scene between the two brothers with something akin to shame stealing over him, yet again. He'd never have this with his brother because he'd set things in motion for Renley to die. He felt almost sick at the role that he played in that tragedy, and strode for the tent, unable to be around the Lannisters right now. He'd find Ser Davos and inform his loyal man about Shireen and how she was thriving in King's Landing with Queen Sansa and King Tywin and leave the wolves and lions to themselves tonight. He knew he wouldn't be missed and he ached for a family he had destroyed.

Jon embraced Robb, and then the Starks and Lannister sat and ate together; Jeyne, Arya, Ric, Bran, Benjen, Sam, Gilly, Sandor and Brienne joining them.

Jon told them all about King's Landing, including many stories about Sansa and Tywin.

"It was wild," Jon said, shaking his head and looking to Arya and Sandor, "And just like you said. I've never seen a man, so in love with his wife, as Tywin Lannister is with our sister. He dotes on her, and she practically runs the entire Red Keep." Jon shook his head, baffled again by the sheer amount of people that lived down there and how Sansa seemed so at home amongst them.

Robb laughed as Jon told his stories, enjoying the image of their sister as the lady of the realm. Jon arched an eyebrow and looked at his cousins. "I saw Lady Catelyn," he said quietly, and they startled. Robb had an especially tumultuous relationship with his mother and still had not forgiven her for her treatment of his wife. "She apologized for how she treated me, and she misses you all. It was clear she is a changed woman, and her husband seems like a good man."

"What of the Little Bird's Queensguard? Are they any good?" Sandor demanded. He knew he'd made the correct choice in coming North, but he worried that Sansa's guards weren't up for the task of keeping her safe.

"Good," Jon said, and reddened turning his face and hoping no one noticed. Unfortunately, luck was not on his side tonight.

"Why are you blushing, Jon Snow?" Arya asked, demanding an answer.

Tyrion laughed. "Well, that is because Jon Snow has a crush on one of them.”Jon glared daggers at the dwarf, who raised a goblet of wine in his direction. "Don't look at me like that, nephew. I speak the truth. And Dacey Mormont is very beautiful."

Jaime turned and looked at Jon, his eyes dancing in mirth. "Take it from me Jon Snow, a woman that knows her way around the blade is never a bad thing." The look that Jaime had when he gazed upon his wife was nothing short of sickening for those without a love of their own.

"Nothing happened with her," Jon said, ducking his head, but grinning none the less.

"Ahhh, but my dear mother did promise you her hand, should you survive Jon Snow," Tyrion said, and Jon huffed out a breath.

"Did you hide in the walls, listening to my conversations, uncle?" Jon snarled back to him, running a hand through his curls in exasperation.

Tyrion barked out a laugh.

"I'm not the one who said he'd introduce the lady to his dragon," Tyrion japed, and those at the table roared.

Robb slapped Jon on the back, winking at his brother, loving hearing about this side of him. Ever since Jon had been able to prove that the Night King was real, he'd changed dramatically, and only for the better as far as Robb could tell. Now to find out that Jon was falling for a Northern woman, well, Robb was even happier for him. He deserved happiness and a life once this war was done.

"Really, Jon? Your dragon?" Robb roared. "You must think quite highly of your cock to give it such a name!"

Their family howled in laughter as Jon scowled at them all

"I should have my real dragon eat the fucking lot of you," he mumbled, but he let the happiness of his family warm his heart.

"Jon, you should know, that other than somehow taming the Great Lion and loving him, Lady Sansa lives to see the people she loves, happy. She was delighted by your marriage, Jaime, although father has said the Rock is Jason's and not yours." 

Jaime shrugged philosophically. He and Brienne had discussed it; she was her father's heir, and if needed, they could live on the Sapphire Isle. In some way, Jaime thought it might suit him better than to be stuck under his father's thumb for the rest of his days.

"And the Princes?" Jeyne asked. Her and Sansa had continued their corresponded regularly, and she was eager for news.

Jon grinned. "Pampered by their parents and loved by the realm. They look just like the Great Lion, and he hovers over them. It's amazing, seeing Sansa as a mother."

Tyrion heartily agreed. "Our father is crazy for his new family; and having Genna and Catelyn there ensures they are the most loved children in the realm, along with baby Joanna."

Jaime laughed. "Oh gods, I can only imagine Genna and father arguing over them."

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. "Your aunt certainly has a big personality," Jon said, diplomatically, sending both lions into a fit of laughter.

"She's a giant pain in the arse, Jon Snow," Jaime said quickly, reaching for Brienne's hand and smiling at his wife. She was getting used to his public displays, and more comfortable when he touched her like he was.

"Did Sansa say anything about finding Gendry?" Arya asked quietly, still not her usual self. Her arm ached from days in the saddle, and she felt useless even though she was gaining strength with her left.

Jon met her gaze and shook his head. "No, she did not, although she and Lady Shireen have been spending countless hours in Flea Bottom, getting people proper work and teaching them how to read. She's set up multiple orphanages and countless homes for widows with young families." Jon still couldn't quite believe the woman Sansa had become, and he'd seen it firsthand.

"And the weapons? Have they made it to Harrenhal?" Sandor asked, eager for news about the preparations for this war. As far as he could tell, that was what mattered most now not all this emotional bullshit about babies and family.

"They have," Jon answered and then looked to Bran. "We went to the Isle of Faces, Bran. We still don't know how to get him to follow us there. Is there anything more you can tell us?" Jon knew his voice sounded desperate, but he was; desperate that was.

"It is not time for me to know; not yet," was all Bran would say, throwing a damper on the entire evening. When Jon asked if they knew where any of the other Northern houses were, Robb shook his head.

"White Harbour evacuated South by ship. The Tallharts are part of our group, but we've heard no word from the Glovers, Mormonts or Karstarks," Robb said, his voice suddenly weary. He had tried his best to save his people, but even he knew it had been an almost impossible task. They'd be lucky if those they currently had with them made it safely past Harrenhal. He'd already decided he was sending Ric, Gilly, Jeyne, Little Ned and Arya south as fast as possible to Sansa in the capital. He had a raven from his sister telling them they'd be safe, and should the worst happen, should the Night King win, then they had plans to abandon Westeros all together. Robb knew that Tywin Lannister would not let anything happen to his beloved wife.

"What of the south?" Jaime asked, and Tyrion sighed once more.

"Almost all the Vale is empty or holed up in the Eyrie. There were plenty who wouldn't leave, and Royce assures us that there is no way for the dead to scale the walls of that tower. Having been there myself, I tend to agree with him. As for the Riverlands, most make for the Rock, Jaime. Father has opened the gates, and though we know the castle had never been breached by a regular army, who knows with this Night King."

"At least the Rock has sea access; it's not a perfect situation, but boats could be sent to evacuate them if something goes drastically wrong."

Tyrion snorted. "If something goes drastically wrong, all we can hope and pray is that our father has one more great strategy in that brilliant brain of his. But we all know that if things go that wrong, he'd be best to leave Westeros with his wife and heirs." Grim faces met that pronouncement.

Knowing they had to leave at first light, the impromptu family reunion soon broke up, Jon deciding to bunk in with Arya and Ric. He startled when he walked inside their tent to find the three direwolves curled up in a pile with each other; Nymeria, Ghost and Shaggy. As if sensing he was there, Ghost raised his head, and his red eyes met Jon's brown ones.

"Hey boy," Jon said, a grin breaking through his broody face as Ghost padded softly to his side, rubbing himself against Jon. "Gods, I've missed you." Jon buried his face in Ghost's neck, feeling his world right itself again. It always felt like a part of himself was missing when he was away from his wolf. It felt even more like home when he crawled beneath the covers, sharing with Arya and Rickon as if they were once again children back at Winterfell.

"You'll keep your cold feet to yourself, Arya, or I'll thump you," Jon grumbled at her, hearing her laugh as she wiggled and kicked him lightly. It was a sound that had been sorely missing from her lately. Happiness washed over Jon as he listened to his brother and sister settle in for the night, and then their soft snores. He wanted more than anything to defeat this Night King, so his family would be safe. Jon knew that Sansa and Tywin would take care of Arya and Ric, as long as they could get them south to King's Landing in time. Jon finally fell asleep, the sound of wolves and Starks snoring lulling him into a sense of peace, if only for a moment.

The next morning seemed colder than the day before, and they broke camp in the pale dawn. Jon puffed out his breath in the cold air, feeling for a moment as if he was back at Castle Black, it was that cold. He knew it would only get worse; winter was coming, and they all knew who brought it.

Thankfully, in large part due to Sansa, the Lannister Army was outfitted properly in Northern clothing. Jon hated to think about how many men might have died along the way without the proper attire. Jon had barely glanced around him when his breath was knocked out of him, and he was swung around in a pair of strong arms.

"Little crow, you're alive," came Tormund's booming voice. As promised, the Wildlings had followed Robb; first from Castle Black, then to Last Hearth and now even further south. And the self-appointed leader of them was none other than Tormund Giantsbane.

"For fuck sakes, leave him alone," Sandor growled, ripping the redhaired man from Jon. "He needs to fly that fucking dragon of his, not be mauled to death by the likes of you."

Tormund threw back his head and laughed, clapping Jon on the back.

"How are those southern bastards little crow? Did you see the King and Queen? Is she as pretty as they say?" Tormund wiggled his eyebrows. "I hear she is a ginger as well. Kissed by fire; I bet she is beautiful."

Sandor rolled his eyes. "She's married you idiot, and she is his sister," Sandor growled. He'd be damned if some man like Tormund spoke about the Little Bird in such a way. She was the Queen and deserved respect, not to be spoken of the way Tormund was.

"Settle down dog," Tormund grumbled and rolled his eyes at Jon. "Can't say a thing around this one about your pretty sister. I think the dog likes her." Sandor growled, and Tormund just laughed again

Jon shook his head at their antics. "Sansa is good, and yes, her husband is quite possessive of her."

Sandor snorted and shook his head. "He is so in love with her; he can hardly see straight."

"And you, crow? I hear there are whores in King's Landing that have all their teeth." Tormund had lowered his voice, and Jon just shook his head in wonder at the Wildling and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I was too busy meeting a she-bear, Tormund."

The Wildling's eyes widened. "A real bear? Where did you find one of those down there in the south?"

Jon threw his head back and laughed, not wanting to know anything more. "No, Tormund. A she-bear from Bear Island and one of Sansa's Queensguard.

Sandor was looking at the Wildling and shaking his head. "I don't want to fucking know, Wildling, what you do in that northern wasteland with bears.

Tormund shrugged philosophically. "You make do with what you have."

Both Jon and Sandor had slightly horrified looks on their faces. Thankfully, they were saved by Stannis, who had spent the night with Ser Davos.

The onion knight had been overjoyed to hear how Lady Shireen was doing, and didn't dare ask about Gendry who he'd smuggled out of Dragonstone years ago. Davos knew something was weighing on his Lord, but Stannis hadn't shared much, only that they still had no real plan to kill the Night King and that they were worried the Northern houses would be swallowed up by his army.

"We need to leave, Jon," Stannis said, voice stern.

Jon straightened immediately, thinking about the past twelve hours and how wonderful it had felt to be around family and friends. Now they would push even further North, again, and hope to bring back good news.

"I'll find Tyrion," was all Jon said and nodded towards Sandor and Tormund.

Striding through the camp, Jon saw the fear and worry on too many faces. So many had never been this far south, having never lived their entire lives in towns and villages in the North. Now their whole lives were contained on horseback or small wagons. He rubbed his face wearily, the weight of this war suddenly present and oppressive. He tried not to make too much eye contact, he didn't know what he might say, and found Tyrion with Bronn, Jaime and Brienne at the edge of the camp.

"Time to go," was all Jon said and Tyrion nodded. The Starks all appeared, and Jon hugged them hard.

"We'll find you soon," Jon whispered, hugging Arya, Ric and then Robb. He knelt before Bran and cupped his face. "Keep them safe, little brother."

Bran gave him a sad little smile, and Jon got a bad feeling in his stomach. When he straightened, he gripped Benjen who repeated the edict to stay safe.

Robb pulled him close, roughly and held him tightly. "Don't be stupid, Jon. Come back." Jon held on just a bit longer until they finally parted.

Jaime had Tyrion in a tight hug as well, whispering to his little brother. "Let the others go first, brother. No need to be a hero."

Tyrion chuckled softly. Even with a dragon, his big brother was always trying to protect him. "Jaime, I'm on a dragon- they are practically indestructible."

Jaime got a worried look on his face. "Tyrion, I'm serious. He is unlike anything we've ever seen. Do not ever underestimate him." Jaime had Tyrion's face in his hands and was trying to talk sense into his little brother. Jaime had seen the Night King and his son had paid the ultimate price when Jaime had underestimated just what a threat he was.

"Tyrion, please, listen to Jaime. He's seen him," Brienne pleaded, also kneeling down to the dwarf.

He nodded. "Trust me, family, I'm no hero, and I have no wish to die. I want to live if only to see my daughter again."

All three nodded at him and then gripped him again, and finally said their goodbyes, watching Jon and Tyrion, along with Stannis approach their dragons, climb on top and then take to the skies, that were dark and foreboding with the promise of more snow. When they were gone, Robb and Jaime rallied their army, the Wildings, the northern houses and the ordinary people and began the trek south, hoping to make it to the Twins by weeks end.

* * *

_ Meanwhile in King's Landing _

Sansa was finishing up with the three babies when she looked up to see Tywin standing in the nursery. He came over and took Tysan from her arms, his heir grabbing at Tywin's whiskers as the Great Lion smiled at him. It didn't matter what else was going on in the kingdom, here in this room with his sons and his granddaughter, Tywin felt peace steal over him for a brief moment

He raised his eyes and found Sansa looking at him with such love, that his heart stuttered slightly. She was so incredibly beautiful, holding his other son, while pregnant with his child. He gave her a soft smile as they rocked their children in their arms.

"Sansa I know you had plans to go to Flea Bottom today, but I've just spoken with Addam. It is too dangerous." He saw her mouth open to protest and gentled his tone

"My love, please trust me. With the number of evacuees from other regions, Flea Bottom is teeming with unrest right now. People are scared, and space is at a premium. When we have defeated this Night King, you may resume your reformation of the area, but you are too precious for me to risk you.

Sansa huffed out a frustrated breath, but it was impossible to argue with her husband when he was both reasonable and gentle with her.

"Fine. But you will take Jerrod, Tywin." She worried about him as well. "And full armour, husband. You are precious to me as well, you know."

He nodded at her demand, secretly delighted by her worry. It had been decades since someone cared if Tywin lived or died, but he knew Sansa did.

"Come here," he all but growled at her, and he saw Sansa's eyes darken with desire. They had been so busy there was hardly time for them to be together and they often fell into an exhausted sleep each night, wrapped in each other's arms, taking comfort in these troubled times where they could find it.

Sansa set Jason down as Tywin did the same to Tysan and then opened his arms for his wife, who came willingly, sighing in happiness as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I miss our time together, Tywin." She hated to complain about the lack of time with her husband when so many of their loved ones were marching to war, but here, alone, she knew she could be truthful with him and that he would understand her.

"As do I, my love," he said, tightening his hold on her. "How do you feel?" He let his hands rest on her stomach.

She titled her head so she could look into her husband's eyes and saw his concern there. She wondered how he shouldered the immense burdens that had been placed on him.

"I'm good, my lion," she told him. It was mostly a truthful statement; carrying one child was easier than two, and the addition of baby Joanna was hardly a burden with the help that Sansa had from Genna and her mother along with Shireen.

It was her heart and mind that was in a constant state of worry, but she would not add her concerns to her husband's shoulders. He needed his Queen to be strong.

He cupped her cheeks and kissed her and filled it with all his love and desire for her.

"Sansa my love, I am worried about them all as well."

She nodded and allowed herself another moment to be held in his strong arms.

"Come find me when you are back. I'll most likely be in the Throne room listening to the petitioners."

He promised he would and, not for the first time, marvelled at how she was an excellent Queen. She had all but taken over the day to day ruling of the realm while he worked on the war effort, and there was no one he trusted more in all of Westeros.

When he left the nursery, he was pleased to see Shireen, Catelyn and Genna waiting for his wife. He'd take no chances with the women of his House, and pulled Dacey Mormont aside. It seemed to be his lot in life to be surrounded by strong-willed women.

"The Queen is a stubborn woman, Commander Mormont, but you are in charge of her security. If for any reason, at all, you fear for her safety today during court, you will make her leave. No arguments."

Dacey nodded and swallowed hard. The King was right to be concerned; she'd seen the sheer number of people now swarming into Kings Landing and could feel the palpable tension in the streets. People were scared, and when they were frightened, they made stupid decisions.

"I will, Your Grace. I will also increase her guards. Where will you be?"

"In Flea Bottom with Ser Marbrand and Ser Jerrod."

Tywin mounted his warhorse, having left his crown behind and pulled on his Lannister armour. He hated that he felt he needed it; for a time, with Sansa's reforms, Kings Landing had felt almost safe. She had worked tirelessly to clean it up, to give people gainful employment and to root out corruption. Her new goodfather, Ser Marbrand, also deserved high praise for his role in making the streets of the capital safe again. But now, with so many new people, crowds had swelled and there weren't enough resources to go around.

Today they were headed to the main forge, where Tywin wanted to take stock of the weapons being made for the war; they had a massive army, and regular steel was useless against this foe.

When they dismounted, the King was flanked by guards which annoyed him; he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

The trip down to the very bottom of the capital had reaffirmed what Tywin had been told. Kings Landing was overcrowded and teeming with fear. The stench of shit and waste was stronger than it had been in years, and every corner of the cobbled streets was littered with people. It would only take the smallest spark to incite a riot, and that was the last thing Tywin needed. They dismounted to take stock of the weapons stores.

Just as they approached the forge, a small child darted our, between the guards. Jerrod and Addam reacted instinctively, drawing their swords until they saw it was little Alyce, the orphan who had testified against Lord Baelish.

"Your grace," she cried happily, and Tywin gave her a small nod of his head. "Where is the Queen?"

Tywin shook his head in wonder at how loved Sansa was. "In the castle, child, holding court."

Alyce nodded then she grinned. "I saw the Imp on his dragon, Your Grace and I told everyone I knew him!"

For once, Tywin didn't snarl at the description of Tyrion, only gave her a pointed look. He'd known that by riding that dragon his second son would gain a following and it appeared he had.

Tywin was just about to say something to Alyce when a commotion drew his attention. Several drunk men, large and angry, were pushing against Tywin's guards.

"There ‘e is. The fucking King ‘imself who kicked us out of our home," one of them yelled.

"I wonder if he bleeds gold," said another.

"I'd like to make his fancy wife bleed."

"We're starving, and he's up in the fookin' castle, laughing at us."

The group had swelled until they outnumbered Tywin's guards.

"On your horse, Your Grace," Jerrod yelled, pulling his sword. Ser Marbrand did the same. Before Tywin could mount up, a massive explosion sounded from one of the nearby forges and the horses spooked, leaving the King and his ten guards with no escape.

"Run Alyce and alert the City Watch," Tywin commanded her, seeing her nod and dart away. He had to pray that Sansa's network would alert more soldiers to come to their aid.

The men that attacked them were not soldiers; instead farmers, smiths and laymen from various parts around Westeros. But they had numbers, and the streets ran red with their blood, as well as some of Tywin's Kingsguard. The King himself swung his sword, demonstrating his skill. Unfortunately in the chaos he has been separated from Jerrod and Addam and was suddenly surrounded by five men. Tywin was a great swordsman, but five against one were not favourable odds.

"You'll all die, either by my sword or my wife's orders," Tywin snarled at them, thinking it would be an ignoble end for him to be killed by an angry mob. He knew that no matter what happened, Sansa would rule the realm in his stead, until Tysan could take his place as the next king. But Gods, Tywin didn't want to die, not now that he had found her. 

"Shut your mouth," one snarled at him and lunged. Tywin cut him down, guts spilling from his torn belly when the other four attacked. It was the end of Tywin Lannister, the Great Lion and King of Westeros until a guttural cry filled the air and a large war hammer swung at two of the men, all but obliterating their heads. Tywin made quick work of the remaining men and then looked to his unlikely saviour.

It was like seeing a ghost; as if a young Robert Baratheon stood before him. The young man was stocky and well-muscled, dark-haired and holding a war hammer.

"Come on Your Grace, let's get you back to your men," the young man said.

Tywin hesitated only for a moment, temporarily unable to process that a bastard of Robert's had just saved his life

"Where did you come from?" The King demanded.

"The forge. Heard they were attacking you." Gendry looked around and spotted Tywin's horse and guards. "Let's go." He hustled the King towards both. When they got there, both Jerrod and Addam let out relieved sighs to see the King alive.

"Who is he?" They asked. Tywin waved a hand, still unsettled by what had happened and who he now owed his life to.

"He saved me. Bring him with us." Within moments they were once again mounted, a horse was found for Gendry, and they were on their way to the Red Keep. Upon entering the gates, Sansa all but flew into Tywin's arms. She'd been informed of the melee in Flea Bottom and was sick with worry.

Tywin was covered in blood and gore, but she didn't care as she ran her hands over him.

"I'm all right wife," Tywin tried to reassure her, but she was shaking. "Come, love, help me bathe." He needed to get her alone so he could comfort her; he was fine. When they entered their bathing room, Sansa helped him strip his armour off, letting it fall to the floor. She ran her hands over his body, noting the nick on his face and a more substantial gash on his arm. Her eyes filled with tears and Tywin dragged her closer.

"Hush love, I survived. It will take more than that to kill this old lion," he murmured into her ear as they sunk into the hot water. He held her as she sobbed and eventually calmed.

"I was so scared, Tywin," she told him. "How did you survive?"

He gave her a rueful grin and then shared about the blacksmith that had come to his aid with a war hammer. Sansa knew her history and her eyes widened.

"Who is he?"

Tywin sighed and let his head drop back against the tub, Sansa still in his arms.

"A bastard of Robert's I'm sure, but I can't very well have him killed now can I? He saved my life, Sansa."

She saw the truth there and knew that Tywin would feel he owed this man a debt.

Then her eyes widened. "Oh, that means he'd be a cousin to Shireen."

Tywin nodded. When they eventually dressed and made it to his solar, the smith was waiting. Pacing and uncomfortable, he startled when he saw the King and Queen, now resplendent in their clothing, looking every inch the wealthy and powerful rulers, they were. The smith hadn't been left alone; Jerrod stood watch along with Dacey. No one was taking a chance with the King and Queen after what happened today, even though this nobody had saved the King's life.

"Sit," Tywin commanded and watched the young man flop into a chair. There could be no doubt he was Robert's now that he was clean. The resemblance was uncanny and not for the first time, Tywin wondered at Cersei's idiocy. How anyone in the realm believed for a single second that her three children were Robert's was beyond him. Baratheon's were strong and dark, like the young man in front of him. It was Lannsiters that were golden, as all Cersei and Jaime's children had been.

"Tell me, how did a bastard son of Robert's escape Joffrey's death squads?" Tywin asked and saw the young man glower at him, keeping his mouth shut.

Tywin huffed out an impatient sigh. "I'm not going to have you murdered; you saved my life. But we need your story."

Gendry shot a glance to the Queen, who might have been the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He knew exactly who she was, and wanted to ask about Arya. But he also remembered what Ser Davos had said about hiding in plain sight. When Gendry had made the choice to save the King, he knew his life might be forfeit. After all, his blood relative would have let the Red Priestess bleed him dry. What would the Great Liion do to him?

"Perhaps we can start with your name?" The Queen said a soft smile on her face. It was impossible not to respond to her, and Gendry sighed.

"Gendry, M'lady," and watched as both the King and Queen startled before the Queen let out a joyful sound

"Your Arya's smith!" She cried and rushed to hug him. Gendry had never been so close to a monarch in his entire life, and patted her awkwardly, stunned by the fact that she seemed to know who he was.

When Tywin finally pulled Sansa from Gendry, he gave the smith a look.

"The Queen's sister has been looking for you," Tywin explained.

"She's alive then? Even now?" He sounded both fearful and hopeful, and Sansa could see that he cared a great deal for her sister.

Sansa nodded and reached for Gendry's hand. "She is. She is with my brothers, making their way south to Harrenhal."

Gendry paled at the mention of that Castle and Tywin's eyes narrowed. "You were there. With her. With Arya Stark, weren't you?"

He nodded, a guarded look on his face. Tywin sighed and pulled Sansa into a chair. He looked at the young man in front of him, his mind racing on what to do.

"I think by now you realize we are not going to take your head, nor are we going to throw you in the black cells. Your story, Gendry."

Robert's bastard rubbed his neck and looked at them, and they made a decision. He might be a dead man either way, but at least this way, they'd hear what happened to him; he was out of options. He told them of escaping Harrenhal with Arya and Hotpie, and berating Arya for not using the faceless man to kill Tywin.

The King smiled at that. "I knew we had bonded," was his response and Sansa shushed him, although he looked smug and Sansa couldn't help but roll her eyes at him. It was a wonder some days how he'd survived, his ego so incredibly large.

"Tywin, please. Let him speak." Tywin brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, watching as Sansa blushed prettily.

Gendry just watched the two in stunned wonder. He'd never seen anyone act like the two of them.

Shaking himself, he told them how they'd been caught up with the Brotherhood and then about Sandor and his fight with Beric Dondarrion. Sansa got a big smile on her face, hearing how Sandor had beat the man with the flaming sword, although Tywin growled, before being hushed by her, again. Their antics were baffling to the bastard smith. He thought all rich noble people hated their spouse? These two carried on as if they didn't care who saw them banter back and forth. Gendry scrubbed a hand down his face and continued.

"When the Hound was leaving with Arya, she begged me to go with her, but I stayed with the Brotherhood. Worst decision of my life." His tale grew darker as the Brotherhood sold him to the Red Priestess and then shared his time on Dragonstone with Stannis and the crazy witch.

"She'd have fucking killed me for her blood magic, and he'd have let her. He was just as crazy as her," Gendry said heatedly. He left the part out where he'd been seduced by Melisandre; no need to revisit that embarrassment.

Tywin frowned when he'd heard what had happened on Dragonstone. He'd spoken with Stannis about his following of the Essos religion and had seen shame in the stoic man's face. It made Tywin wondered what they were trying to accomplish with Gendry, and he distrusted anyone who was a religious fanatic.

"Why you?"

"Said she needed my royal blood."

"And Lady Shireen? Your cousin? Did you see her when you were at Dragonstone?" Sansa asked.

Gendry shook his head. "No, Your Grace," a bit startled to realize he had a family. He'd never really had that; only when he'd been with Arya and Hotpie.

"How did you escape?"

Gendry swallowed hard and said nothing. Tywin admired the man's loyalty, but he needed a name.

"We don't have all day," Tywin intoned, flexing his fist in frustration.

"Set Davos. She would have killed me," Gendry said eventually.

Tywin nodded, satisfied. He turned and looked at Sansa, and something unspoken passed between them.

"How would you like to meet your cousin, Gendry?" Sansa asked softly, and his brown eyes warmed.

He swallowed hard and nodded. "I won't let anyone hurt her, Your Graces," he pledged, and they knew his word was true. There was something about this young man that they trusted and he had more than proven himself today. Hell, he could have swung the decisive blow and killed Tywin, and instead he'd saved him.

Sansa rose and left the room, giving Tywin time alone with him.

"You understand what you did today changes everything for you, don't you?"

Gendry cocked his head. "Don't see why. Still a bastard and a smith. Can't read or write, Your Grace."

Tywin snorted, amused by his honesty. "You saved my life. That means I am in your debt, and as you know, a Lannister always pays his debts."

Gendry looked bewildered for a moment. "Be nice to have a better room. Maybe a better position in the forge," he mumbled, shrugging. He could use a little bit of coin, and new boots as well, but he didn't want to be greedy.

Tywin was silent until he leaned forward, and Gendry had no idea what he was thinking. "I am the richest man in the Kingdom and the King. I can give you anything. A Castle, a thousand gold dragons. Hell, I could give you a noble wife and send you off to the Stormlands, and yet all you ask for is a better room and position?"

Gendry glanced down at his hand, worn and burnt from a lifetime of hard work. "I'd like to learn to read. And fight; like a true knight. Like to not be a bastard and maybe one day see the Stormlands."

Tywin rose and placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "You will come and live in the Red Keep and train under Ser Marbrand. I will have you outfitted with proper armour and sword. When you are not training, you will learn from a Maester. And you will swear fealty to Lady Shireen; that you will always guard her and keep her safe, along with your vow to be loyal to the Queen and me.

Gendry swallowed hard and looked at the King, hardly daring to believe him. "Are you serious?"

Tywin nodded and wondered what Arya Stark would think when Sansa sent a raven saying her friend had been found. He heard a commotion and looked up to see Lady Shireen chatting happily with Sansa. Her eyes came to his, and he saw the relief there, and then tears. She ran to him, hugging the King, wrapping her small arms around his middle.

"I was so scared when I heard they attacked you, Your Grace," she cried, and he patted her awkwardly. Somehow, she had come to be a surrogate daughter to them, and he tried to reassure her he was fine.

"I am fine, Lady Shireen. We have a guest." She composed herself and then turned looking at the young man, who had risen to his feet and stood there, shuffling a bit under her scrutiny.

"You're a Baratheon," she exclaimed excitedly, and Tywin rumbled out a chuckle.

"Clever girl," he told her, and she smiled at him.

"Who are you?

"Robert Baratheon's bastard, M'Lady," Gendry said. "Name's Gendry. I'm a smith.

Shireen curtsied to him and then smiled, taking a seat next to him and peppering him with questions. "What's to happen to him, Your Grace?" She asked the King and Tywin explained the new path that Gendry was on.

"I'll teach you how to read; I did with Ser Davos," she said, smiling at her cousin who looked slightly stunned at everything that had happened. When the two family members left, Dacey assuring Tywin and Sansa that she would find a room for him, Sansa let out a small laugh.

"Gendry will have his hands full with her. She'll make him her pet project, and he'll be the most learned smith in the entire keep by the time she is done with him," Sansa said, wrapping her arms around Tywin and kissing his neck. "Well done, husband." Tywin preened under her praised, happy she liked his plan.

"Satisfied, wife?" She nodded and clasped his hand.

"Come, husband, I have to make sure you are well and truly unharmed."

Tywin let himself be lead into their bedchamber, knowing they needed the steal the next few hours and that work would wait. Right now, the Queen needed her King, and Tywin found it impossible to deny Sansa anything, closing the door and shutting the rest of Westeros aside, if only for a few hours. There would be time later to plot and plan and worry; now was for assuring his wife he was still the Great Lion, and that he was hers in every way.

* * *

_ North of Greywater Watch _

The ride North was miserable, and despite the heat of the dragons, the three men were chilled to the bone as they fought snow and cold the further they flew. They did not find any of the Glovers or Mormonts at Moat Cailin, and when they stopped and camped there for the night, Stannis and Jon were looking at a map of the North.

"If I were Glover, I'd come straight down and make for Torrhen's Square," Jon said, pointing to the seat of House Tallhart. The house was on the road south with Robb and Jaime. They knew that House Dustin had already made it to the Twins, and they agreed to stop at Barrowton first, and then further North if they weren't there.

"We might have to abandon our mission," Stannis said gravely, wondering just how much they could push the dragons. All three men agreed that the beasts did not like the cold of the North.

"This is a miserable land, Jon Snow," Tyrion said conversationally, as the men huddled together. Jon shook his head at the dwarf.

"You've spent so little time here, how can you possibly say that?"

"Are you forgetting that I pissed off the side of the Wall, Jon?

Jon shook his head, laughing at Tyrion. "No, I have not."

"And now, here we are. Me the bastard, and you, the prince of the realm.

"I'm no prince, Tyrion."

Tyrion shook his head an leaned forward. "Men have waged wars for that seat, Jon. This one did," Tyrion said, pointing to Stannis who glared at the dwarf.

"Well, that's not me. I've never wanted the crown," Jon said, refusing to let Tyrion wind him up. "I'm not like most men."

"No, you really aren't." Tyrion had heard Jaime say those words enough, and it made him think of his brother as they came out of Jon Snow’s mouth.

The next day, they pushed further North. Barrowton was abandoned, and Jon felt a chill skirt down his spine at the eeriness of it all. The whole North had been emptied, and while they weren't the most populous region, they were one of the oldest. People here were proud of their land, and it must have been heartbreaking for them to leave their homes.

It was only as they approached Torrhen's Square when they spotted the first trickle of humanity. A steady line, growing more prominent the further they flew, of evacuees from Houses Mormont and Glover. The people on the ground, once afraid of the dragons, smiled and shouted when they saw the three riders, and as Jon, Stannis and Tyrion continued to push towards the Castle, the line of people swelled.

Jon was grinning at Tyrion, happy they'd found them alive, when a wave of cold hit them, hard. Rhaegal screeched, almost in pain, as Jon saw his wings practically ice up.

_What is going on?_ Jon thought, desperately. It was so cold it was hard to even draw in a breath. The leading group of people was on the lake, running now, people abandoning their meagre belongings and merely trying to get away from whatever chased them. Dread filled Jon, as he looked through the fog, he spotted the army of the dead and the Night King himself on the other side of the lake, marching swiftly towards their prey.

As if they were connected by some invisible force, the Night King's eyes locked on Jon. Jon looked around, seeing Tyrion and Stannis beside him. If they could get the people off the lake, the dragons could heat the ice, making it impossible for the army of the dead to cross and slowing them down considerably. They might save thousands of lives, but they needed to act fast.

They'd discussed maneuvers over the past few weeks, including some flanking ones. Drogon, Stannis's dragon, seemed especially affronted by the Night King and took the first pass at the army, the Storm Lord screaming out _dracarys_ and unleashing a torrent of fire on the wights below. Not to be outdone, Tyrion swooped in with Viserion, following suit, as Jon saw thousands of dead perish in an instant.

Jon took Rhaegal low, yelling for the people to hurry, to cross the lake as fast as they could. He saw old men fall, women stumble, and children stampeded, and his heart ached, but he had to think of the greater good. The army was starting to cross the frozen lake, and there would be a moment when they'd have to heat the ice. They could take out thousands of more wights if they timed it perfectly, but everyone knew there would be human casualties. 

While Jon was shouting at the people to flee, Tyrion and Stannis were taking turns unleashing a fiery hell on the Night King's army. Stannis grinned in grim satisfaction when Drogon let a particularly nasty volley of flames go, sure that he'd caught the Night King in its path. He glanced back and saw the Night King step through Drogon's flames, and his heart almost sunk. It seemed Bran Stark was right; he would not be vanquished by dragon fire.

Stannis was distracted, and almost missed a projectile that was thrown towards him, only darting out of the way at the last moment. Belatedly he realized that the Night King had long spears, clearly intended to take down the dragons, and he pushed Drogon higher to avoid this latest attack.

Jon joined him, and they looked at one another, seeing now that the army of the dead was at least partway on the frozen lake, and closing fast on the living. Tyrion was there as well, and they nodded at one another. They would have to sacrifice some of the living, to ensure the dead didn't add to their numbers, but it was a small price to pay. They needed to stop the Night King here and buy more time for the people to escape. 

"I'll go low," Tyrion all but shouted and before either man could say a word, took Viserion down, Jon and Stannis following closely. The dragons did their job, obliterating the ice, and they watched in grim satisfaction as thousands of more wights fell into the water, drowning before their very eyes. Distracted by the spectacle below them, both Jon and Tyrion missed the two spears that were hurtled towards them from the ground below. Rhaegal and Jon, having the strongest bond, avoided the one, but Viserion was hit. An awful shriek filled the air, as the dragon's blood gushed from his body, the hit fatal.

Jon felt the world stop as he watched the dragon fall. Tyrion strapped to his back, was unable to get loose. He crashed to the ground with an awful sound of finality; the only saving grace was that he was on the far side of the lake and away from the Night King and the White Walkers.

Jon thought he would be sick, his mind numb unable to process what he was seeing, as Rhaegal screamed in agony at his fallen brother. He dove without Jon's prodding toward Viserion and Tyrion, who lay still and unmoving on the ground below. When they landed, Jon was off his back in an instant, running towards them, as people from House Glover and Mormont swarmed.

"Get out of the fucking way," Jon screamed, heart in his throat, eyes burning. He had to get to Tyrion. When he finally pushed through the crowd, he saw Viserion's eyes close and there, on his back, at an angle that couldn't possibly be considered normal, was Tyrion.

"Nephew, quickly," Tyrion said, opening his eyes briefly. Jon scrambled up the dragon, suddenly realizing that Stannis was beside him

They kneeled beside Tyrion, who was labouring in his breathing. He gripped Jon's hand. "Take me back to my father," he pleaded with Jon. Jon nodded, tears streaming down his face. "And tell Lady Sansa that I trust only her with my daughter."

He let out a painful sigh. "Fuck Jaime's going to be angry. It's not his fault. You tell him, Jon. Not his fault."

"I will, Uncle. I'll tell them all. They'll write tales of you and your bravery. The man who saved Houses Mormont and Glover."

Tyrion gave one last wry smile and then one more shuddering breath before he whispered, "You have to burn the dragon, so he doesn't get him." Then he was still, and Jon crumpled over his small body, sobs wracking his frame.

Silence dominated the land, broken only by Jon mourning the loss of a man he'd come to respect and like. A man who was his family. 

"We have to go, Jon," Stannis said, resting a hand on Jon's shoulder, deeply shaken by what had just happened. Jon wiped the tears from his eyes and cut the bindings that had kept Tyrion strapped to the dragon's back. He cradled the dwarf in his arms, walking back towards Rhaegal, whose eyes held the same devastation as Jon's.

"You have to do as he says, Stannis and burn Viserion. We can't let the Night King reanimate him."

Stannis nodded and looked to the people. "Go fast and hard; we've bought you some time, but he is relentless." He saw the fear on their faces as they scrambled to comply, glancing back at the dead dragon and little lion in Jon Snow's arms.

When Jon climbed on the back of Rhaegal, he dipped his head, and let a hand rest on his neck. "I'm sorry. I know he was your brother," he whispered to his dragon and felt him in his mind, each seeking comfort from each other. They were both reeling from the loss today. "We'll bring him home, but first we need to get his brother."

Jon saw Stannis mount Drogon, and as Rhaegal took to the air, he heard the soft call of _dracarys_ as the black dragon's flames engulfed the blue and cream dragon. Rhaegal let out a small cry of pain and then turned them south. Drogon and Stannis joined them, a deafening silence their only companions as they flew south, to find Jaime Lannister and deliver the devastating news that his brother was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am more than happy to discuss my reasons and thoughts, but no hate, please. If you don't like my choices, be respectful and we can chat. 
> 
> And yes, there will be more major character deaths in the upcoming chapters, but I do promise a concrete ending, as well as some Happy Ever Afters. 
> 
> T


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for trusting me on this journey- I promise it will be worth it. 
> 
> The fallout from Tyrion's death. No major character deaths in this chapter, but we meet a new (old) character :)

* * *

_Timeline wise: The King's Landing portion of this chapter matches up with right after Gendry saved Tywin, and before the three dragons went North. _

* * *

_ King's Landing _

"Tywin," Sansa moaned, panting his name as her husband sucked on her neck while his talented fingers sunk inside her, stroking her over and over again.

"I want to watch you shatter in my arms, Sansa. And when you are aching for me, then I will sink inside you, and bring you up again."

She arched up against him, loving how he drove her out of her mind with need. This was so familiar to her by now; her husband's desire that was matched by her own. She'd had so little idea before her marriage, how connected she could feel to another person they way she did when it was just her and Tywin, alone in their bedchambers.

"Ty, please," she begged, and he rumbled out a laugh in her ear, clearly indicating her lion was in a playful mode today.

"Come for me," he commanded, and she did so, moaning his name, shaking from the force of what he made her feel. Without giving her even a second to recover, he pulled her against his chest, angling her body in such a way that he could sink into her from behind, while cupping her breasts, rolling her nipples and still sucking on her sensitive neck.

"It will never get old, seeing you respond like that, my lioness," Tywin growled in her ear, thrusting deeply inside her so that they were as close as two people could be. She loved it when her husband was inside her and let out a series of sounds to encourage him to keep moving, which he did so willingly.

"You are mine, Sansa. My wife, my love, mine, mine, mine," Tywin roared in her ear as he stroked that spot between her legs that made her cry out again.

Sansa arched back and wrapped her arms around his neck, keeping them close as she felt his pace increase.

"Now, please gods, Tywin," she said in one long breath, and he grunted as she tightened around him, drawing him deeper and bathing the inside of her with his spendings.

Afterwards, he held her close, uncaring about the mess they'd made as they both slowed their breathing, content to stay wrapped up in each other.

"My love," Tywin whispered to her, nuzzling her neck as she giggled. Her pale skin was flush, damp and utterly perfect as he licked at her, loving what she tasted like.

"My insatiable lion." There was a lightness to her tone and unmistakable happiness. That, more than anything, made Tywin preen; that his wife enjoyed their marriage bed as much as he did.

Sansa loved how much Tywin wanted her. She knew from her time at court and speaking with the ladies of the realm that many husbands could hardly stand to be in the same room as their wife, let alone want to couple with the need that Tywin had. He could never have her enough times, and it made her feel loved and treasured.

After Tywin and Sansa had retired to their rooms last evening, Shireen had sent a note stating that Gendry would be joining her the next morning to break their fast with the King and Queen. Neither one had any desire to tell her no.

"She'll be quite the ruler of Storm's End, one day," Tywin muttered upon reading the note. Privately he was delighted by her; she was smart, charming and had a spine of iron.

Both Sansa and Tywin were interested in Gendry, although for vastly different reasons. Sansa wanted to discover why her sister seemed so taken with him, while Tywin still couldn't quite figure the young man out. They knew the smith had no idea just how drastically his life had changed with his actions yesterday.

Sansa laughed as she dressed, fussing over the gash on Tywin's arm that he had reopened with their lovemaking, seeming not to care that he'd reinjured himself.

"Woman it is nothing," Tywin said, brushing away her concerns and her hand, although he loved how she worried about him.

Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth pursed into a thin line. Pretty lips that he wanted to kiss, again and again, Tywin thought distractedly. Hell, even now, knowing that the capital was on the brink of riot due to its swelled numbers, that war was almost upon them and that they might all perish to this Night King, Tywin wanted nothing more than to drag her back to bed, keeping his Queen there day and night. Such was the power of Sansa and his all-consuming love for her.

"Tywin Lannister, I do not care if you are king of the seven kingdoms; in this room, you are my husband, and I'll worry about you however I'd like. And you will not brush me aside as if I am some fishwife when you need tending too," Sansa said in a demanding voice.

The King's eyes widened before he threw his head back and laughed. Sansa cocked her hip, her hand resting there and a look of fire in her eyes.

Quick as could be, he hauled her into his arms, kissing her soundly. "Yes, my lioness." He ran his tongue over the marks he had left on her neck, loving that they were once again visible for all to see.

She shook her head and gentled her voice. "I don't know what I would do if something were to happen to you, Tywin. You have to know that. I need you alive and ruling this country with me."

The Great Lion carded his hands through her hair and captured her lips. "And I plan on being by your side for a long time, my love."

"Good. Now your next child is hungry," she said, letting her hands rest briefly on her stomach where the next Lannister lion grew. "Help me dress."

One thing Sansa had discovered throughout her marriage, was that Tywin loved to be dressed well, and made a point of ensuring their wardrobe reflected their wealth and station. She'd long given up trying to temper his habit for spending gold on her; he seemed to take particular delight in ensuring she was the best-dressed woman in the realm, and this had never been truer the moment he'd put her crown on her head.

It had taken Sansa some time to recognize this as part of the Lannister charm and become comfortable with it. She was used to the functionality of Northern clothing. For a long time, she associated beautiful gowns and jewels with Cersei and hated the self-induced guilt that came from ordering a new gown. But Tywin had slowly and patiently eased her of such feelings, and now, she embraced her role as Queen, which included looking the part.

Today he helped her into a velvet dress that she'd had made especially for this pregnancy, and she loved the dark green colour. Dressing together remained a daily habit, and one Sansa relished. Her husband, it seemed, liked nothing more than tying the laces on her dress, almost as much as he enjoyed undoing them each night. Never would Sansa have ever imagined Tywin being a man that took pleasure in such a simple task, but he'd explained it was the height of intimacy, to partake in such menial daily tasks with his wife.

Unlike in the past, where it had been too warm to wear heavy fabrics this far south, the coming winter had dramatically changed the climate in King's Landing. Now Sansa had wraps made of fur and thick gowns of heavy fabric that she loved. It reminded her of life in the North, and while her lion grumbled, the wolf in Sansa delighted in the changing season. She only hoped this Night King would be defeated so that a natural winter would come.

Tywin chose the lion torque necklace for her, fastening it around her.

"Beautiful," he murmured, letting his fingers trace the lions along with the elegant line of her pale neck.

Finally, he added her crown, getting a jolt every time he saw it on her head. "My Queen," he all but purred, and Sansa glowed under his praise. She wondered for a moment if there had ever been a woman as loved as her in Westeros, her King devoting countless hours of his life to making her happy. She ran her hands over the heavy Lannister gold, recalling her name day when he'd given her the necklace.

Tywin had warmer clothing made as well; heavier tunics and breeches. But the King still wore his traditional doublets, including the one Sansa loved best; black leather with golden lions. He too wore his crown, recognizing more than ever that the people needed a show of strength right now from their monarchs. The trappings of the Iron Throne were as much a part of their power as the armies they commanded.

When they were finally ready, Sansa took his hand and lead them towards the dining hall. The babies were there, Joanna in Lady Genna's arms, while the princes were being attended to by their nannies, two loyal women from the Westerlands. Sansa cooed at them, watching as they smiled and responded to her voice, gently running a hand down each of their cheeks.

Lady Catelyn and Ser Addam were also there, both pleased to see that the King was indeed hale and hearty after such a close call. Catelyn would never really understand how her daughter had fallen so deeply in love with such a severe man, but she knew Sansa was much safer with him alive than dead. Still, it was never completely comfortable when Catelyn and Tywin were in the same room together. The Great Lion had still not forgiven her for releasing Jaime, nor for her lack of ability in encouraging her eldest son to fight for Sansa's return when she had been a captive of Joffrey's. It was only Sansa's skill that had saved her in King's Landing; not her family, which was shameful in Tywin's mind. Look at what he'd done to get Tyrion back.

The adults, having taken their spots at the table, as the babies were being taken care of by their loyal attendants, suddenly heard Lady Shireen's cheerful voice before they saw her. Sansa smiled brightly when she entered with her cousin Gendry following closely behind.

"It is not proper M'lady for me to eat here," he was saying, embarrassment and annoyance colouring his words as he glanced around the room. He looked as if he were afraid to touch anything, and for a moment, Sansa recalled how overwhelming the capital was when she had first arrived. And she had been raised at Winterfell. She could scarcely imagine what it might be for someone from Flea Bottom.

The Lannisters were known for the tastes in beautiful things and had painted everything in gold. For a bastard born smith that had lived his entire life in Flea Bottom, it was quite intimidating. Sansa knew her husband was a vain man, one whose ego was boundless, and for a good reason considering the position he now occupied. It had been impossible for Tywin to resist stamping the Lannister Lion on the Red Keep and indeed, he and Sansa had many heated battles about the sheer opulence in which he insisted on living. Sansa loved her husband, but on this, she knew they would never agree; her northern upbringing made it hard for her to understand the need for such luxury, although her husband insisted on much of it for her as anyone. And he had argued passionately that his sons would be raised to understand the place of house Lannister in this world.

"My Lady," Shireen said patiently, smiling surely at him even as she corrected him. "High born people enunciate each word, Gendry."

He coloured at his mispronunciation, but then squared his shoulders.

"But I'm not highborn, My Lady," Gendry said, unable to stop the smile from crossing his handsome face, japing lightly with Lady Shireen as he clearly emphasized the _my_. His cousin was a force, to be sure, and Gendry could hardly keep up with her.

Tywin smirked at the two of them, thinking back to a similar conversation he'd had with Arya Stark.

"Oh my, it's the Hero of Flea Bottom!" Genna cried, cheerfully, clapping her hands and rushing towards him. "Words will never be enough to thank you for what you've done." She licked her lips as she looked at Gendry, eyeing him as if he were a seven-course meal, and she was starved, which Lady Genna was most certainly not. Gendry had no idea what to do with Lady Genna's apparent interest in him, and further coloured.

"Leave him, sister," Tywin growled, rolling his eyes at her antics.

"Handsome one. Strong as well," she said, winking at Sansa who laughed.

"Gendry, come and sit. I'll apologize in advance for our family. We are loud and without decorum, but harmless, I assure you," Sansa said, smiling at him, trying to make him feel at ease.

Gendry gave Tywin a wary look. "Loud you might be, but I doubt you're harmless," he muttered, and Tywin's respect of the young man grew. He met his eye.

"No, we are not, Gendry. Please, sit." Even here, in his opulent dining room, his beautiful wife by his side and his new sons a short distance away, Tywin Lannister radiated power and ruthlessness. It would be a man far stupider than Gendry to underestimate the Great Lion.

Tywin indicated a chair opposite Sansa, and the smith sunk into it, glancing warily down at Catelyn and Addam, the former having a look of outraged disgust on her face. Sansa barely refrained from rolling her eyes at her mother. She'd forgotten just how much her mother hated bastards.

A part of Sansa understood her mother better now; had Tywin come home with a child from some other woman during this first year of marriage, Sansa wasn't sure she would have survived such a humiliation. At the very least, it would have been a betrayal that would have been difficult to overcome in their marriage, and Sansa got upset even thinking about it.

Her father, she had come to learn while living in King’s Landing, had made some grave mistakes in his life, not the least of which was saddling Jaime with that awful name after he'd killed the Mad King and not even asking why.

Perhaps an even greater mistake was never telling his wife, whom he'd sworn vows too, who Jon was. He had chosen to keep his sister's secrets, while all but destroying his marriage and his wife's trust. Worse still was insisting that Jon be raised alongside Robb, and never telling Catelyn why.

Still, Gendry was not Jon. He had never been acknowledged by Robert; he had been raised poor and illiterate in Flea Bottom. He wasn't a danger to Tywin nor Shireen. And most importantly, it wasn't her mother's place to question Tywin's decisions, especially not in the King's dining hall.

"What is he doing here, Sansa?" Her eyes were glittering in anger.

"Mother, enough."

Shireen, who had yet to take her seat, glowered at Lady Catelyn. "He is here with my permission, Lady Marbrand. And he is not your concern." Her tone was haughty and cold, and at that moment, she reminded Sansa so much of Tywin that she had a soft smile on her face as she gazed at Shireen.

"Child he is a bastard and had no place at this table," Catelyn spat. "It is unseemly you are even seen with him." Catelyn was shocked that Sansa would allow Shireen to even know about Gendry, wondering why on earth her daughter would expose Lady Shireen to someone who could potentially usurp her and her rightful place as the heir to the Stormlands.

"He is my family, and he'll go where I tell him. The King had given his blessing for Gendry to be trained as a knight, along with learning to read and write."

"Why?" Catelyn asked, utterly bewildered on why they would spend the effort on Robert's bastard.

"Because a Lannister always pays his debts, Lady Marbrand and the one I owe to Gendry is large. Last I checked, it was my word that was law, not yours." Tywin glared at her. "Or has something changed?" His eyes were cold and unforgiving; Tywin hated to have his decisions questioned, and the only person who had a hope of ever doing so, was his wife. Not his wife's mother.

Cat's mouth pinched closed, and she shook her head, silently disagreeing with the current course of action. Up until now, she'd thought that Lady Shireen was excelling in her training and had the potential to become one of the greatest ladies of the realm, but this was madness to have such an association with a low born man.

"Mother, Gendry has proven most loyal to our house. He helped save Arya when she escaped from King's Landing, and he has taken vows to defend both Lady Shireen and me."

Catelyn shook her head at such a choice, biting her lip to keep from saying more. It was clear she was outnumbered in this if the silence from Lady Genna was any indication. She spent the rest of the meal in silence, refusing to engage in conversation and leaving as soon as it was done.

Ser Marbrand gave a weary sigh. He loved his wife, he did, but she was unbending on some things and a hard woman. "I'm sorry, Your Grace," he said to Tywin, bowing before taking his leave. No matter what Addam felt for Catelyn, his first loyalty would always be to his liege lord.

Gendry gave Sansa a small smile. "I shouldn't be here," he said quietly.

Sansa waved a hand, before letting it rest on her stomach. "The issue is less about you and more to do with my mother's complicated history with her husband's bastard son and her rigid upbringing. You'll have to have tougher skin than that to survive King's Landing."

Shireen laughed. "She's correct, cousin. Take me, for instance. Ladies of the realm still whisper behind my back about my ugly face and how it is nothing more than charity from the King and Queen that I am so close with them.”

"It's doesn't bother you?" Gendry looked astounded and angry on her behalf, and Sansa's heart melted a bit at how protective he already was of Shireen.

Shireen shrugged philosophically and shook her head. "I can't stop them from what they are saying, and I've come to learn my worth. Like you will," she told him sagely, wise beyond her years. With that said, they rose. Jerrod was planning on accompanying Gendry today to be outfitted with full armour as well as a sword; then his afternoon would be spent with Lady Shireen doing book work.

A few days later, Tywin received a raven from Jaime stating that they were approaching the Twins and that they'd seen Tyrion, Jon and Stannis as the three dragon riders pushed North to find the Northern houses that had been the last to be evacuated as well as the Night King.

Tywin had heard from Kevan earlier; his brother confirmed that they'd examined the Isle of Faces, the only place where Bran Stark claimed the Night King could be defeated. Winter was bearing down on the Riverlands, and Kevan praised Sansa's foresight to send warm clothing North. As for weapons, there continued to be a convoy up the King's Road almost daily, and the numbers of the army assembled outside Harrenhal continued to swell. Ravens flew daily now between Harrenhal and Kings Landing. Tywin might not be at the front in person, but he would be informed of everything that happened.

Which brought Tywin to his latest problem; Dorne. There had been a trickle of forces sent North by the Martells, but not nearly enough to satisfy Tywin. He had half a mind to call Tyrion back to the capital so they could go south and remind the Prince of Dorne about their commitments. Thankfully Myrcella was days away from being home, smuggled out of the southernmost region and coming back under Tywin's control. He'd give Dorne no ammunition to use against him, including his granddaughter.

Tywin spent the next few days sending Lannister troops and the City Watch into Flea Bottom and the surrounding areas. Anyone who could be moved out was, forcing many to go further south into the Stormlands and the Reach. Tywin knew if the people continued to stay in King's Landing at their current numbers, the city would be overrun, and he would not be the king that lost control of the city.

Since the ‘incident' with Olenna and Margaery, Lord Willas at Highgarden had kept a steady train of food on the road to King's Landing, along with men from loyal houses to guard the supply train. The best of these was Ser Baelor Hightower, who seemed to take particular delight in riding to the capital and meeting with the King. Mace Tyrell, now at Harrenhal had been devastated to learn of the untimely death of his mother and his daughter, but he'd rallied, Kevan said, buoyed by seeing Lord Tarly again and preparing for war.

Tywin and Sansa were sitting down for supper, alone for the first time in days, when Jerrod slipped into their private solar.

"She is here, Your Grace," he said, a smile on his handsome face. Tywin rose, and held out his hand for Sansa, and watched as his granddaughter entered their solar.

"Grandfather," she cried and ran to his arms, which he willingly opened and hugged her tight. Now nineteen, she was a beautiful woman, tall, blond and willowy, and she held on to Tywin. She'd been gone from King's Landing for so long and had lost so much, both her mother and her two brothers that when the summons when had come from her grandfather, the King, to go back to the capital, she had readily agreed. She loved her betrothed, Trystane, but Dorne was not home, and lately, things had been decidedly off there. She'd been smuggled out of the southern region by loyal bannermen to House Lannister, and finally felt more relaxed now that she was here with her grandfather.

When they parted, Myrcella smiled shyly at the Queen, curtsied demurely and then was delighted when Sansa greeted her warmly. She eagerly joined Tywin and Sansa for supper, delighted beyond all measure watching how her Grandfather doted on his beautiful wife, and was warm and caring with her. Myrcella could never imagine him acting in such a manner, and she saw the love between Tywin and Sansa. After supper, she met the Princes and her newest cousin, little Joanna and had tears in her eyes as she held the babies. Her Great Aunt Genna joined them, folding the girl into her generous bosom, setting off another round of happy tears.

"And father? Where is he? I've heard he recently married," Myrcella said as she gazed at Tysan who was gripping her long blond hair in his fist. She missed the looks of stunned wonder on the three adult's faces. When no one answered, she looked up and let out a laugh.

"Please, I am the very image of a Lannister. I've known who my real father was for an age," she told them, and Tywin sputtered something unintelligible.

"Myrcella, this makes you a bastard, dear. You cannot just go around announcing such things," Tywin lectured to her, disturbed by her attitude.

Myrcella shrugged; things were different in the south, and she told her grandfather as much. "Prince Oberyn has several bastard daughters, all he openly acknowledges."

Sansa reached out and grasped her hand. "Still, it's best if it's kept within the family," Sansa said, and Myr nodded.

"I'm sorry about Mother, Grandfather. And Joff and Tommen, although I won't lie and say Joff didn't scare me at times."

Tywin nodded, thinking back to how unhinged Joff was.

"As for your father, he did recently marry; a brute of a woman from the Stormlands," Tywin almost sneered, while Sansa laughed and hit him lightly.

"Tywin, gods, stop. You know he loves Lady Brienne."

"Most eligible man in the entire country, Sansa and he marries her," the Great Lion snorted, still bewildered by his eldest son's choice.

"But he's happy?"

"Yes, dear, he is quite happy by all accounts, although Tommen's death hit him hard."

Myrcella nodded tears in her eyes. "I was devastated when I heard." Tysan let out a little gurgle, and Myrcella looked down at him. "He's so perfect, Grandfather. A perfect little lion."

"You will stay with us, Myrcella. There is more than enough room, and Sansa could use the help," Tywin decreed, and Genna and Sansa snorted at him, while he glared at them.

"Three children under the age of one, and pregnant with another one, wife? Tell me I'm wrong," he challenged her. Sansa rolled her eyes at him but rose to settle the children in their beds. As she did, she rested a hand on Tywin's shoulder.

"You're not, but it's the way you order me about, husband," she japed back to him. "Try asking nicely." Then she leaned down and kissed him, laughing when he pulled her onto his lap, letting out a squeal, as she clutched at him. "Tywin," she said, giggling at his antics.

"Wife, please listen to me," he said against her lips, deepening the kiss.

Myrcella shot a skeptical look to her aunt. "Are they always like this?" She could hardly remember ever having been around such a happy couple, and one that was madly in love with each other. Her mother hated Robert, and the relationship between Jaime and Cersei had been so secretive that Myrcella hardly had seen them together. To see her grandfather so in love with his beautiful wife, and her equally in love with him, made Myrcella's romantic heart happy.

"Positively nauseating," Genna quipped, though there was no heat. She loved them both dearly.

After the children had been settled, Sansa took Myrcella's hand and led her to an elegantly appointed room. "I hope you'll be happy here. Tomorrow you can meet Lady Shireen Baratheon, who is also staying with us, and her cousin Gendry. Then there are my Queensguard, and my mother, who married Ser Marbrand."

"I love seeing my grandfather so happy, Your Grace. He always seemed so sad," Myrcella said, and Sansa blushed.

"I am fortunate in my marriage. I love him beyond all reason, and somehow, he loves me the same way.

Myrcella smiled knowingly. "And you two obviously cannot keep your hands off each other. Your sons are beautiful." If there was a second favourite topic for Sansa after Tywin, it was her two sons, the little lions she'd given Tywin.

"They are the light of my life, Myrcella," Sansa said, smiling in the way that mothers did when talking about their children.

"Well, I am excited to be back with family. I'm sure we will be close, Lady Sansa," Myrcella said happily and hugged Sansa quickly, then blushed as if she were too forward, but the Queen hugged her back.

"I'm so happy you are here with us, Myrcella. Now rest, and we'll chat tomorrow.

When Sansa came back into their bedchambers, Tywin was sitting in front of the fireplace, on a comfortable couch he'd had placed there, drinking a goblet of wine. She sat beside him as he drew her closer and saw the contentment on his face, loving these quiet moments with him.

The roaring fire was yet another indication that Winter was coming; they were continuously lit, and the smell of wood smoke now permeated the Red Keep.

Sansa had confessed, late one night to Tywin, that she loved the smell almost as much as she did him. That was when he had promised her that they would see her home again; that he would take her and their sons and their newest lion to Winterfell so that she might once again sleep in her ancestral home, if only for a short time.

Tywin no longer feared that his wife would ever leave him, but he to knew what it was like to pine for your homeland, and the thought of sleeping with Sansa in his arms as the Sunset Sea crashed into the Rock gave Tywin something to pin his hopes after this upcoming war. He still believed Casterly Rock to be the most magnificent castle in the realm and wanted to show it to her.

"Happy, my lion?" she asked, snuggled against him, and he murmured that he was.

"I feel better now that she is here, Sansa." She understood that. The idea of Arya being so far away in a place like Dorne would have had Sansa in a constant state of fear. There was something about the southernmost region that was unsettling. Sansa stroked Tywin's whiskers, hearing a small purr rumble out of his chest.

"Now you can press Dorne," she said, hoping she'd read him correctly. He turned his face, so his lips brushed the palm of her hand.

"I can. I have half a mind to bring Tyrion south, and pay them a visit on the back of his dragon," Tywin shared with her. To her credit, Sansa nodded. She, too, was upset with the lack of manpower supplied by Dorne. Northern families were fleeing for their lives, and she knew her region would bear the brunt of casualties in this war; but if the Night King was not stopped, it wasn't as if Dorne would be spared from his horror.

She kissed him and then rose, tired and achy from the long day. "Come to bed, Tywin. The realm can wait for you to conquer it tomorrow, and your wife wants to be in your arms."

He was smiling as he made his way to her, his long legs making short work across their bedroom, where he helped her from her gown, grinning as she slipped out of her shift and then naked into the bed. It wasn't often she wore clothes to their bed, and it meant her husband had access to her whenever he desired, which was nightly. He quickly undressed and slid in beside her, drawing her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her lips.

"I love you, Sansa," he whispered to her, seeing how sleepy she was.

"I love you as well, Tywin," she said back and then slipped into sleep.

Content now that he'd gotten Jaime's daughter back here to safety, Tywin fell asleep quickly, feeling for the first time in weeks, a sense of hope.

They had gathered one of the most significant armies ever seen in the history of Westeros, united to fight a common enemy and had three dragons in their arsenal. And now, Tywin had his sister, wife, sons, and two granddaughters here with him. He just had to trust that his sons would be safe and that somehow, they would find a way to defeat their enemies. The Lions of Lannister's were finally poised to create the dynasty he had dreamed of, and one that could last for decades.

* * *

_Near the Twins _

Jon and Stannis pushed the dragons hard, needing to put distance between what had happened at Tallhart Square and themselves. Jon knew that Tyrion's sacrifice had not been in vain; they'd killed thousands and thousands of wights along with saving thousands more from becoming members of the Night King’s army. But it was a bitter pill to swallow as Jon cradled Tyrion's small body against Rhaegal. Both man and dragon were in mourning, still finding it hard to believe Tyrion Lannister was dead. Jon dreaded the upcoming conversation with Jaime. He wasn't close to the man, not like Robb was.

They found the group just south of the Twins; the cold days and colder nights had pushed them to move faster much to Jon's grim satisfaction. He looked below and saw Jaime and Robb, and though he couldn't make out their features, he saw his brother pull the Golden Lion into his embrace. He had to know, Jon thought, that the worst had happened the moment he spotted only two dragons.

They landed away from the large group, Robb and Jaime were there immediately. Jaime practically crawled up Rhaegal, his face going white when he saw Tyrion's body in Jon's arms.

"He died a hero; saved two houses and killed thousands of wights," Jon choked out, barely able to get the words out. The tears were flowing down his face.

"Was it quick?" Jaime asked, and Jon nodded

"He wanted me to take him back to your father, and he wants Sansa to raise his daughter."

"Can I… can I hold him as we go south?"

Jon nodded and let Jaime sit before handing Tyrion off. He looked to Robb.

"Houses Glover and Mormont are heading south, but he's closing in. We bought them some time, brother, but it will be close."

Robb nodded grimly. "We will keep pushing south. See you when you are back. Give Sansa my love, Jon."

Jon nodded and then spoke softly to Rhaegal, telling Jaime to hang on and then flew south, thankful the speed of the dragon prevented him from having to make small talk with Jaime.

When King's Landing finally came into sight, hours later, Jon thought he'd never been so exhausted in his entire life; mentally, emotionally and physically. He'd pushed Rhaegal hard, and he could feel him tire.

All along the Kings Road as they flew towards the capital, they had seen the thick line of evacuees from the Vale and the North. The closer they got to the Capital, the more people there seemed to be, and even Jon could see how crowded it was since he was here a few short weeks ago.

For his part, Jaime was utterly devastated. He had known the moment he had spotted only two dragons that something had gone wrong and he'd known immediately that it had to be something with Tyrion. There had been a gleam in his little brother's eye when he'd said goodbye and Jaime knew he'd always wanted to be a hero- now he was, only the price was too high.

Jaime had gone almost mute, having no words for the blows that continue to reign down on him. Joff. Cersei. Tommen. And now his little brother. When did it end? And why were the lions paying the highest price? He wanted to rage at Jon, the man who'd brought back his brother's lifeless body, but Jaime saw the devastation in his eyes. Jon wore all his emotions on his expressive face, and he'd been as crushed as Jaime.

Jaime had known the moment he'd found out that Tyrion was the third dragon rider that this end was a possibility. It was dangerous being on the back of such a beast, and he'd be on the front lines of this war. Jaime had spent a lifetime at war, trained at his father's knee and one of the greatest military minds of the realm and the Night King was unlike anything he'd ever seen. What was even worse, was the fact that they only had the word of Bran Stark, the boy Jaime had pushed from the tower window on how to defeat this enemy. And if he was wrong? Jaime didn't even want to think about it.

Jaime allowed himself to sink into the memories of his brother, thinking back to when he'd been a child and their time at the Rock. He'd been the buffer his entire life between his two siblings who had hated each other, as well as the only person to protect Tyrion from their father's wrath. Jaime knew, logically, that Tywin and Tyrion had made their peace; due in large part to Lady Sansa, but a coil of white-hot rage curled in Jaime's guts. His father had made Tyrion's life hell, and Jaime couldn't help but direct all his grief and bitterness towards the Great Lion. He had no right to any sorrow over the death of Tyrion, not after the way he had treated him.

Jaime wondered how Lady Sansa would take the news of his brother's death. They had been such close friends and Sansa such a champion for his little brother. Jaime and Tyrion had spent many nights with several skins of wine discussing the northern woman and how she had changed House Lannister. When Jaime had first arrived back in King's Landing, he'd asked endless questions, trying to understand how their severe and harsh father had somehow won the love of a woman like Sansa Stark. That is when Jaime discovered his little brother was half in love with her as well, not that he ever would have acted upon such feelings. Their relationship was a real and abiding friendship, and one that Jaime had been happy for his little brother.

As they flew south, and Jaime saw the steady procession of people and animals, but none of it truly registered with him. His entire world was reduced to the small bundle in his arms and the pain that was threatening to swallow him whole.

When they saw the distinctive tower of the Hand and the Red Keep, Jon circled with the dragon, hoping that someone would get a message to the King and Queen. They had arrived unannounced, the need to fulfill Tyrion's dying wish more important than taking the time to send a raven ahead.

Thankfully, when they landed, the message must have been clear, because striding across the clearing was none of than the King himself, accompanied by a rather large entourage of guards, including Ser Jerrod. Sansa was nowhere to be seen, and both Jaime and Jon shared a relieved look; it was her they were most concerned about. As soon as they were down, Rhaegal keened softly and bumped Jon, then took the skies. Jon knew he needed space to mourn and hunt and knew the dragon would be back in a few day's time.

Because Jon was concentrating on his dragon, and not the King, he missed when Tywin's steps faltered. Jaime did not, and his eyes narrowed at his father. He thought his rage had calmed as they had come closer to the capital, but now he realized it had not.

Tywin recovered quick enough, and his face was drawn and pale as he approached.

"What happened?" He asked, voice harsh and demanding. Had Jon known him better, he would have seen the grief buried beneath the brusque words, but he did not. Jon stiffened and looked to Jaime, who was glaring at his father, still clutching Tyrion's body in his arms.

Jon glanced between the two men and then let out a pained breath before he quickly explained what happened.

Tywin's jaw clenched, and he had no words and no ability to express the riot of emotion that he felt. He'd often thought of killing Tyrion; he had since the moment he'd been born and killed Lady Joanna. But time and again, Tywin had stayed his hand against the dwarf. Not out of love or benevolence for him, but because he was the last link to his beloved wife and an easy target for Tywin's all-consuming grief and rage.

But it had all changed with Sansa, who from their first meeting, demanded more from Tywin than anyone ever had, including that he developed a relationship with his hated second son. She had been impossible to ignore and had been the conduit which had allowed Tywin to begin to repair what had long been broken between them.

Tywin had developed a grudging respect and affection for Tyrion. He would not lie and say he loved him the same way he did Jaime, and no one would believe him if he did. But it was a blow, none the less, to see his lifeless body in Jaime's arms. Equally, upsetting was the rage that was contained in Jaime's eyes.

"Do not play the bereaved father; not when we both know how you felt about him," Jaime spat, fury making his voice shake.

"Jaime, Tyrion asked to be returned to his father," Jon said quietly, uncomfortable being the peacemaker between two angry lions.

Jaime's green eyes narrowed dangerously. "Stay out of this Jon. This is Lannister business."

Jon shook his head. "Where is Sansa?" He knew his cousin and Tyrion had been close, and it was her Jon was worried about. As far as he cared, these lions could tear each other apart.

Tywin, who had not responded to Jaime's barb, swung his cold green eyes to Jon. "She is with our children." He glanced at Jaime and then ripped off the red Lannister cloak that Sansa insisted he wore given the changing weather and covered Tyrion's still form.

"Despite what you think about me, he was my son." With that, the King spun on his heel and marched back to the Castle, intent on finding his wife and trying to contain the fallout that Tyrion's death would bring. He was unable to process his own feelings, so worried about her and the risk to her pregnancy when she heard the news.

Jaime followed, still fuming at his father, until the three men, along with Tywin's guards were standing outside the King's chambers. Tywin stopped and bowed his head, and then turned to his son.

"Take him to his chamber; have him bathed and redressed in Lannister colours and then come back here."

Jaime opened his mouth to protest, but one snark from Tywin stopped him. "Sansa is pregnant Jaime. How do you think she will react should you walk inside these rooms, his dead body cradled in your arms? Do you wish to punish me so much that you cause my wife to lose the baby she currently carries? The moment she learns of his death, she will demand to see him. And I will not let her see him like this. He will be remembered as the hero he is. Go. Now."

As he had his entire life, Jaime did his father's bidding, his anger only abating as he thought about Sansa.

"Jaime," Tywin called when his son had taken but a few steps. "Myrcella is here. And she knows who you are. She will be waiting for you when you are done."

Tywin saw his son startle and then thankfully, a small look of hope graced his handsome face, before he nodded curtly, hurrying away.

Before Tywin opened the door, he looked to Jon. "She will know the moment she sees you that something is wrong."

Jon nodded, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, for your loss."

In a moment of brutal honesty, Tywin let Jon see his grief before he pushed it ruthlessly aside. "It is about her now. I would spare her this pain, any pain. I might be the coldest man in Westeros, but for her, I would do anything to save her from this heartache."

Jon nodded, having no words, knowing the King spoke the truth. Jon's respect for the King grew as he watched Tywin open the door, knowing that the news he was about to deliver would shatter Sansa's world.

They found her in the nursery, singing softly to the babies as they went down for their nap. Jon was staggered by her beauty for a moment, seeing her as the realm did, in her crown, jewels and elegant dress. Her face brightened immediately upon spotting her husband, and Jon wondered what it felt like to have a woman love you as much as Sansa loved Tywin. Then her eyes slid to Jon's and a frown of confusion marred her face.

"Tywin what's happened?" She asked, voice wavering. He was there in an instant gathering her in his arms and pressing his lips to her forehead, unable to give voice to the horrible truth.

Still wrapped in the King's embrace, Jon stepped more fully into the room. "It's Tyrion, Sansa."

Her eyes widened in disbelief, then denial, then anger.

"No, he is fine. He has a dragon, Jon." Sansa was looking at her cousin as if he were particularly slow. Tywin's arms tightened as he made a choking sound.

"Ty? What's happened?" Her blue eyes were impossibly wide and filling fast. She met her husband's gaze and saw the devastating truth there.

"No. No, no, no, no. It can't be. He has a dragon" she kept repeating as Tywin's grip tightened.

"Shh my love," he murmured, his voice sounding rusty and gravelly from choking back emotion.

"What happened?" She demanded, and Jon looked around the nursery.

"Not here, San."

Tywin was grateful for Jon's level head and gathered his wife to lead her into the family solar. He saw Jerrod and asked him to get Genna, Myrcella and Shireen. They would learn this news together as a family. Tywin placed Sansa on a couch and then sank beside her as she wouldn't let go of his hand. He curled his body around her protectively, worried about the blank look in her eyes. When the others entered, they noted the sombre mood and immediately sat, all eyes on Jon.

He stood there, awkward and uncomfortable as he described their path since they left the Red Keep, including their stops at Harrenhal and Greywater Watch. Then came the most excruciating part; explaining again what happened at Tallhart Hall.

Jon barely choked out the words, pronouncing Tyrion a hero for his actions and the lives he spared.

"Fool," Tywin snarled, and shocked gasps rang the room. But Sansa knew it was from a place of extreme hurt, the way he was reacting.

She swallowed hard, awash in pain and grief. "Where is he now?"

Jon cleared his throat. "Jaime is seeing to him."

Sansa nodded and rose. "Take me to him." This was not his sister standing before him, but the Queen and Jon nodded.

"Sansa no," Tywin protested, reaching for her hand to stop her.

"Do not, Tywin. He was my friend, my closest ally. Do not try to keep me from him."

Her eyes were sparkling with unnamed emotions, and before he could react, she lashed out.

"I know how you felt about him, Tywin. But I loved him like a brother." She turned, missing the shocked hurt that crossed her lion’s face, and looked to Jon.

"Take me to him now."

Jon's eyes met the King's, who gave a curt nod, reeling from Sansa’s rebuke. "Stay with her," he said and then strode from the room.

Sansa and Jon walked along the corridors of the Red Keep, towards the tower of the hand. Tyrion had vacated these rooms after the death of Margaery, but she knew this was where Jaime would have brought him.

"Your husband is hurting as well," Jon said quietly to Sansa. She stopped and grabbed his arm.

"Do not speak to me about things you do not understand Jon Snow," she snarled at him. She was already ashamed of how she had snapped at her husband, knowing that he had tried with Tyrion and that their history was complicated. Everything was a jumble in her head and her heart and the last thing she needed was a lecture from her cousin.

When they entered the rooms of the Hand, Sansa stopped for a moment. She had fallen in love in these rooms, become pregnant within these rooms and found a new family here. And now her closest friend would lie dead here.

She entered the bedroom and saw a Lannister steward was just finishing dressing his small body. Jaime sat slumped in a chair, face ragged. His eyes met Sansa's and filled with tears, the first time he'd allowed himself to cry since he'd first learned of the news.

Sansa almost crumpled to the ground, held up only by Jon. And then Jaime was there, pulling her into his arms as they sobbed, wracked with grief and guilt and anger. They loved him the best, this little lion, and his death left a gaping hole in their lives.

It could have been minutes or hours before they finally calmed, and Jaime held Sansa's hand as they approached him. Sansa ran a hand through his hair.

"He would have loved dying a hero," she said softly, a low keening sound coming from her mouth.

"He always wanted his dragon," Jaime said, shaking his head as how incredulous it was.

Sansa leaned against Jaime's shoulder. "I loved him so much. He was my dearest friend, Jaime."

"He loved you as well, Sansa. When I first came back, angry at everyone, lashing out, he defended you. Told me I was a fool to speak against you."

She sobbed. "Joanna is an orphan, barely a month old. What gods do that to an innocent baby?"

Jon stepped up and stood beside his sister, for that was what she was in his heart. "He told me that he trusted you to raise her Sansa. They were his last words."

She sobbed then, full, body wracking sobs, and was inconsolable as Jaime folded her in his arms.

"Hush, Sansa. You have another child to think about, and Tyrion would be displeased should anything happen to your babe because of him." Sansa knew it was the truth.

Sansa took one last look at Tyrion and then turned away. He was gone, existing now only in memory and dreams and perhaps song if word spread about his deeds. When she left the tower of the hand, she knew she'd never step foot in those rooms ever again, and she ached for Tywin. Too late, she remembered how she'd snapped at him and now hurried her steps, knowing he was the only person who could give her what she needed. She pushed into their rooms, not finding him in his solar, nor the dining hall or even their bedroom. That's when she heard soft talking and entered the nursery where he was sitting in a rocker with baby Joanna in his arms.

"Your father loved to jape, always a quick smile on his face, even from a young age," he was telling her. He saw Sansa enter and paused, his eyes guarded as if he were wary of her and her heart broke. She hurried to him, falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around his midsection, as her head fell into his lap.

"I'm so sorry, Tywin," she sobbed, feeling how he somehow held Joanna and still was able to stroke her hair.

"Hush Sansa. I am not so weak-willed that I cannot bear some anger, my love," he told her gently, making her cry harder. He'd forgiven her the moment the words had left her mouth, knowing she was in pain. He was able to bear the weight of her judgement and grief.

"It was unfair of me and unkind," she continued, and Tywin looked at her with love in his eyes. She had so very rarely been either unfair or unkind to him, and he most likely deserved that and worse. The truth was, he had treated Tyrion horribly and most likely would have continued to do so had it not been for her intervention.

"My love, you must stop. I know who and what I am, and I make no apologies for my past actions, nor do I need your forgiveness. Our relationship was fraught the moment he was borne, and Lady Joanna died," Tywin told her as she turned her face in his lap to meet his eyes. "Do not worry about me, Sansa. It is you that holds all my concern."

She gulped in air, wrung dry from the emotion of the past few hours. "It hurts so much, Tywin."

He nodded and rose, placing Joanna in her crib and leading Sansa to their bedchambers. Once there, he stripped her down until she was only in her shift and then gently encouraged her beneath the covers. He joined her quickly, opening his arms for her and she came willingly. Whereas moments earlier, she had thought she had no tears left to cry, here in her bed with her husband, she once again felt them fall freely. She ached for her friend, and the child he left behind. She felt for Jaime and for Tywin, their family dwindling before their very eyes. And she worried about who else might fall before this Night King and his army.

She finally fell into an exhausted slumber, and Tywin held her, letting his own grief come then, private and raw. So few had ever seen the Great Lion cry, and none who knew him before Sansa would have ever guessed he'd shed tears for his youngest son, but he did. It somehow seemed cruel that they had just mended their relationship when he was taken from them, and it was that potential that Tywin mourned as much as the son he'd treated poorly his entire life. Sansa had forced him to see Tyrion in a new way, and though that time had been brief, he had been proud of him, at the end.

Tywin also mourned for Jaime; his only child left from Joanna. He had lost so much; both siblings and both sons. How did a man recover from such grievous wounds? For once, Tywin was happy he had a wife that he claimed he loved, because he didn't for one moment think that sending Jaime back out to the war with nothing to tether him here would result in anything less than his death. Tywin thanked the gods he'd had the foresight to bring Myrcella home and prayed she would comfort her father during this tragic time.

It took an age before Tywin finally fell asleep, and once there he was chased by dreams of a vengeful god, claiming that Tywin Lannister had reached too far. That by seizing the crown and trying to establish his dynasty, he'd been too greedy and the penalty was nothing less than utter ruin; a dead King on the Iron Throne and the rest of Tywin's beloved family reanimated dead, there to haunt him for eternity, including the faces of Cersei, Joff, Tommen, Tyrion and Joanna.

Tywin woke in the pale grey light, to a sight he had never seen; snow falling outside the window on King's Landing, and he knew, that winter had finally come to Westeros. Everyone he loved was in mortal danger, and for the first time in his life, Tywin feared they would not be enough to stop him; not the thousands of men amassed in the Riverlands, not the two dragons and not the Great Lion himself. The Night King was coming, and there wasn't anything Tywin Lannister could do to stop him.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I need to say, we are quite off canon now. So much has changed in this story, that what I do now tends to be of my own choices. 
> 
> I hope people will continue to trust me with this story, and these characters. 
> 
> For example- the Jon plotline is so far Off Canon I can't even see canon at this point. But I'll admit to liking it. Also on the Jon note- this is NOT the same man in the books or show- he didn't die, doesn't have the same darkness in him and has so much support and knows who he is.

_King's Landing_

Jon left the Golden Lion with his little brother, alone in the Tower of the Hand. He didn't have much to say; it hadn't been the first person that he'd cared about that he'd lost to battle, and Jon was realistic enough to know more would fall before this war was over. If that made him cold or hard, he couldn’t say. It was just the price of war, and this was one that they had to fight. More would die, and more hearts would be ripped apart, and still, they had no guarantee that they would emerge victoriously.

It hurt, more than anything, to have the potential of Tyrion ripped away from him. Jon knew so little about his birth mother and father. Although when Jon thought about it, he knew one person who could tell him about Rhaegar and that was the very man he'd just left behind. Tyrion’s death hurt because he represented the one link to his Targaryen family that Jon had left.

There was no one left now; Stannis was a distant relative at best, and everyone in the entire Kingdom had heard how the Great Lion had ordered the Faceless Men to kill his aunt, the one who had birthed the dragons. Jon briefly thought about her, but like smoke, it slid away from him. He’d known nothing about her, and it was a moot point. She was dead like everyone else with dragon blood. Other than his Stark cousins, not his _siblings_, Jon was once again alone in the world. Jon still had trouble calling them that; he often slipped and called Robb brother still, though he knew he didn’t mind. They were brothers in all but blood.

He walked quickly down the steps of the Tower of the Hand, startled to see Dacey Mormont waiting for him at the bottom. Even in his sorrow, he stopped to admire her beauty. Taller than him, almost six feet, with dark hair and pale skin, she looked every inch the Northern warrior goddess in her armour and her grey Queensguard cloak. For a brief moment, Jon let the memory of Ygritte wash over him; another strong-willed, deadly woman that he'd lost his heart to. It seemed his lot in life to be attracted to such creatures and wasn’t that a delight. No blushing maiden would do for him, and from what he knew about his father, it seemed they had the same taste in women if the tales of his mother were anything to by. All the Stark children had heard about the wild Lyanna Stark.

He must have gazed too long at Dacey, because she got a funny look on her face, and her voice seemed unsure when she said his name.

"Jon?"

"Dacey," he exhaled, relief flooding through him at seeing her there. In light of the last few days, she was a balm to his weary soul. Suddenly, she was there, in his arms, and as he folded them around her, he let himself exhale for the first time since they'd ridden North and everything had gone to hell.

"Do you hate me?" she whispered into his ear, and Jon startled, rearing back and looking into her eyes. He cupped her face, wondering what was going on in that mind of hers.

"Why on earth would I hate you, Dacey?" He kept his voice low and quiet, as servants scurried by.

"Because your uncle died saving House Mormont, Jon. My house. My family; my mother and my sisters, and our people."

Jon just stared at her, astounded that she would think such a thing.

"Oh, my sweet darling, no," he said, stunned by the emotion in her face.

He knew he had to get them somewhere private; clearly, they had things that needed to be said to one another and he didn’t need an audience. Jon realized after watching Tyrion die, just how close they all were to death and he wouldn’t let her slip away.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he were a complete idiot not to marry her, to lie with her as a husband does; to seize this opportunity before him. Perhaps, if they were lucky, she'd be pregnant with his child, his legitimate child, by the time he had to leave the Capital. He could hardly be considered the Lord Commander of anything now. The Wall had fallen, the Night's Watch scattered, and if Bran were to be believed, the only reason they had been formed in the first place was to guard against the Night King, who was now marching his way down the King's Road. Surely no one would expect those vows to be upheld now that there was no Wall to guard. He was just Jon… _hell, he didn’t even know what to call himself._ There was no denying he was a Targaryen and even the King and Queen acknowledged that. While Jon might not ever want the name for him, who was he to deny that name to a child of his?

Jon knew that Dacey was the heir to Bear Island, and he also knew that Tywin Lannister wanted someone loyal to him to take over Dragonstone. Jon and Tyrion had talked, and Jon knew it had been discussed that it would be Tyrion's. But now, with his uncle dead, and him that last living dragon, Jon wondered if it might become his. He knew there were things he needed to discuss with Tywin and Sansa in the morning.

The more Jon thought about it, the more he liked the idea of having a wife and a child. It wasn't like a child of Jon and Dacey's would be without protection and means, even if he were to die. Hell, if he married her, he knew that even if he didn't come back from the war, Sansa would ensure she and his child were taken care of.

And now that Jon wasn't a bastard, he was brave enough to admit, as he had to Stannis in that lonely trek across the North, that he did want what other men had. A wife, children and a home to call his own. He'd be lying if he said he didn't. It wouldn't be Winterfell; that was Robb's. But he could have something else, something that was just his. All of these thoughts were spinning in Jon's head as he held onto Dacey in the open corridor.

"Where are your rooms, My Lady?" he asked her softly, and her eyes widened before she grabbed his hand and hurried him through the Red Keep.

"This place is a fucking maze," Jon muttered, pleased when Dacey flashed him a quick grin and shook her head.

"Just takes some getting used to, Jon," she told him, and soon enough, they were in her rooms. Jon looked around in surprised wonder. They were quite large and well-appointed. As if knowing what he was thinking, Dacey gave a small shrug.

"Sansa insisted. She said it was becoming of my new station as the head of her Queensguard."

"Have you ever gotten used to it? Living down here in the south?" Jon blurted out and then ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry, my mouth sometimes runs on me."

Dacey, though, didn't seem to mind. She was of the North, like Jon and was used to blunt, crude men and women. She liked that those in the North spoke their mind. She’d watched more than one southern lord speak fancy words that meant nothing at all.

Dacey walked to the fire that was burning in the massive stone fireplace in her solar; Jon could see the adjacent bedroom and the large bed there, one that could comfortably accommodate Dacey's long and lean frame. She bent down and added wood to the fire and then looked back at Jon.

“I have to a point. It was an honour to be chosen to guard the Queen. But I miss the North and I want my own family, one day.” She blushed as if she had said too much. Then she asked, "Are you staying the night with me, Jon Snow?"

Her bluntness caught him off-guard; Jon had what seemed like a hundred questions for her and no desire to leave and she seemed willing to indulge him.

He might not be well versed in the ways of women, but he knew she was putting on a brave front. Beneath her beautiful face, he could see heartache and fear. And longing, for him and everything this heat and desire between them promised.

"Aye, Dacey, I'm staying. I'll not sleep with you, the way a husband sleeps with his wife; not until you're mine, and we swear vows to one another." He could see her open her pretty lips to protest, and he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her soundly. "No, Dacey, I won't. You and I might have both been raised bastards, but we'll do better by our children." He saw her soften at that, and he tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

"But I'll be staying in your rooms while I'm here in King's Landing, and I'll hold you throughout the night. I'll share your bed, but not your body. And we'll get to know each other, despite this madness that stalks us from the North."

"You're as bossy as you are pretty, Jon Snow." She paused and then grinned. "I like it." Then she spun and turned her head. "Help me out of this armour, and we'll speak. I have a feeling we have a lot to cover, and like always, time is not on our side."

Jon grinned at her and did as she asked, himself taking off the heavy doublet he wore, along with Longclaw and stretching out in a seat by the fire, warm for the first time in days, as Dacey brought cheese, bread and wine to him, plating food for him and sinking into her own chair, close to him. The dark night, the fire and the cozy atmosphere made it feel like there was no one but them in the entire world, and Jon relished it, as he looked at her. 

She looked softer, and younger out of her armour and cloak, with the firelight glancing off her features, and Jon blurted out, "How old are you, Dacey?"

"Twenty-one, Jon." She smirked at him, delighted that he couldn’t seem to keep his tongue around her.

He grinned, liking that she was of a similar age to him if a few years younger. He took a long gulp of wine, and closed his eyes, feeling himself relax for the first time in days. Not opening them, he began to speak.

"I don't know what it is about you, Dacey, but you feel like home." As if realizing what that sounded like, his brown eyes popped open and met hers. She nodded and reached for his hand.

"Tis the same for me, Jon. I missed you when you were gone. Sansa has a small godswood here; hardly what we're used to in the North, but each day I'd go and pray for you."

"My sweet Dacey," Jon crooned, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it.

"Tell me, Jon, how it happened. Is my family safe?"

Jon saw the worry and fear in her eyes, and though she was taller than him, Jon was well-muscled and strong from the years of fighting. He dragged her onto his lap and in a soft voice, recounted the whole trip North, leaving nothing out, including the time spent with the Stark's and their japing about them.

"You told them about us?" Dacey asked, wonder in her voice. She’d never had a man of Jon’s reputation speak of his affection for her to his family. She knew just how close the Stark clan was.

"Tyrion did. He could never keep anything to himself, and my Uncle was all too willing to embarrass me." Jon muttered it, but Dacey heard the affection in his voice for his deceased Uncle.

Then she thought of his words, and she stiffened at the perceived insult, and Jon chuckled out a laugh, whispering in her ear. "Against me, she-bear, not you. Never you. He told everyone my line about showing you my dragon and how beautiful you were."

Dacey relaxed and let out a small laugh. "What happened when you went North?"

Jon sighed, happy when she snuggled in closer. He missed having a woman in his arms, and she smelled unlike anything he'd ever encountered; jasmine and something spicy and tasty. He spoke softly and recounted what they'd seen and then told her in brutal honesty what Tyrion had done.

"So, it is true. The little lion died to save House Mormont and House Glover. The North owes a debt to House Lannister, Jon. How do we pay them back for such a sacrifice?"

Jon pressed a kiss to her forehead. He had no answer for her and knew there wasn't one. "We remember him; in song and poems and stories around the fire late at night. We tell our children about the little lion that saved the she-bears of the North with his dragon." Jon paused. "And I suppose we live, Dacey, the best we can until it is our time to meet the stranger."

She cuddled closer to Jon, and he felt his eyes begin to close. It had been a long few days.

"Come on, Jon, let me take you to bed," Dacey whispered, rising gracefully and pulling him to his feet. When they were beneath the covers, still in their small clothes, Jon drew her into his arms.

"You're going to be my wife, Dacey Mormont," Jon whispered in her ear.

He couldn't see it, but she smiled. "Aye, I am, Jon Snow."

* * *

_ Jaime and Myrcella _

Jaime sat in the Tower of the Hand for an age, looking but not seeing his dead brother's body. He wondered how much more he would lose before this war with the Night King was over. There had been a time when he'd thought losing his hand had been the worst thing that could happen to him; that and being separated from his twin.

Then he'd come back to King's Landing, and everything had been so dramatically different. His father had married shortly after his return, his little brother had started to gain respect from the Old Lion, and his sister had been spinning deeper into her cruelties and madness. His eldest son was a tyrant who liked to hurt people, and his sweet youngest son, who worshiped Jaime and wanted to be a knight like him, foolishly followed his father to war. Now they were all gone, save for his father.

Tywin Lannister. The Great Lion. The richest and most powerful man in the realm and the one whose shadow Jaime had grown up in his entire life. Jaime realized with sudden clarity that his father had never been more powerful than he was right now. He had alliances throughout the seven kingdoms, a stunning wife who was as capable as him of ruling, two heirs and another on the way. He'd brought lords like Stannis Baratheon and Robb Stark, sworn enemies of House Lannister, to heel and now had two dragons at his disposal.

And he had changed. Jaime could see it. Cersei saw it. Tyrion had known it. Because of his wife, Sansa. He laughed more often, was gentler with her and doted on her no matter who was in the room. It was clear for anyone to see just how smitten the Great Lion was with his wife, and she equally with him. Jaime envied how easy it was with them. They knew their place; accepted and embraced their roles as the King and Queen and worked each day tirelessly to fulfill their purpose.

Jaime had no idea what his role was anymore. He was head of the Lannister army, that much hadn't changed, and he'd married, although he knew his father neither approved of, nor would trust his new wife with Casterly Rock.

In moments like this, when Jaime was completely honest with himself, he could never see Brienne there either. In the field, with the men and the horses and away from the constraints of court life and the politics of the game of thrones, he loved Brienne deeply, and they made sense. They complimented each other, away from his father and the pressures of being Tywin Lannister’s heir.

But here at court? Or the Rock? Jaime let out a bitter chuckle, hating that his father was right again. As long as Jaime was married to Brienne of Tarth, the Rock would never be his.

He thought he should perhaps be more upset about that, but then he honestly didn't expect to survive the upcoming war. After all, if Tyrion was able to be felled on the back of a dragon, what hope did he have? Or any of them?

He was lost in his world of pain and bitter self-reflection when he sensed someone else was in the room. Dragging himself from his sad thoughts, he saw Myrcella standing before him. His eyes teared as she rushed towards him, Jaime almost staggering from the chair where he had been seated for hours. His body protested; it had been still for so long that his muscles had gone lax. Jaime wasn't sure who caught who, but somehow, his daughter was in his arms.

"Father," she whispered against his neck and Jaime sobbed harder. He'd heard his father say earlier that she knew who he was, but to hear to it from her lips was a balm that his battered soul desperately needed.

"Cella," he said, breathing in her sweet scent of vanilla and oranges, reminding him that she had been in the south for so long. "How do you know who I am?" Jaime asked, slightly bewildered as he pulled back to look at her. She was a stunningly beautiful woman, and while no could doubt that she was Cersei's daughter, Jaime thought he could see himself in her as well.

"I've known for an age, father. I look nothing like Robert, and too much like you much to my delight," she said softly, a grin on her face. Despite the awful circumstances, Jaime's heart swelled, and he pulled her closer, holding her tightly.

"I'm happy Grandfather brought me back to the capital, even if I never got to see Mother or Tommen again. And now Uncle Tyrion is gone as well. He was always so nice to us." What went unsaid was that mother was often not so nice, and it was only Jaime and Tyrion that had made their lives tolerable.

"I still can't believe he is gone," Jaime murmured, allowing his daughter to see the depth of his grief.

She squeezed him tightly. "Lady Sansa says we will remember him for the hero he is; in poems and songs. He'd love that Father. To be known as the first great hero in this war. It is up to us to keep his memory alive, and we will."

Jaime turned and looked at his daughter and realized a woman now stood before him. She'd grown up during her time away from Dorne and she was strong and sure in her convictions.

"We will remember him,” Jaime choked out, promising himself as much as her and Myrcella nodded.

"Come now, father, away from here. Tomorrow Grandfather will have him moved to the Great Sept, and we will hold his funeral in a few days. Then he will be brought back to Casterly Rock, to lie forever in the Hall of Heroes."

Jaime startled at that bit of news, never have expected his father to bestow such an honour on Tyrion. He'd flat out refused either Joffrey or Cersei a place there, and everyone knew where Tommen's corpse was. Jaime felt some of the worst of his anger towards his father start to lessen. He'd given him back his daughter and was affording Tyrion every honour that a heroic dead Lannister should receive.

Myrcella cupped Jaime's cheek and turned his face, so he was looking at her. "Come now. You'll have another chance to say goodbye. You need a bath and food and sleep."

"Aren't you the proper lady, Cella. All grown up and taking care of me," Jaime said, a ghost of a smile on his face. The only other woman he could recall that seemed to care so much about his creature comforts was Lady Sansa. Brienne was as likely to whack him over the head as she was to treat him with gentleness.

She threw her head back, long blond hair like spun gold, and laughed. "You can tell me all about this warrior knight you've married, which has grandfather in quite a tizzy."

Jaime smirked, liking that he was still able to give the Great Lion fits and starts.

"And you can tell me all about Lady Sansa and how she tamed him. They are positively scandalous in their behaviour." Myr paused and looked at her father. "And I love it." Jaime laughed. He could well imagine how a woman like Myrcella would view Tywin and Sansa’s love.

Jaime linked his one good hand with hers, feeling a peace settle over him that he didn't previously think he'd be able to find, not after everything that had happened. But the presence of his only remaining child, along with the knowledge that he wasn't alone, helped soothe some of the worst of the ache. He knew that Sansa would take Tyrion's death poorly, and despite his anger towards his father, Jaime knew that Tywin had felt something for Tyrion at the end. It might not have been love, and certainly hadn't been at the level of what Tywin felt for Jaime, but it was more than it had previously been.

Jaime knew how dangerous and destructive anger could be. He's seen his sister lose all sense of self by giving into her potent rage, alienating herself from the pride and making her alone even when the family had surrounded her.

Jaime knew not all was lost to him; he had Brienne, Sansa, Myrcella. Two new brothers and another one the way. And Tyrion's child, his perfect daughter, whom Jaime had yet to meet. If for no other reason that these people, Jaime would go and fight this Night King until his dying breath.

He was a Lannister, and he had a family to protect. With one last look at Tyrion's still body, Jaime said a private goodbye, then he took his daughter's hand and left the Tower of the Hand. His baby brother, the one he'd protected his entire life, had paid the ultimate price to be a hero, and Jaime would not sully that sacrifice any longer with rage against his own family. He'd save that for the enemy that deserved it, and seven hells help anyone who got in his way.

* * *

_ The Next Morning _

Tywin had been awake for hours, contemplating the threat of the Night King, the impact that Tyrion's death would have on his wife, and how he might keep those he loved safe. He wondered if the anger he'd seen in Jaime's eyes was temporary, part of his emotions when it came to Tyrion, or if it were something more. His eldest son had always been the most like Joanna; prone to great outbursts and equal amounts of compassion, especially when it came to his siblings.

Tywin was worried about Sansa; she'd all but wrung herself dry yesterday, and he knew this could not continue and not have an effect on the babe she carried. He turned to gaze upon her, as the weak winter light came through the room, the snow, making the lion in Tywin want to hibernate away from its cold and wet.

She was as exquisite in repose as she was when she was awake, and he ached for her and the pain Tyrion's death brought to her. Her pale cheeks were devoid of colour right now, and her long red hair a tangle down her back. Somehow, during the night, she'd moved so that her shift had risen, and she was bare from the chest down. Her stomach, distended with their third child, made Tywin's cock stir. Then he allowed his gaze to drift lower, to her fiery core and the red curls that graced the apex of her milky white thighs.

He grinned to himself, knowing how he would wake her; screaming his name as she came apart on his tongue. Then, despite his dislike of it, he'd show her the snow and tell her how it was a sign, a present from Tyrion, and they'd take the boys outside. His northern wife would love that, and it might ease the ache she felt today.

She moved only slightly as Tywin shifted in the bed, and gently parted her legs before he began to lap at her. He'd never tasted anything like Sansa, and he was addicted to giving her this pleasure.

He felt when she began to stir, to press back against the relentlessness of his tongue and lips and then he heard her first breathy moan. His name, on her lips, and it went through Tywin like a bolt of lightning, that she knew to call out for him and him only. His wife, his lover, his mate. She was his and she knew it even as she was just waking. 

Tywin forced his gaze away from her wet and engorged flesh and met her eyes over her tummy. Bright blue eyes met his and they were filled with desire and love. How could he have ever imagined that beneath her perfect manners and steely looks, beat the heart of such a lioness- all passion and love, and all for him? He had not, not even in his deepest fantasies and wildest dreams. She'd surpassed them all.

"In me now, husband," she demanded, and he scrambled to comply, sinking inside her quickly and leaning down to kiss her, knowing she enjoyed tasting herself on his lips. They moved together in a way that only two people who had been with one another for over a year could; knowing exactly what the other liked and needed, until they both cried out, peaking together and finding that connection as one.

Tywin leaned down to nuzzle at her, panting slightly. "I have a surprise for you, little wolf. Something I can only believe my son is behind," he whispered in her ear and saw the sadness back in her eyes, but also curiosity.

"What is it, my lion?" Sansa asked, heart still aching. She thought of the picture she'd found last night, her proud husband cradling Tyrion's daughter and speaking to her about her father. She knew he was taciturn and harsh with the world, but he always showed her how deeply he cared. As much as her heart ached for Tyrion, she needed to be here for Tywin as well, and not allow his grief to consume him.

He gently turned her head so that she could see out the window. "Snow, my love."

Her blue eyes widened in delight, and she laughed gaily. "Can we take the boys outside, Ty?"

He nodded and kissed her again. "We can, my love. Let us break our fast with our family and then we will introduce them to the North.”

Sansa's eyes filled with tears, and they were both happy and sad. "It is as if Tyrion knew I needed a sign, and what better one than snow for a Northern wolf?"

Tywin gazed at her, tracing a hand softly down her cheek. She was everything to him, and he had no idea how he'd come to have this woman in his life: her passion and love, kindness, strength and intellect.

"I believe he did, Sansa. Now come, let us start our day, and celebrate Tyrion."

Sansa leaned up and kissed him once more and then pulled them from the bed, eager to share the snow with these lions that were her family.

* * *

Jon woke with Dacey wrapped in his arms, and a feeling of contentment unlike any he'd previously experienced stole over him. He took a moment to look at her. Without that quick smirk that she so often wore, or the heavy armour, she looked younger and softer. Of course, he knew she was deadly with a sword and equally quick with her mouth and let himself imagine for a moment dark-haired children, running through a castle they called their own, Dacey laughing with them. It was something Jon had never thought he'd have, and now it was all within reach, should they prevail against their greatest enemy.

When she finally roused herself, her eyes opened in surprise, and Jon saw the blush steal over her cheeks. "First time waking up with a man in your bed, sweet Dacey?" he teased her gently, and she nodded.

"Aye, it is. And you'd best be glad of that, Jon."

He laughed and kissed her, knowing he was. He wasn't entirely as bound by protocol and tradition as his cousins maybe, but he wouldn't lie and say a part of him wasn't glad she'd never been with another man.

"Come on, lazy, we'd best get to the King's dining hall, before Sansa sends a search party for me," Jon said, hauling them both from the bed. He liked getting ready with Dacey, watching her dress and pull on her armour, him there to lend a hand, so she didn't have to call a handmaiden today.

He brushed his lips over hers and then took her by the hand. Jon meant to speak with the King and Queen today about his future, and he knew there was no sense in hiding the change in their relationship.

They entered the dining hall of the King, still holding hands, pleasantly surprised to see Jaime already there. Joining him was Genna Lannister, and Shireen Baratheon, along with two people who Jon did not know; a pretty blond woman and dark-haired man.

Jaime, who by some miracle Jon could not account for, seemed to have recovered some of his usual charms from the broken man he had seen yesterday, was the first to spot the two of them, and his grin was wide and cocky. It was easy to see precisely how Jaime had gotten his reputation when he was surrounded by such luxury in the capital. It was the first time that Jon had seen him here, and not in the cold North. Jaime Lannister was not a man to be underestimated, Jon knew that much to be accurate, and looking at the Golden Lion now, who looked every inch the deadly lion his reputation purported him to be.

"Dragon riding, dear Dacey?" Jaime quipped, and Sansa's Commander of her Queensguard shot the Kingslayer a withering look.

"Wouldn't you like to know, lion."

Jaime threw back his head and laughed and then clapped Jon on the back.

"Come, Jon. Let me introduce you to my… daughter," Jaime finally settled on. Jon knew all the Lannister's secrets, and here, in this room, no one would treat Cella differently because of Jaime and Cersei's indiscretions.

"Myrcella Baratheon, meet Jon Snow. Sansa's cousin. Only he isn't a Snow. He's Lyanna and Rhaegar's child."

Myrcella's pretty eyes went wide at that sentence, and she dipped into a perfect curtsy to Jon… Targaryen?

"A pleasure to meet you, My Lord," she said and bowed her eyes and head.

Jon redden. "Not a Lord, My Lady," he said before Tywin's deep voice corrected him.

"But you are. If nothing else, you are the final heir to the Targaryen line and the rightful ruler of Dragonstone," Tywin said with finality, looking Jon in the eye; and then down to his clasped hands with Dacey. "I assume by this display, that you've abandoned this notion that you still have any vows or loyalty to the Night's Watch?"

When Tywin entered his dining hall with Sansa and saw Jon holding Dacey Mormont's hand, he had known immediately he had a solution to the pressing problem of what to do with that spit of land that was critical in defence of Westeros.

Jon straightened. "I cannot for the life of me imagine what I am Lord Commander of; there is no Wall, no castles, no watch. There is nothing to guard against. The horror from our nightmares now belongs to the collective in Westeros."

Tywin grunted and took his usual seat, allowing everyone else to find theirs. "Then it would seem, Jon Targaryen, that it is time to acknowledge who you are, stop using that dreadful name Snow, and take your place as the rightful Lord of Dragonstone.”

"It is, Your Grace," Jon said, meeting Tywin's cold green eyes.

"And this is who you've chosen to be your wife?" Tywin assessed Dacey Mormont.

She was most likely one of the only women in the Kingdom that would overlook Jon's previous title as Ned Stark's bastard and not be bothered by it, while at the same time, somehow holding onto her own as a source of pride. She'd done an exemplary job in guarding Sansa and was a beautiful woman; of that, there was no doubt. And with her as his bride, there was no way Jon could ever challenge Tywin or Sansa for the throne. The Lords of the realm might overlook his uncertain parentage and accept that he was the trueborn son of Lyanna and Rhaegar's, but they'd never look past hers. In one move, Tywin would secure another lord to his side, this one with a dragon, while all but guaranteeing Jon could never take the throne from him or Tysan.

"She is my choice, Your Grace." Jon met Tywin’s eyes and saw the truth there.

"And you'll both swear loyalty to the Queen and me?"

They nodded and said aye and Tywin gave their consent, both noting the look of happiness on Sansa's face.

Then Dacey rose and came to kneel before the King, her head bowed.

"Your Grace, on behalf of House Mormont, I give you our deepest thanks for the sacrifice your son made, to ensure the survival of my people." Her voice choked, and she raised her eyes, full of tears. "He will be remembered by those of my house for as long as we draw breath, for the hero he is. This is my vow, and I swear it to you."

Sansa grasped Tywin's hand, as tears tracked down her face and a small sob escaped her. She knew that her guard spoke the truth; those in the North took the vows they swore seriously. If and when House Mormont returned to Bear Island, Tyrion Lannister would become a legend in their house.

Tywin looked at the woman kneeling before him and saw the truth in her eyes. He nodded, and then awkwardly patted her as she rose, and hurried back to her seat beside Jon, who gazed at her with devotion in his eyes. When he looked to his wife, he thought he saw a bit more peace in her eyes as if the idea of Tyrion living as a legend in perpetuity in the North made her happy, and Tywin was once again struck by the monumental impact his youngest son had made.

"Oh Jon, you've yet to meet the man who saved Tywin's life," Sansa exclaimed, clapping happily, putting on a brave face despite her lingering grief.

"What happened?" Jon asked, clearly worried. He knew that Sansa was safest as long as the King was alive. Even Jaime startled at the news that his father had somehow been in danger. He'd heard nothing,

Tywin gave a long-suffering sigh, and let Sansa tell the story of his trip to Flea Bottom. Jaime, still not quite over his anger, chortled at one point and gave his father a look.

"The Great Lion; taken down by an angry mob. Gods, what an ignoble end that would have been."

Tywin glared at Jaime, who just shrugged. They had years of history to work out, now that they were the only two original Lannister's left.

"Well, as much as you might delight in my demise, an unlikely hero came to my rescue." Tywin's eyes landed on Gendry, who, even now, still felt uncomfortable at the King's table.

Shireen took up the story, tell how Gendry swung his war hammer and cut down two men, allowing Tywin to kill the other three.

"And your name?" Jon asked, just as Jaime gasped, and prevented Gendry from answering Jon.

"Seven fucking hells, father. You have a bastard of Robert's sitting at your table?"

"I do," Tywin said, meeting Jaime's heated gaze. He saved my life, and a Lannister always pays his debts, son."

Jaime barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

_Gods, they should stitch that on their banners instead of hear us roar_, Jaime thought.

"His name is Gendry, Jon. Arya's Gendry," Sansa said and saw when the recognition came into Jon's eyes, and he looked at the smith with new respect. He and Arya had talked, briefly about him.

"She asked me if Sansa had found you," Jon said to him, watching as Gendry's eyes lit in excitement.

"How is she?" he asked, and Jon got a serious look on his face. Sansa had told Gendry what she knew of the Greyjoy attack on Winterfell, and how Arya had disobeyed Sandor and left her brother and cousin unguarded, along with her injury. Gendry still struggled to understand how Arya had become so close with Sandor Clegane. When he'd been with them, she hated him.

"We will talk later," was all Jon said, and Gendry nodded. He had more than a few questions for Arya's cousin and was eager for answers.

Sansa announced, at the end of breakfast, that she and Tywin were going to bundle the princes up and take them out into the snow. Shireen and Myrcella asked to accompany them, while Jaime shook his heads. Jaime knew that his father hated the snow almost as much as he hated King Aerys. It had been a lament of the Old Lions from the time Jaime had been a child. Now he watched in utter bewilderment, as Tywin nodded to his pretty wife that he was, in fact, looking forward to introducing his sons to the snow.

Jaime marvelled at just how deeply his father loved his wife; it was there, plain for all to see, in every gesture, every touch and every word. He'd do anything for her, including this.

"I think it is a sign," Sansa said quietly when the others had left, and it was just Tywin and Jaime. "From Tyrion. He knew how much I loved the snow and missed Winterfell."

Jaime did not miss how his father's eyes softened on Sansa when she said these words. Tywin knew it was merely weather; a phenomenon brought about by the Night King and his otherworldly presence, but he clasped Sansa's hands and murmured his agreement. She kissed him then, passionately, uncaring that Jaime was there, and then hurried to round up her sons and get ready for their adventure, seeming impossibly young and innocent at that moment.

"Is there anything you wouldn't do for her?" Jaime asked ankles crossed as well as arms, a riot of emotions storming through him as he was finally alone with his father.

"No."

That was it. One word. No. There wasn't anything that Tywin Lannister wouldn't do for his wife, and Jaime ached for that type of love. He knew he had deep feelings for Brienne, but they did not even scratch the surface of what was between his father and Sansa.

Before Jaime could say anything else, Tywin spoke again. "I will not apologize for how I treated him. We both know it would be meaningless." His father paused. "I will say I am glad he had you, as his champion. He could not have had a better big brother to protect him. And I am sorry, now, that he is gone, just as we were forging something new."

Jaime knew this is the most he ever would get out of his father, and even this was more than he'd have imagined two years ago. He could lament until he was old and grey, but his father would not bend on this. In many ways, as much as he acknowledged his treatment of Tyrion was awful, they knew he wouldn't change it even if he could, and that was, who Tywin Lannister was.

"You don't deserve a woman like her," Jaime said, conversationally.

Tywin snorted. "Of course, I don't. I'm a monster, compared to someone like Sansa. But somehow, I have her all the same." He looked at his son in the eye. "I cannot give you the Rock while you are married to that woman, Jaime. And that pains me more than I can say."

Tywin watched his son shrug, philosophically. Jaime had known it the moment he married her, and it hadn't bothered him. His entire life, even though he'd been groomed to take his place there, he'd never imagined ever doing so, and now even less. "She would be miserable there, and an awful chatelaine for the people," Jaime agreed. His marriage to Brienne was unconventional, and they'd forge their path, if they even made it out of the war alive.

"I need you and Jon here for the next few weeks," Tywin stated and saw Jaime start to protest. He held up a hand. "I am without most of my advisors, I have thousands of people streaming into the capital, my son is dead, my wife is pregnant, and Dorne refuses to send men. I need my son by my side, Jaime. And the raven from Kevan indicates our army is still two weeks from Harrenhal. You'll have time to go back and fight. Right now, you are needed here."

Jaime nodded and then saw Sansa come back in the hall, eyes lit in excitement as she was dressed in a beautiful heavy blue gown and a stunning white cloak. She looked every inch the Northern Queen she was. "Tywin, come. Get dressed. I cannot have you walking around the courtyard in nothing more than your breeches and doublet."

Jaime smirked as his father rose, gave a long-suffering sigh and then grabbed his wife, tickling her, so she laughed, and he could capture her lips. "Do not order me about, wife," he growled at her, but Jaime could see it was jape. Sansa's eyes danced with mirth, and she kissed his father again.

"Please, for me, my love. I would hate for you to catch a cold," she whispered to him, and Tywin's eyes softened at her words.

"I'll be back soon, my little wolf."

Sansa took Tywin's vacated seat and held her hands out for Jaime. "How are you today?"

He wondered how she had such a boundless well of compassion in her when his family seemed to lack in that area sorely.

"I am better; seeing Myrcella was a balm that I didn't know I need, Sansa. I miss him, as I'm sure you do. And I will spend every day for the rest of my life missing him. But we cannot stop living. They need us to go on, Sansa."

She squeezed his hand and nodded. "She is a lovely girl, Jaime. "She has such goodness in her.”

Jaime's eyes got bright, as they heard her and Shireen come back into the King and Queen's dining hall, accompanied by Gendry and Jon and Myrcella. Such an odd assortment of people that now surrounded his father, and all with so much happiness, which had been a rare enough thing, growing up on the Rock. Jaime knew his two new brothers would have a vastly different childhood than him.

"My father has asked Jon and me to stay for a few weeks, Sansa, and we will have time to reminisce about Tyrion. Go, now and show the little princes the snow. It's a rare occasion when you can rouse the lion to play in the stuff."

Sansa pressed a kiss to Jaime's cheek and then rose to find her sons. When she entered the nursery, she was pleased to see Genna with Joanna. "She's too little," Tywin's sister said by way of explanation and left with her, as Sansa nodded, and then worked to get her sons bundled for the cold.

It brought back memories helping her mother do this for Bran and Rickon. Children in the North did not just get to spend all day indoors; from a young age, they learned to embrace and love the snow. A pang went through Sansa then, as she thought about her wolf, Lady. She'd never really recovered from her loss, feeling as though a piece of her was always missing.

She looked down at Tysan, who was smiling at her, and reaching for the white fur around her cloak. "Yes, my love, you're both a wolf and a lion. And even though your father thinks you mostly lion, I know your heart is proud and brave like my Lady was. One day I will tell you about her, and perhaps, if the gods are kind, you will have a direwolf pup of your own. Imagine a king with a wolf by his side," Sansa was saying to him, watching his face crinkle in delight.

"There is already a King with a wolf at his side, my love," Tywin's bemused voice said into the room. Sansa blushed when she turned and saw him standing there. He strode over to pick up his heir, who was ready for the cold. "But it would be something to see, indeed, a King such as that."

Sansa loved watching Tywin with their children, and her heart melted a bit more each time. She scooped Jason up, who not too be outdone by his twin, babbled happily as he clutched at her.

They found the others waiting; neither Gendry nor Myrcella or Shireen had ever seen snow. Jon just shook his head at their excitement, thinking about his long, cold marches beyond the Wall and endless days of white. But he also remembered the fun they had at Winterfell, even Sansa joining in a time or two.

"When she could escape her duties," Jon was explaining as the group made their way to the private courtyard, reserved for the ruling family. "Sansa always had a needle in her hand or was working on bookwork from Septa Mordane or Maester Luwin. Put us all to shame, she did, when she so diligently finished her work, and we were covered in mud and dirt."

Sansa sniffed and titled her chin just a bit higher. In truth, there had been days she'd longed to join with her siblings; to play and run and do nothing more than be a child. But her mother had drilled decorum and manners into her and held her to a standard that the others seemed to be all but exempt from.

"Mother insisted, Jon," she huffed, and Tywin shot a warning glance to him.

"Sansa, I know. It was unfair of her, and mean and cruel of us to taunt you in such a way," Jon said softly, and she forgave him immediately.

"How is Ghost Jon?" she asked, a hitch in her voice. Today, it seemed, was a day for missing those who were no longer her, and not just Tyrion it appeared.

"He's good," Jon said, frowning. He'd heard what had happened to Sansa's direwolf, and knowing what he and Robb could do with their wolves, he wondered if Sansa felt a part of her was missing. Now was not the time to have that discussion, but he'd speak with her about it before he left.

"Who is Ghost?" Myrcella asked, and Jon grinned and explained how they had come to own each own a direwolf.

"And where is yours, Lady Sansa? Surely Grandfather would allow you such a pet?" Myrcella asked innocently.

Sansa, already close to tears, shook her head.

"There was an incident… with the former Queen and your brother when they came south. Lady paid the price for Arya and Joffrey's hatred of one another."

Sansa was all but shaking, and Tywin motioned for the others to go on. He pulled her into his arms. "My love, what happened?" He had heard some passing story from Cersei, ages ago and had never thought any more about it.

In halting words, Sansa told Tywin what had happened; all of it. Arya attacking Joff, Mycah, the butcher's boy, Nymeria biting Joff, and then Cersei was demanding the wolf be punished.

"Only Arya chased Nymeria off, while Lady, always loyal, stayed by my side. My father took her to the woods and…" Sansa couldn't even finish, and she was a mess of incoherent sobbing. Tywin was no fool; he understood that direwolves were more than just pets to these Northerners and, once again, railed at his daughter and grandson and the damage they caused.

"Bloody fucking hell," the King muttered, cursing them all. Cersei, Robert, Ned, Joff, and even Arya. Why did it always seem like his wife had paid the price for the foolish decisions of her family? Her mother, Baelish and her brother. It was always Sansa that was the pawn, that was beaten, and that had her heartbroken. He cursed the fools who caused her harm, both his family and hers. And it reaffirmed to him, that he was the only person truly capable of seeing to her wellbeing; to ensure she was happy, safe and loved.

"I'm so sorry, Sansa," Tywin said, holding her as close as he could, with her pregnant form and two small children in their arms.

"I know it sounds absurd, Tywin, but I miss her still. She was a part of me," Sansa said, her cheeks blotchy and red, eyes rimmed with pain.

He stroked a hand down her face. "I know." He had nothing else to say, wishing that he'd been able to prevent this pain in her life. "I promise if the day comes, and our sons are given direwolves, they will be allowed to keep them."

He saw his wife's eyes brighten at that thought, and she stood up on tiptoes to kiss him. "Thank you." She wondered how it was that even old hurts were soothed by him, this man who meant everything to her. By the time they caught up with the others, they had made a mess in the fresh snow, footprints and snowballs flying. Jon and Gendry were pelting Shireen and Myrcella, who were laughing and holding up their hands to ward off the attack.

When the first flakes landed on Jason's cheek, his green eyes went wide, and then he smiled.

"Truly part wolf," Tywin muttered beside her. Not to be outdone, Tysan reached for a flake, a look of astonishment on his face when it vanished in his hand.

Sansa was cooing over the boys and missed when Tywin stopped to gaze at her. The snow had landed in her hair, painting it white and red; ice and fire. She seemed wholly unaffected by the cold and the wet, and instead, delighted in it, even going so far as to stick her tongue out and catch some flakes on her tongue. The others left them alone, sensing they needed the space to be together as a family.

Sansa leaned against Ty's body and sighed happily. "I know it is misery for so many, and I know it is not natural. But this was what I needed today. Thank you, Tywin."

The richest man in Westeros and all his wife wanted was a snowfall. She was a treasure unlike any other, Tywin knew.

They stayed for an hour until the babies started to squirm and cry, and everyone else was cold and wet. When they arrived back at their apartments, Sansa handed her sons off to their nannies and laughed as Tywin took her hand and dragged her to their bathing chambers.

"Now we warm-up," he said, but the look on his face said it was less about being warm, then him sating his insatiable need for her. He seemed determined to dote on her today, and Sansa let him. He stripped off her wet gown, letting the heavy material fall to the floor and then all but ripped at her small clothes. Sansa didn't even put up a token protest, needing him as much as he needed her.

She loved how his green eyes darkened to gold when he took in her form; breasts heavy and full, stomach rounded with his child and her hair, red and glorious, loose down her back. He sunk to his knees, nuzzling at her, and nudged her legs apart.

"I'm hungry, wife," was all he said before he parted her and feasted, making her thrust her lower body against his mouth while her hands found purchase in his hair. Tywin gripped her ass, holding her closer as he ground into her core, loving what she tasted like.

"My wolf, my wife, my Sansa," he growled, hearing her sob his name and proclaim him back.

He caught her when she all but collapsed from her peak and sunk into the warm water with her, guiding her to settle on top of him, so they were connected. He sought her lips, and his kiss was tender.

"Tywin," she said, breathless as she kissed him, loving how he filled her. "You are mine as well. My husband and my lion and my protector. For all our days, love."

"Sansa." Tywin was utterly captivated by her; her taste still on his lips, her body tightly holding his and her eyes that shone with all the love she had for him.

He moved, slowly at first, watching her intently, seeing the passion bank in her eyes again, until she was riding him, dragging them both over eventually, their pants and grunts filling the room. Sansa collapsed onto him, letting her lips rest by his ear.

"Thank you for today," she told him, even though the day was only half done. She knew as King; his time was valuable, and he'd spent it all with her today.

"The realm will survive if I am indisposed for half a day, Sansa," he told her.

Tywin knew they needed to discuss critical matters; Tyrion's funeral, this marriage of Jon's, what to do with her mother, and lastly, Dorne. But they'd needed this break today before they had to get back to the business of running the Kingdom, and Tywin would not regret it for anything. For too long in his life, he'd put duty above everything else, including his children and he would not make the same mistakes with Sansa. She was everything, and Tywin knew they'd face whatever came at them; together and stronger for the unbreakable bond they had built.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite a bit more political and character driven stories in this chapter. 
> 
> I must preface this chapter by saying, we are well off canon now, and I am making my own choices for some of these characters, based on my interpretation of them- part of this interpretation is canon, some TV and some is from this story alone. 
> 
> PLEASE keep in mind, these are NOT the same characters verbatim as the show as I've made quite different choices for them. 
> 
> I hope you trust me with them, but not everyone will get a happy ending. We are moving towards the final battle, and some of the choices these characters make in this chapter will have a profound effect on that. 
> 
> Having said ALL of that, I hope you enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> Many kudos to Celia- my constant support system with an endless willingness to answer all my questions, plotlines, silly questions and insecurities.

_ King's Landing _

Jaime found Sansa later that afternoon, alone for once with the three babies, although the two princes looked impressively large next to the small dark-haired baby that Sansa was singing to.

She spied Jaime and smiled, and he saw it was ringed with sadness. She truly had cared for Tyrion.

"Come and meet your niece, Jaime," she said and gestured to a chair adjacent to hers.

Jaime wiped his palms and sat, sinking into the comfortable chair and watching Sansa with Tyrion's daughter.

"He said she was perfect," Jaime said after a time.

"She is, and she is such a good baby. So happy and eats well," Sansa replied, smiling at her, looking every inch the Queen mother at that moment.

"Would you like to hold her?” Sansa asked.

Sansa's blue eyes met Jaime's, and in them, she saw such longing and sorrow. She knew that his relationship with Cersei had been wrong on so many levels, but she wondered if he even understood the damage it had done to him. She doubted he'd had much opportunity to be a true father to any of his children, and his heart must ache for all he'd missed. She’d watched how much Tywin enjoyed being around his sons, and she knew that Jaime would have been the same type of father.

Sansa saw Jaime nod, and she rose and placed Joanna in his open arms, catching the tears in his eyes.

Jaime let out a small sob as her big brown eyes locked on his as if he held the secrets to the world.

"Hello, sweetheart," Jaime finally said, rocking her gently.

Just as Sansa got Joanna settled with Jaime, Tysan let out a cry, and not wanting to wake Jason, she scooped him up quickly.

Jaime watched as she held his father's heir to the Iron Throne, marvelling at how much he looked like Tywin. Blushing only slightly, Sansa began to nurse her son, as they sat in comfortable silence for a time.

When Tysan finished, Sansa burped him and then put him on her lap, cooing at him while he babbled at his mother. Joanna had fallen asleep in Jaime's arms, and as he watched Sansa, his mind blurted out words, he had no idea he had even been holding inside.

"I cannot for the life of me, see Lady Brienne as a mother."

Sansa's head lifted, and she looked directly at him. She'd spoken at length with Tywin about his reluctance to give Jaime Casterly Rock as long as he was married to the lady warrior. Sansa sighed and cuddled Tysan closer. She hated to admit that her husband had a point, and now, so, too, did his son. Sansa had a hard time imagining Brienne with a child.

"Have you spoken to her about it? Your fears?"

Jaime barked out a harsh laugh and shook his head. He had a funny look on his face. "Out there, on the edge of war, her and I make sense, Sansa. But being home and seeing you and my father, Myrcella now, and even Jon and Dacey…" Jaime let his voice trail off. "We don't speak much. And she seems solely dedicated to fighting this war."

Sansa nodded, feeling like Jaime's description of Brienne was entirely accurate. She had not been at all interested in womanly pursuits while she'd been in Kings Landing, and it had been a bit startling that Jaime had been attracted to such a woman. Cersei, for all her faults, had been beautiful and feminine; she had sought her power in different ways, without a sword and steel.

"But she loves you, right, Jaime?" Sansa asked softly, hoping that she hadn't misread her like she had Margaery.

Jaime gave a small smile. "She does, but…" He had stopped speaking and closed his mouth.

"But what?"

Jaime shook his head and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I feel like I am betraying her, Sansa, by speaking with you. But it is almost as if her love is conditional."

Sansa frowned at that statement. "In what way?"

Jaime adjusted Joanna and leaned back in the chair. The room was warm and cozy; it felt like a safe place to unburden himself. Jaime briefly wondered if it was fair to Sansa, but he couldn’t help himself. He was like a vial that had been uncorked and not he could not stop speaking.

"You know what my father had done, correct? To Tyrion, and Elia. And you found out what he would have done to your brother Robb, his wife and your mother."

Sansa only nodded, saying nothing. They didn’t often talk about some of her husband's more heinous crimes, but she knew them all the same.

"But you love him anyway. And you don't demand he's someone different."

She cocked her head. "I fell in love with your father knowing who and what he was; what he was accused of doing. Despite that, I never expected to find such a deep well of feelings in him; that he was capable of loving me so much. But make no mistake Jaime, I don’t like some of the choices he has made."

Jaime leaned forward. "Yes, but you don't expect him to be someone he is not. He is still Tywin Lannister, and though he has changed yes, it was by his own accord. Not because you threatened to stop loving him if he does something you don't approve of."

Sansa smiled and agreed. "Yes, that is all true. Although I'd like to think I have had a tempering influence on him." Sansa thought about her demand that he try with Tyrion after Shae had been murdered.

"Put demands on him, yes, temper him, you may, but your love is not conditional, is it?"

Jaime's eyes were intense, a deep green that reminded Sansa of Tywin's. She ensured that she didn't waver in his gaze, sensing he was seeking some confirmation from her.

"No, Jaime, it is not. Because then it is not really love, is it, if it comes with conditions?" Her voice had dropped and was barely above a whisper. "It is just like I love you as my family, even knowing what you've done." She gave him a soft smile, and Jaime felt his heart crack.

"I think Brienne loves a version of me." His voice was pained and low, the words sounding as if they'd been ripped from his very soul.

Sansa cocked her head, wondering what he meant. Jaime looked around the room, three sleeping babies and the Queen of the seven kingdoms. She was so unlike Cersei that they could hardly be compared. Sansa drew people in and had a seemingly endless supply of both patience and empathy for those she considered friends and family.

"Why do you think her love is conditional, Jaime?" Her heart ached for her friend; Jaime was family, and he'd been through hell these past few years. Sansa always felt he was searching endlessly for something; acceptance, love, respect. Perhaps all three.

He let out a small sob. "I've done horrible things for people I've loved Sansa; for my family. Not just Cersei, but my father and Tyrion as well. And what if I do something, make a wrong choice in the future? What if I can't be the man she claims I am? She says I can be good and make the right choices, but I've spent my whole life trying to live up to what my sister wanted and needed me to be. I’ve done hateful things again and again to earn her love, and I know what I am and am not capable of. I know if I had to, to protect you, or my new brothers, or Myrcella, I would do those things again, without hesitation to protect my family.”

Sansa rose and placed Tysan in the crib, and then gently took Joanna from Jaime's arms, before she knelt before him, taking his hand in hers.

"I forgave you for your past actions, Jaime, because I saw how sorry you were and because you expressed remorse. You are a good man, Jaime, but you are just a man. You will make mistakes as will I, and as will Tywin. And even when you do, that doesn't mean you are any less deserving of love than any other man."

"I love my family, Sansa. Probably to my detriment and certainly to distraction," he whispered harshly. She had no idea what he’d done for the family; what would do for the family.

"And we love you, Jaime." Her words were the absolute truth and spoken without any guile. She squeezed his hand. "And we will love you in the future Jaime, whatever that future is, and whatever choices you make. You are a good man, Jaime, but you are just a man- prone to the same bad choices as the rest of us."

"You are too good for us, sweet Sansa. I've said that from the moment you forgave me." Jaime had a sheen of tears in his eyes as he felt her acceptance wash over him.

She smiled, and Jaime was stunned by her beauty. "Forgiveness is not conditional, Jaime, and neither is love."

He nodded and then rose, pressing a kiss to her forehead, smiling at the crown she wore. Direwolves. His father truly loved this woman. When he turned, he saw his father standing in the doorway and wondered how much he had heard; enough, it seemed if the look on Tywin's face was any indication. Funnily enough, as the eldest son that had too often seen only scorn, ridicule and disappointment on his father's face, it was odd to see empathy and compassion there. Sansa truly had allowed Tywin to become gentler in privacy with his family, away from the judgements of others. That was confirmed with Tywin spoke.

"You are a Lannister, and you are my son. You will always be worthy in my eyes, Jaime."

Tywin moved swiftly and pulled Jaime into his arms. He was not a demonstrative man, but through Sansa, she had allowed this softer side of him to emerge once more. The Great Lion had realized just how starved he had become human touch the moment Sansa had come into his life. Now he couldn't go more than a few hours without seeking out her warmth and love.

Jaime hugged his father back, realizing suddenly that they were going through the same thing; both men had lost two children, and they had only each other now. Jaime let the anger from his father's treatment of Tyrion flow out of him, knowing it would do neither of them any good. The Lannister's had to be united and strong now, in the face of such danger.

"Thank you," Jaime said, his voice thick with the emotion of the moment.

Jaime needed to have this time with his father and Sansa. They were family, and they were almost all he had left. The two people in this world that accepted him fully for who and what he was and loved him despite his many shortcomings. For years, even Tyrion had an odd look of judgement in his eyes when he'd gazed upon Jaime as if he couldn't quite forgive his brother for loving his sister or breaking his vow to guard the King. There was no judgement in the eyes of Sansa and Tywin. They treated him as stated- like he was loved and accepted by them. It was a heady feeling, like vibrant Dornish red that coursed through a body during that first sip, and Jaime almost felt drunk on the sensation.

There were still days when Jaime wished everyone knew what he had done. Enough seemed to know now, that the looks weren’t quite as harsh or often. Someone had told Addam, as he'd almost cut someone down the other day when the word Kingslayer was whispered behind Jaime's back. Stannis Baratheon knew, and so did Jon and Robb. Jaime thought it wouldn't matter if no one outside his family knew why he had made the choices he had, but the conversation with Sansa highlighted for him that it did bother him that so many still believed the worst of him.

Sansa was picking up Jason when she saw the two men embrace. Her heart soared at the beginning of their reconciliation. Both were such proud and fierce lions, she thought, watching them. When they pulled back from one another, Jaime took a seat, a look of relaxation Sansa had not previously seen on his face as he watched his father.

Once again, here, in the nursery, deep in their private chambers, Tywin allowed himself to be a different man than he presented to the world as he walked over to her.

"My sweet wife," Tywin said, pulling her close and pressing his lips to hers, before stroking a finger over Jason's cheek. He didn't mind that his son saw him act this way with Sansa; Tywin was not ashamed of what he felt for his wife.

It never failed to stun Jaime to watch his father with Sansa. He was so open and loving with her, and Jaime liked to imagine this was what the Great Lion had been like with Joanna.

She laughed softly and kissed him back, scratching at his whiskers as he tilted his head at her. When he looked her in the eyes, Sansa saw there was something heavy there.

"We need to discuss your mother, Sansa." His voice was quiet but still carried all the weight of the King.

She sighed, feeling the responsibly of her position more acutely at that moment than she had ever before. She placed Jason back in the crib and nodded to Tywin.

Tywin led her and Jaime into his solar and called for an early supper. They would dine alone tonight; the topics they had to discuss were unpleasant and painful, and he needed his son and heir there as well as his wife. The two people he trusted the most in the world were beside him right now.

When they were eating, Tywin stated it was time for Lady Catelyn to go.

"Why now, Father?" Jaime asked, truly curious.

Addam had done remarkable things for King's Landing and had won the respect of the nobles and commoners in the city, which was rare. As Lord Commander of the City Watch, he held a position of power, and Tywin had named him Master of Laws in Kevan's absence. Jaime knew that his father relied heavily on Ser Addam and that there was no way the man could leave to escort his wife to the Castle high up in the hills of the Westerlands.

Tywin heaved out a tired sigh. He had tried with Lady Catelyn as much as was possible to allow the woman to be integrated into his household. He'd let her stay for the birth of her grandchildren. But theirs was an uneasy truce and seeing her behaviour towards Gendry made him worry what she might do regarding Myrcella. And he didn't trust her.

When he shared these thoughts with Sansa and Jaime, he could see they both agreed, albeit reluctantly.

It was decided, after a long talk, to send Catelyn to Addam's ancestral home in the West, Ashemark. They had discussed, endlessly, the idea of her mother going to Casterly Rock, but no one felt comfortable with her there.

"I can ill afford to send men with her," Tywin muttered, frustrated at the time this was taking from more essential matters.

"My uncle is still here. I'm sure there are a few loyal men from the Riverlands that are available to escort her there. She is the mother of the Queen, and no one would dare kidnap her, not in the West."

Jaime snorted at those ‘loyal men,' and both Sansa and Ty looked to him. "Some of your Uncle's closest friends hate House Lannister, Lady Sansa." He gave his father a pointed look. "For good reason."

Sansa sighed, knowing it was true. How did one ever make up for the sheer deprivation that was Ser Gregor? "What other choice do we have?"

Her husband grunted at that thought, knowing it was the best choice for the circumstances they were facing. After that had been decided, talk turned to Tyrion's funeral. Having helped plan Joffrey's and Cerise's, Sansa told Tywin it could be accomplished quite quickly.

Jaime grimaced at the thought of seeing his other sibling lying dead in the Great Sept. He had spent far too much time there for his liking and would sooner never step foot inside it again. Still, he couldn't conceive of forcing Sansa to do all the work by herself.

"I'll help," was all that Jaime said, but he saw the approval flash across the King's face, and relief on Sansa’s.

"You'll spare no expense, my love. He deserves it. He died as the hand of the King,” Tywin told Sansa.

Sansa nodded, allowing the grief to wash over her again. She found it came in waves, and when she kept herself busy, she could almost pretend he was simply away. It was only at night when she was alone with Tywin that she let the pain come. She felt Tyrion deserved to have someone grieve him well, and she would.

There was a brief silence before the King cleared his throat. "Which brings me to the last matter before us. The Hand of the King."

Sansa frowned slightly as if to protest it was too soon to think of replacing Tyrion, but one look at Tywin's face and she stilled her tongue. They were at war, and her King needed someone he could trust.

Jaime felt a brief flash of anger as well and did not hold his tongue.

"He is barely dead, father. It is too soon to be discussing such matters," he protested. In truth, he knew that power abhorred a vacuum, and the sooner they could fill the role, the better.

"I understand neither one of you would like to discuss such a matter. You both most likely find it crass and far too soon. I, however, have no such luxury to wallow in my feelings. Dorne is uncooperative, the Reach, despite reassurances from Lord Willas is close to rebellion should Mace find out the truth about how his mother and beloved daughter died, I've lost a dragon and an army of the dead, of which we have no idea how to stop, marches for humanity. I need a man I can trust at my side."

Tywin thumped a hand down on the table, allowing his grief, anger and frustration out. It was a rare display of a loss of control, and Jaime's green eyes widened.

"So you are human. I had wondered," the Kingslayer murmured. Tywin glowered at him. Jaime sighed.

"Shall I bring a message back to Uncle Kevan? Or perhaps Stannis?" He knew his father would choose between those two men, but when silence only met that statement, Jaime sat up straighter. He saw something he wasn't sure he liked in his father's eyes.

Jaime barked out a harsh laugh. "You can't possibly be serious. I'm hardly suitable."

Tywin said nothing, feeling as Sansa reached for his hand and squeezed it, conveying her support.

Jaime looked lost. "Father, I'm … you know what they call me. What they all think I am." Jaime paused. “Oathbreaker and Man without Honour. How could that man possibly be your hand?”

"But you are not that man." Tywin's voice was immovable and firm; his faith and belief in Jaime unwavering. He couldn't care less about what others thought anymore. He had the truth and knew the type of man his son was.

"It hardly matters." Jaime waved a hand. "To all of Westeros, I am."

Tywin shook his head. "Enough people know the truth behind your killing of Aerys. And no one would ever doubt your loyalty to me." Then Tywin's gaze turned to Sansa. "Or to the Queen. Tell me, Jaime, if something were to happen to me, who else am I to trust my wife and sons too? Tell me you wouldn't die to defend them; to defend her. Should I die, before Tysan reaches his majority, you are the only man I can trust to rule with Sansa and help her as Regent. I know you want nothing to do with the Crown, and I know you would do everything to see him sit on the Throne."

Jaime was stunned. He sat there in utter shock, letting his father's words wash over him. He'd long thought he'd lost the Great Lion's trust and respect. His father had been bitterly disappointed in him when he'd refused to give up his role as a Kingsguard even after he'd killed Aerys. Things had not improved when he'd lost his hand and Tywin had learned about his relationship with Cersei. He knew that Tywin did not approve of his marriage. And yet. Despite all of that, it seemed his father would trust him with this. To be the man that was closest to the King and the person who would stand by Sansa's side should his father die before his son could rule. It was an overwhelming amount of responsibility and a massive show of trust and love from the Great Lion.

"I need time to think." Jaime shoved back from the table and nodded once at them, and then left the room, his mind racing.

Tywin sighed and took a healthy swig of wine from his goblet. That hadn't quite been the disaster he thought it might be. Sansa rose, and Tywin pushed his chair back so that he could hold his wife. He inhaled her scent, letting it soothe him as nothing else quite could.

"He is the correct choice, my King," she told him calmly, her never-ending support in him more apparent than ever. She rubbed at the back of Tywin's neck, feeling the knotted muscles and wondering how he didn't break under such weight that was placed on his shoulders.

Tywin grunted and turned, so his lips brushed hers. "He needs to learn his place and accept his capabilities. He has denied them for too long." Sansa murmured her agreement.

"I wish to the gods that he'd never married so hastily. For years all I wanted was for him to make a good match, to take his place as my heir. And then when he does marry….She is not good for him, Sansa," he said to her, letting her know he'd heard her earlier conversation with Jaime.

She let out a heavy sigh and nodded. She had the same uneasy feeling that her husband did about Jaime's marriage.

"What will you do?" Sansa asked Tywin. She knew almost anything was in his power, and Jaime was his heir and beloved son. Tywin would do whatever necessary to see Jaime happy.

He shook his head, knowing he was on tenuous ground with Jaime.

"Nothing right now," he grumbled. He wanted Jaime to accept his offer to become the next Hand of the King, and he knew that if he pushed him on the topic of his marriage, it would drive a wedge between them.

"It has to be his choice. If he asked, I would annul the marriage in a second."

Sansa sighed and burrowed further into her husband's arms. She ached for Jaime, wondering what more she might do for him, and she hurt for Brienne. Sansa knew that the large woman had feelings for Jaime, but his assessment of Brienne was accurate; she saw the world in very black and white terms, and Jaime had lived his whole life in shades of grey.

"I'm glad he is staying here for the next few weeks. He needs his family, Ty." On that, they both agreed and vowed to keep Jaime close.

The next morning, her mother and Ser Addam were summoned to the King's solar along with her Uncle Edmure and Ser Jaime. Catelyn knew what was happening immediately, and she tensed. She had known her time in King's Landing would come to an end at some point, she just hadn't imagined it would be in the middle of this so-called war with the dead.

She hadn't believed such nonsense when she'd lived in the North, and she didn't now. Reanimated corpses? A king that could raise those that had fallen? Catelyn knew the North had emptied, but to what end? Her eldest son had been seduced by these lions, along with her daughter and Jon…Targaryen. They were all in cahoots with one another. She knew her other daughter and youngest son were being sent to the capital, where they would then be in the Great Lions clutches. He'd let Arya escape once without marrying her off, but would he again? And what if she didn't approve of his choice of husband for her daughter? What power would she have then? She already could not understand how that bastard of Robert’s was allowed to dine at the table of the King and Queen. There was no telling what Tywin might do with her children. A plan had begun to form in her mind, and with every thought, she gained clarity and knew what she needed to do.

For a brief moment, Catelyn's eyes teared, thinking she would never see her eldest daughter again. Looking at Sansa, Cat felt a wave of bittersweet emotion roll over her. In so many ways, her daughter had exceeded many of her expectations. She had married the wealthiest and most powerful man in the realm, and now had more influence than Catelyn could have ever envisioned. But Catelyn didn't like or trust Tywin Lannister. She still did not understand the love and affection between them and hated how close they were. Cat had expected the King to be too busy in his new position for his wife and children. But he'd proven her wrong, doting on Sansa and his sons. It wasn't that Cat begrudged Sansa a husband that loved her, it was that their bond was so tight it was insurmountable for anyone else to get close to either one. She had no influence or sway over her daughter anymore and hadn't for years. 

Catelyn didn't trust either Sansa or Tywin with her other three children. She would not lose them to the lions like she'd lost Robb and Sansa. Tearful goodbyes were said, especially when Cat hugged her two grandsons. They were, despite who their father was, beautiful children and she would miss them dearly.

The next day, accompanied by loyal men from the Riverlands, Catelyn hugged her husband hard. He was a good man in a world filled with cruel and vicious men, and she knew her plan would hurt him as much as Sansa. He didn't deserve it; he'd treated her well, loved her to the best of his ability. For a time, she had allowed her feelings for him to deepen, but she'd always held a part of herself back. Had she analyzed herself more, she might have realized that Ned's betrayal, followed by Petyr's, had damaged her irrevocably, but she was not capable of such self-reflection.

After final goodbyes, she rode away from the Red Keep and down the Gold Road with her loyal men at her side. Sansa stood and watched and Tywin wrapped his arms around her. Jon was also there, having come to pay his respects to Lady Catelyn. It was astonishing how much her mother's attitude had changed when it came to Jon, although she still had an irrational dislike of bastards if her treatment of Gendry was anything to go by.

Once she was a mere speck on the horizon, Tywin turned to Jaime. "Let's spar."

Jaime's eyes widened in shock, and then he couldn't help but let the pure joy that the attention of his father brought him wash over him. He knew his father had many things to attend to, but he was making Jaime a priority.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jaime caught Jon's expression of almost longing. Jaime wondered at that. He hadn't spent nearly as much time with him as he had Robb, but now they were family, and it was time to get to know him better.

"Come, Jon. Let us see what the Old Lion is made of."

Tywin heard Jaime and snorted as he made his way to the training yard, Sansa eyeing all of them with some trepidation. She'd rarely seen her husband spar more than a handful of times, and even then, he hardly did so at full capacity. He was the King, and no one was silly enough to challenge him outright. But now, he'd poked Jaime, and it would be fascinating to see how his son responded.

When they entered the yard, there were others there; mostly men from Tywin or Sansa's guard. They bowed and scattered, sensing something unexpected was happening.

Both Tywin and Jaime readied themselves, having their Lannister blades brought to them, adorned with lions and gold.

"They do like pretty things, don't they," Jon all but muttered, at her side and utterly fascinated as he watched the King and his son start to spar.

Jon could see immediately how much time and effort that Tywin must have put into Jaime's training. He knew every move his son set out to make, and even though Jaime, at his peak, had far surpassed Tywin in skill, losing his sword hand had more than evened the playing field between them.

Jon wondered briefly what his life might have been like, had his father lived to raise him. He'd heard only bits and pieces about Rhaegar, but everyone indicated he was skilled with a sword. Jon thought about being raised in an environment when he'd had every advantage because he had been trueborn, loved and wanted. And royalty. It was almost impossible to imagine such an upbringing, and yet, as he watched Tywin with Jaime, Jon could start to envision what it might have been like.

Tywin barked out short, harsh orders to Jaime, who let a grin flash across his handsome face every so often. He was quicker than he'd been the last time they had been in this yard; he'd battled death and seen his son die by its hand, and it drove Jaime. He was in better shape and more accustom to the feeling of the blade in his left hand, and as if he were still a small boy, he ached to impress his father once again.

When Jaime finally landed a hit, Tywin threw back his head and laughed. "Good." One word, and it meant everything to Jaime. He felt lighter than he had in months, years possibly. When Tywin handed his sword off to a steward, he clasped Jaime's face to his. "Be my hand. I need you, son. Be the man you were born to be.”

Jaime could do nothing more than nod and accept his father's offer. Pleased, Tywin slapped Jaime on the back and then gathered Sansa, who wore a bemused expression on her face.

"You looked like a preening lion, husband," she muttered to him, and he once again let a smile loose on his face, before hauling her to his side, swinging her off her feet. She laughed prettily as Tywin kissed her hard. "Come, wife, let's leave these men to their games."

When they were gone, Jaime glanced around and saw Jon still standing there. There was a funny look on his face.

"You're lucky, Kingslayer," Jon said, walking deceptively slow towards Jaime.

Jaime let out a harsh laugh. _Lucky? What was the bastard playing at?_ On what earth could Jaime Lannister be considered lucky unless Jon was talking about bad luck. That seemed to follow Jaime around like a dark cloud.

"Bad luck if I have any luck at all, Jon," Jaime replied blithely, not knowing where this conversation was going.

Seeing Jaime's confusion, Jon continued talking. "I had it better than most bastards. Ned Stark at least acknowledged me. Destroyed his marriage to protect my mother's secret. He could have sent me away or kept me from learning anything. Instead, he raised me alongside Robb. But there was always a distance. I know why now."

Jaime said nothing.

"He loved me; I always knew that. And now, knowing I was his nephew, his love makes sense. It didn't at the time." Jon stopped, hand resting on Longclaw. "Watching the King and you, seeing how a man is supposed to care for his son, raise him and train him to take his rightful place, I say again, you're lucky Kingslayer. I wonder what it would have been like to have been raised by my father — trained by him. To see him be proud of me. To see him care."

Never in his entire life, had anyone ever called Tywin Lannister's cold and demanding parenting style caring, and never had anyone looked enviously towards Jaime and his complicated relationship with his father. But Jon was. Jaime wished there was something he could say to ease the ache he saw on Jon's face.

"I didn't know your father; not well, and he wasn't often at court. When he was, Aerys kept me close to him. In the end, I don't think he even trusted his flesh and blood."

Jon nodded, then frowned. It had to be difficult to remember that your one grandfather burned your other one alive, Jaime thought. And everyone thought Lannister family dynamics were complicated. Starks, Targaryens, Lannisters- what a complicated history they all had.

"But I heard stories about Rhaegar how he loved music and to sing. And that he wasn't the tyrant his father was. He did not seek war and blood and battle, that much I do know."

Then Jaime's mouth clamped shut. He didn't need to tell Jon more of the horror that Aerys inflicted upon his wife, nor would he share his opinion of Rhaegar abandoning one wife to marry another. Jaime knew Jon would meet enough people that would do so, and he felt he was in no position to cast stones upon another. He had long been the subject of rumours and gossip and knew the harm they did.

Jon nodded and felt a lump in his throat. He hated what his parents had set in motion; that their actions had caused a war. It was a heavy burden and an unfair one- he was innocent in all of that. More than once, he wondered if that had been part of the reason Ned Stark had never told him who his birth parents were. Jon could not reconcile their actions with the vows his father had taken with his first wife. What type of man did that? Leave one woman for another? But even knowing that perhaps his father was like him in some ways, that he wasn’t a man that longed for war, well, that was something Jon could cling to.

Jaime coughed slightly and then swung his sword, a light in his eyes that Jon had not previously seen. "So, Lord Commander. I've seen you swing that blade at that horrid Castle Black. What say we have a go down here, in the south?"

Jon's response was to unsheathe Longclaw and grin before the sound of regular steel meeting Valyrian steel rang through the yard, the grunts and grins on the men's faces more than conveying their delight in the physical effort of sparing with a man that was your equal. An hour later, sweaty and spent, they collapsed against a wall, both men having enjoyed themselves immensely.

They both smiled at each other, knowing that something had subtly changed between them.

“My father wants me to be his hand," Jaime said into the comfortable silence that sprung up between the two men.

Jon's eyes widened, and he gave Jaime an assessing look. "Aye, I can understand that. It's hard to trust anyone but family." Jon had watched these lions with Sansa, and he knew they would protect her above all else.

Jaime grunted at that thought, thinking about how, in the end, his sister hadn't even trusted family. He didn't want to be that person. "I said I would after we’d had our round, in this yard. I don't know a thing about politics, not as Tyrion did, and I don't much care for it. But I think it's more symbolic. Right now, he has the person he needs by his side. She is brilliant."

Jon shook his head and grinned at the Kingslayer; the title not valid although Jon couldn't help but use it. Just like he knew people would still call him a bastard. He'd been recognized as one for longer than not, much like Jaime.

"Aye, she is."

They finally dragged themselves from the mud; the snow and cold had finally penetrated and off to the baths. Both knew they'd have people searching for them — Dacey for Jon and Sansa for Jaime. The latter two had a funeral to plan, and no time to waste. Despite this sojourn south, the army of the dead was coming ever closer, and the day that Jon and Jaime would have to leave drew closer by the hour. Still, both men knew that a friendship had been stuck here in this yard. For two men that had wrestled alone with their thoughts and fears for most of their lives, it was a heady feeling to find such companionship, even on the cusp of war.

* * *

_ King’s Landing: Four days later_

Sansa stood in the Great Sept, a place she had come to loathe, weeping silently as Tywin held her close to him. She had worked tirelessly to have the funeral fitting for a loyal hand of the King, a beloved son of Tywin Lannister and the first hero of the Second Long Night. Word had spread, far and wide, aided by Sansa's network of orphans and widows, about the bravery shown by the smallest Lannister and the Houses he had saved.

The Queen, the Northern Queen, so beloved by the ordinary people, made it so that it was understood that Tyrion Lannister had done her and her House a great service by saving so many, and so began the legend of Tyrion, which quickly spread until his name was on everyone's lips. Hero. Dragon rider. Saviour. Never in his entire life had Tywin ever thought his youngest son would achieve such recognition, and he felt his chest swell with pride.

Jaime, too, heard about his heroic younger brother as he walked through the capital. He'd spent countless hours with his father, Jon and Ser Addam, all of them working tirelessly to ensure peace was maintained in King's Landing and trying to get up to speed on what was happening at Harrenhal.

They'd only briefly break to spar or to eat; most often, Tywin would slip away to steal an hour with Sansa, returning to the war room to discuss endless strategy. Dorne was still a problem, having sent no more men, and Jaime could see the ire on his father's face each time Oberyn replied it took time to rally men to a cause that none of them believed in. That, more than anything, enraged Jaime, having seen first-hand exactly what they were facing. He had to physically hold himself back from not smashing Oberyn in the face, and he could see the rage practically radiate off Jon as well.

Once Tyrion's funeral was done, they all knew the Dorne problem would need to be addressed. Still, today was not that day. Today was about Tyrion, and as if the commoners themselves had accepted him, there were no riots, no shouts and no fights. The entirety of King's Landing took an afternoon to pay their respects to the littlest lion, and when the final bells rang, Sansa was an incoherent mess; pregnancy, stress, lack of sleep and pure grief all convalescing into a wave of emotion. Moving swiftly, her Queensguard and the King secured her in the carriage. Tywin slipped in beside her, drawing her onto his lap as she sobbed into his chest, beating her hands against him as he absorbed both of their pain.

When they finally arrived back at their apartments, he hurried her through to their bedroom, stripping them both down and putting her in bed, wrapped in his arms as he tried to offer her some comfort when he knew that there was none to be found. Not now, not in the immediacy of death.

Tywin knew this all too well from Joanna's death. Grief was a constant companion; sneaky and relentless, and mere time did not alleviate it, although it could blunt some of its harshest edges. Seeing Sansa grieve, Tywin was reminded about how the smallest trigger could send him to his knees. When he caught Cersei wearing her mother's perfume, a look in Jaime's eyes that was solely from his mother, or even when Tyrion's mouth quirked in a certain way. Each day his children had reminded him how much he had lost, and he had never truly healed from her death until he'd allowed himself to love Sansa.

When she was finally still, having fallen asleep, Tywin slipped from the room to check on the princes and Joanna. He had no idea when Sansa might wake, and knew he needed to be close, so he spent hours with the babies, watching as their nurses and nannies took care of their basic needs, and then handed them back over to his attention. He was surprised when Jaime slipped inside; they hadn't talked in private since before the funeral. He watched as his son took Joanna into his arms, gazing down at her with love and grief warring for supremacy.

"It seems especially cruel that a child would know neither one of her parents," Jaime said after a time, and Tywin grunted out his agreement.

Jaime's green eyes rose to meet Tywin's. "No matter what happens, you must speak of him to her, father." Jaime was talking if he were to die in this upcoming war, a thought that Tywin did not want to contemplate. "Promise me, Father. That his name will be one of the first, she knows."

Tywin nodded and then coughed. "I promise." That seemed to please Jaime, and he relaxed, content to spend time with his niece.

Sansa was listless for three days after the funeral, barely able to drag herself from her chambers, and then only to see to her sons. She had no energy, no life and no wish to be happy. She cried endlessly, the finality of the funeral driving home the cruel reality that Tyrion was truly gone. Tywin was beside himself with worry over her and told her more than once that this could not continue while trying to be supportive. It was not in his nature to allow such wallowing, and he finally exploded in anger and frustration on the fourth day.

"You are the Queen, my Lady. You cannot simply laze about the bedroom, neglecting your duties," he roared, frustrated when he found her weeping after breakfast.

He watched as her mouth snapped shut, and her blue eyes blazed, and even though he knew he would receive her temper, his heart soared to see something other than despair in the eyes he loved so much.

"I am grieving, husband. A fact you do not seem to understand, nor respect."

Tywin scoffed at her. Then he almost cheered when she sat up straighter at that sound, her spine stiff. He knew he had her now.

"Grieve at night, but rule during the day. You are doing a disserve to the people that require your presence, wife."

Sansa threw back the covers, anger gracing her beautiful face, and Tywin's breath caught at her beauty. Some women turned shrewish in their rage, but not Sansa. She radiated heat, like a fire, all spark and energy, and he loved it. Not that she was angry, but that she was so full of life and passion. It had gutted him to see her brought so low by her grief.

"I will not be dictated to by my tyrant of a husband who thinks he can control my emotions. I have given these people everything. The very least they can give me is a few days to grieve. Besides, what is there for me to do, that you cannot possibly do, Tywin. You are all-powerful, or has something finally stumped you?"

Tywin did not let his expression change, but inside he smirked.

"Your loyal bannermen from White Harbour are set to arrive in port within the hour, wife. I was given to believe that you are close with a Lady Wynafryd Manderly, along with her father. But perhaps I am mistaken. I am sure House Manderly would see no insult in not being greeted by their Northern Queen."

Sansa's eyes widened in shock, then joy; the first joy Tywin had seen in days. She fairly hopped out of bed and huffed, looking about the room.

"Why was I not told sooner? Seven hells, I cannot greet them looking like this," she almost wailed. 

She knew she looked a fright; she had taken no care of herself these past few days, indulging in her grief wholeheartedly as Tywin had indicated. And now her friend and her father's loyal bannerman was almost here, and she looked like this. She was just about to race from the room when Tywin's strong arms held her still. She stiffened, recalling her angry words.

"There is time for you to bath and dress, my love," he murmured into her ear. He felt her relax and then she was sniffling again, and he wondered if he'd ever get her out of their chambers.

"I'm sorry I've been horrible, Tywin. I am sorry I wasn't by your side to rule. I know you rely on me." She looked so forlorn and lost, he took pity on her, tilting her chin to meet his eyes.

"Sansa, I was only ever worried about you. I could not care less about your duties as Queen, only about you as my wife.

She nodded, seeing the truth there. She leaned up to kiss him.

"I love you, Sansa. And I have been worried about you." She heard the anguish in his voice, and she wrapped herself tighter in his arms.

"I'm sorry. I love you, as well. I miss him, so much, Ty."

"I know my love, I know." She knew he did. No one understood grief and heartache, quite like her husband. Sansa had willingly indulged in it since the funeral, but he was right, as he often was. She needed to be the Queen she was; she had duties and responsibilities and now people from the North to welcome to her Castle.

Her handmaidens were there in an instant and bustled about her to ready her for the arrival of the Northern House.

Tywin might have exaggerated when he had said the boats from White Harbour were arriving in an hour; he knew his wife needed time to get ready, and the ships would be here by afternoon.

Tywin settled at his desk, going through ravens for an hour until a small cough altered him to the fact that his wife was there. His head rose, and he just stopped for a moment and took her in.

Sansa allowed a smile to grace her beautiful face as she gave him a small curtesy. In her hand was the Lannister choker to match the heavy red fabric embroidered with golden lions of her dress.

“Husband, help me,” Sansa said, her eyes dancing.

Tywin felt the relief course through him to see the spark of joy back in her eyes. He rose and crossed the room quickly towards her, pulling her close.

“Sansa, my love,” he said, nuzzling her neck. He turned her to he could fasten the necklace he’d had made for her almost two years ago. He couldn’t help but let his hands run along the links of gold and rubies.

He fastened a snow-white cloak around her and ensured she had proper boots. Slushy snow had turned the roads to mud, and at almost six-months pregnant, he would not allow her on a horse. He held her hand as they rode in the carriage down to the harbour, and did not leave her side as they waited. Finally, Sansa gasped as she caught sight of the white merman holding a trident on a blue-green field on the sails of Lord Wyman Manderly’s boats as they came into view.

Sansa had tears in her eyes as she watched one of her father's most loyal men disembark. Lord Manderly was a large man, and he stood with his two sons, Wylis and Wendel, along Wylis’s wife and two daughters.

“My Queen,” his booming voice carrying in the harbour. Standing beside Sansa was Tywin, of course, along with Jon, Jaime, Genna and Ser Addam. The northern lord took her in, from her distinctive red hair, direwolf crown, Lannister colours and the white cloak. She was the perfect combination of two royal and ancient houses, and she was clutching the Old Lion’s hand. 

Lord Manderly, older than Tywin by a few years, gazed at the King, wondering if the stories that they’d heard in White Harbour were true. Was this the love match that the entire Kingdom purported it to be? It was only a second, by Lord Manderly saw the King’s gaze soften as it landed on his wife, watching her face break out in happiness as she welcomed him to her new home. That was when the man who’d been loyal to Ned Stark his entire life knew; the Great Lion was in love with his wife as the gossips claimed, and Lord Manderly felt himself relax.

“Lord Manderly, you are a most welcome sight,” Sansa cried as the large man bowed his head to her. Then the large man turned to her husband.

“Your Grace,” he said, trying to bend the knee to Tywin and Sansa. “House Manderly pledges it’s force to yours. 4,500 infantry and archers, along with 900 knights to protect Kings Landing. I have a raven from Lord Stark, stating we are to stay here.”

Tywin felt relief course through his body. This infusion of military might was most welcome, not only to keep the peace in Kings Landing but also to bolster Tywin's own forces should Dorne think to attack.

“Welcome, Lord Manderly, to Kings Landing. Your family will dine with us tonight. I’ve made arrangements for your stay, in the Red Keep, while your people will be housed in fields adjacent to the castle.”

Wyman nodded his approval, before stepping back, allowing his eldest granddaughter to push forward with a squeal.

“Lady Sansa!” Came Wynafryd’s pleasant voice and Sansa moved until they crashed into each other’s arm. Theirs were happy tears, as they had frequently exchanged ravens when they had been younger, but hadn’t spoken in quite a few years. Sansa had bonded tightly with Genna, Dacey and Shireen. But here was another noblewoman from the North that was her age to add to her growing group of friends and allies.

Ser Wylis was decidedly less happy about the current circumstances, having been taken hostage by Jaime Lannister twice in their battles against the lions in the Riverlands; he’d been held hostage at Harrenhal until the deal had been struck between Lord Stark and Kevan Lannister and he was sent home. Now they were supposed allies with these lions, and Ser Wylis did not know how he felt about that. When Ser Wylis glanced at Jaime, he saw the Golden Lion's smirk, and it annoyed him, but a heavy hand from his father stilled Ser Wylis and his tongue.

Still, it did something to see Sansa, this Northern princess, now Queen of the seven kingdoms; he’d known Ned Stark since they’d been boys and had willingly ridden to Robb’s side when he’d called his banners. He’d never thought he’d see the day when a Northern woman was Queen. Ser Wylis would reserve judgement until he had a chance to observe these lions closer.

Tywin cleared his throat, and Sansa turned, still holding Wynafryd’s hand. He arched an eyebrow at his wife, who blushed adorably, and she grinned at him.

“Come and meet my husband,” Sansa said excitedly and dragged Wyn towards Tywin. The dark-haired northern lady bowed to the King and Ty realized she was the same age as Sansa. Though not nearly as beautiful as Sansa, she was still a stunning woman.

“Lady Wynafryd,” Tywin said, allowing his eyes to warm and turning on the charm; it was the least he could do for a friend of Sansa’s. “Welcome to Kings Landing. My wife is quite excited to have another lady to add to her court.”

Wyn had the grace to blush and look slightly smitten with the King, who looked every inch the handsome lion he was, red doublet and a golden crown on his head. Tywin pulled Sansa closer to his side and then motioned for his people to start to move.

“We will see you this evening,” Tywin said and walked away with his family to take Sansa back to the safety of the Red Keep.

Sansa chatted happily as the carriage brought them back to the castle. Tywin was so pleased to see that this new excitement in his wife’s eyes. It was the distraction that she needed.

When they arrived back at their rooms, Sansa bustled about ordering their staff to prepare for a semi-formal dinner for their new guests.

Hours later, Tywin and Sansa stood with the rest of their family, waiting for the Manderly’s to arrive. Jaime was feeling uncomfortable; he’d known that he’d capture Wylis twice and had seen the anger in the man’s face when he’d disembarked earlier. He’d spoken briefly to his father about it, wondering if it might be a problem, but Tywin waved a hand. He had full confidence that Lord Manderly would keep his son under control.

When the Manderly’s entered the dining hall of the King and Queen of the seven kingdoms, their mouths dropped open at the sheer decadence and opulence that surrounded them. New Castle at White Harbour was known for its handsome furnishings and brilliant white walls, but the absolute wealth of the Lannister’s was not something that any house was used too.

Sansa thumped Tywin on the chest. “I’ve told you, husband, that it is too much,” she muttered to him, unaware that all eyes had turned to them.

Tywin leaned down and kissed her soundly. “I am a proud lion, wife, and I will not hide my sigil, my colours or my wealth. Nor should I. The gold in Casterly Rock has not dried up, and my sons will know where they come from.”

Sansa rolled her eyes at him, and then laughed when he growled into her ear, leaning in to whisper something private to her. 

All three Manderly men watched in utter astonishment as the King and Queen openly flirted and bantered with one another, touching each other easily in front of their guests. Lady Leona, Ser Wylis’s wife, Wyn and Wylla, all looked delighted by their display.

Jon coughed, drawing the attention of the Northern House to him. “They are incorrigible, but I assure you, they love each other deeply.”

Lord Manderly’s eyes narrowed on Ned Stark’s bastard until he remembered the raven he had received. Jon Snow wasn’t Ned’s bastard, but instead his nephew and the trueborn son of Lyanna and Rhaegar. He shook his head at the secrets his liege lord had kept.

“You’re the one with the dragon,” he stated, and Jon had the grace to blush and nod.

“I am, My Lord.”

“Not a bastard, either.”

“No, I am not.”

Lord Manderly’s eyes narrowed. “And you don’t want the Iron Throne for yourself?”

Jon’s eyes widened. Rarely had anyone been so blunt with him. Jaime laughed, stepping up to stand beside Jon, as both Tywin and Sansa’s attention flicked over to them.

Jon shook his head. “I do not, My Lord. My cousin and her husband are much better suited to being the King and Queen. I only hope to survive this upcoming war so that I can marry my betrothed.”

Lord Manderly, never one to miss a trick, narrowed his eyes. He’d been calculating what it might take to maneuver Wynafryd into a marriage with this very eligible young man standing before him. It came as a slight blow to hear he was already spoken for.

“Who?”

At that moment, Dacey stepped forward, and Lord Manderly glanced between them. “She-bear,” he all but growled.

“Mer-man,” she snarled back. The glowered at each other for a time, until Sansa coughed and broke the tension in the room, escorting everyone to their seats.

The conversation was awkward and stilted until wine began to flow a little more freely. Finally, Jon and Jaime turned the conversation to what was coming for them, bringing the Manderly’s into their confidence and speaking of Hardhome and the Wall falling, including what had happened just outside Tallhart lake. Ashen faced at the thought of two Northern houses almost being wiped from the map, and the sacrifice of Tyrion Lannister and a dragon to save them, Lord Manderly and his son finally pushed back all their suspicions about the Great Lion.

It helped to see how in love the King was with his Queen; he doted on her. When the two princes were presented to their guests, the women cooed, but Lord Manderly knew what it meant. He met Tywin Lannister’s cold green eyes.

“Northern blood will be on the Throne,” Wyman said, and Tywin nodded.

“It will. Northern and Western blood.”

“Good,” he grunted. “Starks have the blood of King’s, lion.”

Tywin gazed at his wife, currently showing off their sons to the women. “They do. My sons are both wolf and lion, Lord Wyman.”

The dinner went on for a time after that; wine and stories flowed. Jon and Jaime spoke of the army amassing at Harrenhal, and what they knew of the Night King. Everyone shuddered when they thought of the dead rising to fight against them was shared. When the hour grew late, Tywin finally rose and dismissed the group. He knew his wife was tired, and she’d have time to speak with her friend in the morning. For now, what had been accomplished was enough; there was another group of loyal men under the Great Lion’s control, and perhaps even more importantly, more living people rescued from the North.

That night, as Tywin held Sansa in his arms, she turned and brushed her lips across his. “Thank you, Tywin.”

He smiled into her words. “I love you, wife, for all my days.”

“As I love you, my lion.”

* * *

_ Harrenhal (happening simultaneously as what is going on in King’s Landing) _

The machine of war was relentless, and just because the enemy was of the undead variety, did not stop the living and their preparations. Especially when they were driven by men like Stannis Baratheon, Lord Tarly, Lord Royce, the Blackfish and Kevan Lannister. Men that had decades of war experience between them and would do everything in their power to ensure they were as prepared as possible to fight this army that was coming for them.

Lord Stark was mere days away with his people and the rest of the Lannister and Northern forces, and then more good and loyal men would join their ranks. They also would have thousands of Wildlings, so far south that none who sat around the war table could ever remember a time when they'd been below the Neck.

There had more than a few angry murmurs from those that had been forced from their homes that the Wildlings from the other side of the wall had been allowed south. More than one person worried that these Wildlings would never want to go home.

Stannis stopped it all with a snarl whenever he came upon such grumbling. They had endless tasks to do to prepare for the war; pits to dig, tar to pour, trenches to line with spikes and teaching two hundred thousand men who'd trained with steel to fight with dragon glass weapons to be worried about what came after the war. They needed to survive first.

The dragon glass weapons themselves were lighter and swung easier but required practice. Lord Tarly and Brynden Tully were relentless drill masters. Those that weren't training were digging pits and building barriers to funnel the army of the dead to crash upon the castle walls.

Stannis spent more and more time with Drogon, his bond growing more profound with the dragon. He felt him probe his mind now even when he was awake, and he missed that Jon was gone and that they could not discuss it. He felt Tyrion's loss as well but more for what losing the dragon meant to their plans and less because he'd had any real affection or respect for the little Lannister. They had been enemies for too long, and while Tywin was a man that Stannis respected, he'd yet to find that same level for the Great Lion's sons. That didn't change just because Tyrion was now dead.

More than anything, what it had proven to Stannis was that these dragons were still quite young. Fully grown dragons, the ones from the original Targaryen invasion, were practically indestructible weapons of war. No way a spear, no matter how well thrown, would down such a creature. But Stannis knew that as fearsome as the dragons appeared, their skin and their scales had not hardened into the almost impregnatable armour that it would as they aged. Dragons lived for hundreds of years, and these were less than a decade old as far as they could tell, still juveniles.

It made their deployment in the upcoming war questionable. They needed to use them strategically. Stannis could only hope that when Bran Stark arrived at Harrenhal, he had some idea of what might need to happen to destroy the Night King; Stannis could imagine at least one dragon would be required to bring whoever was necessary to the Isle of Faces, but he couldn't imagine leaving the rest of the castle undefended. As Tyrion had proven, a dragon could burn thousands of wights with a single command from their gaping maws; Stannis thought for hours about using Drogon to burn anyone who fell to the dead along with the dead themselves. It would be the only way they might win- to keep their numbers reasonable, so they had a chance. Stannis knew that it was critical to have one dragon at the Castle, and one at the Isle of Faces. His gut told him it would be him and Drogon at Harrenhal. There was something between Jon, Bran and this Night King.

When word came that Robb Stark and his people had been spotted, Stannis took to the skies and watched, his relief almost palpable as thousands upon thousands of living people streamed into Harrenhal. They had made it!

On the ground, Robb's face, which had been a mask of worry and concentration, finally broke into a tired grin as he spotted his Uncle, the Blackfish and his good brother, Kevan Lannister, ride out to meet him.

"Lord Stark!" They cried, almost as one, looking around in awe at the sheer amount of people Robb Stark had with him. Every house from the lower portion of the North was with him, thousands of wildlings, the remains of the Lannister army and women, children and elderly. Many would-be sent further south, but for now, they would be given food and shelter to rest.

Beside Robb, rode Sandor, Arya, Rickon, Jeyne, Brienne, Ser Davos, Sam, and Bronn, along with the Umbers, the Tallharts, the Flints, some Karstarks that had made it south, those from the Dreadfort, and the Reeds and all the Nightwatchmen from the Wall. Anyone who had been left at the Twins was also in the group and those from all the other small settlements along the King's Road. Bran arrived on a small litter. It was a vast showing of humanity, and when Robb finally dismounted, he was swallowed up in Kevan's arms. It had been an age since they had seen one another, and they embraced, both feeling the sorrow of Tyrion's passing.

"Jon and Jaime?" Robb asked immediately.

Kevan shook his head.

"They haven't returned, Lord Stark. Tywin sent word that he needs Jaime in the south for another few weeks, and Jon, it seems, has found himself a woman to marry. Dorne is stubborn and refusing to send men." Left unsaid was that Tywin now had a dragon at his disposal to help ‘convince' Dorne of their need to send men. Within moments of arriving at Harrenhal, the well-oiled machine that the Lannister's had established at the Castle has sprung into action, stewarding people and animals into the appropriate spot. For Robb Stark, his loyal bannermen and family, they were shown rooms in the castle.

The castle was not in a state to rival Winterfell for hospitality. But for those that had been on the road from the North for the past few weeks, it felt like the height of luxury.

Jeyne was never more grateful to have an actual bath and bed, and she was beginning to suspect she might be with child again. She couldn't wait to go south, to meet Sansa finally, her good sister, who was the same age as her and also had small children. Jeyne knew it would be difficult leaving her husband, again, but she wasn't cut out for life in an army, and she knew that Robb's attention needed to be focused on the upcoming war. She saw how worried he was about Houses Glover and Mormont, and that he was concerned about Jaime. Robb’s attention was needed to fight this enemy, not worrying about his wife and heir. He would never be able to concentrate if they remained here in danger, so she would take a few days to recover before she went south to meet her goodsister, the Queen.

Jeyne had been in their chamber for hours when Robb, exhausted, finally came to their room. Night had long fallen, and he groaned as he sunk into the warm water, she had waiting for him. She knelt beside the bath, washing her husband's hair, seeing new lines on his face that were still so young; only twenty-three and such a weight on his shoulders. He groaned as she tended to him, and then ate ravenously, before kissing her and Ned and falling into an exhausted sleep.

The next morning, he was gone at dawn, meeting the war council. Though Jon had bonded with Stannis more than Robb had, the two men still embraced warmly, before Robb, along with his Northern Lords, Tallhart, Flint, Karstark, Umber, and Sandor Clegane with him. It swelled the war council ranks to an impressive number, and those from the North were quickly caught up. All eyes turned to Bran, who had been brought up to the war room by Sandor and set in a chair by the fire.

"Lord Bran, is there anything you can tell us?" Stannis asked, his loyal man Davos back by his side now.

Bran shook his head. "The time is not right."

Stannis barely refrained from growling in frustration at the odd boy, wanting to know when he might have something useful for them. This was the problem with relying on magic and greenseers; they were notoriously unreliable. With nothing new from Bran, talk turned to the preparations, and Stannis told them that he would travel by dragon up the King's Road to see where the last of the Northern houses were.

"When do you plan on sending your family south, Lord Stark?" Stannis asked, and Robb startled a bit.

"They need time to rest; if we have it." He held the Storm lord's gaze, and Stannis nodded.

"From what we can tell, the Night King is at least a month away, but that is only an estimate. Still, they should be gone in a few days. Do not let them linger, not here at the edge of war, Lord Stark." Unsaid was that the King was in a position to leave Westeros for Essos should they not win; all the men here might die, but women and children could be saved.

Robb nodded. When the meeting broke, he dragged Sandor off to the side. "I have half a mind to send you with them," he told his loyal man.

Sandor shook his head and almost growled in frustration at the thought of being sent away from the battle like some child. "Lord Stark, you have others loyal to you that would see them down the road to safety; my sword is better served at your side."

Robb nodded, feeling the relief course through him. No part of him wanted Sandor anywhere but by his side in this upcoming battle. He clasped the man on his broad shoulder. "Than that is where you shall be. Come, let us find Jeyne, Arya and Ric and tell them they depart for King's Landing in three days. They cannot linger as much as I'll miss them."

Relief coursed through Sandor's veins. He wanted nothing to do with the Capital, nothing to do with the King and his court, even though Sansa was there. He was a warrior, and they were in the fight of their lives; his place was here, beside Robb Stark and should he fall, he'd do so with his honour fully restored, wearing the sigil and colours of the house that had accepted him as their own. The little bird would take care of her family when they made it to King's Landing, of that Sandor had no doubts. The time for the Hound to re-emerge was back, and he planned on taking the dead with him.

When Robb found his family, there was a great discussion about timing, until finally, his wife dragged him away, a look in her eye that had Robb worried.

"Please do not send me south; not yet," she all but begged him. "I want to stay with you as long as possible, Robb."

His heart almost broke at her pleading, the look of love in her dark eyes as he pulled her into his arms. "Aye wife, I'll let you stay a little longer." He knew there would be more Northerners arriving soon and a second wave departing Harrenhal. He could afford to keep her by his side a little longer.

Neither Arya, nor Ric liked the idea of being sent to Sansa first, but they didn't argue much. Even stranger was the fact that both of them claimed their direwolves would stay behind, for the battle, along with Ghost and Greywind. That more than anything made Robb uneasy, but they'd claimed this had been shown to them in dreams. Robb agreed reluctantly, pushed when Arya asked where Robb thought two giant direwolves might be safe in a place teeming with people like the capital. At that, Robb said they would be better to remain with the pact, and with Jon set to arrive back soon, there would be two of them to control them. He held his wife tighter, knowing that despite his promise, he would still have to send her away. In the meantime, he would gather those loyal to them, and prepare Arya and Ric for the trip south. They would leave in three days.

* * *

_ The Gold Road- Lady Catelyn (immediately after her departure from King’s Landing) _

Catelyn had selected two men from the Riverlands who would never betray her or the Tully name. They were exceptionally loyal to her brother Edmure and had no love of the Lannister's, Ser Patrek Mallister and Ser Marq Piper. Both men had accompanied Ser Edmure Tully to the Twins and stood by his side as he'd married Roslin, still smarting that House Stark had capitulated and aligned itself with the Lions of Lannister. They spoke at length with Edmure about this unholy alliance that all of Westeros now seemed to find itself in, with the Great Lion himself as King. They all knew that should the Riverlands rebel against the King, they'd be dead, so they'd held their tongues and swords, but had not forgotten nor forgiven the damage Tywin Lannister had unleashed on the Riverlands in the form of Gregor Clegane.

It had taken the minimal discussion to convince these men that she needed to get the Harrenhal. Her children were there, and what better place for them to be than safe in the halls of Riverrun and out of the Great Lions jaws. They hadn't been North; hasn't seen this threat that everyone was speaking of, and they too, had a hard time believing stories of dead men and white walkers. When Catelyn had pleaded her case, they had readily agreed, and she'd felt a weight life, knowing she was doing the right thing.

The rode hard for three days until finally, they came to the fork at the Blackwater Rush. It was a fearsome river, deep with rapids and eddies that could swallow those who didn't know how to navigate it. Thankfully, those with her, these loyal Rivermen, knew this river well. There was a boat waiting, and they ditched the horses, and they made their way towards the village of Holdfast. Before they launched the ship, Ser Mallister tugged on her arm.

"You're sure, My Lady?"

Catelyn met his eyes and nodded, knowing in her heart; it was the correct course of action. All she needed was to get to Harrenhal and get her three youngest children to Riverrun, where they would be safe.

The journey to God's Eye Lake was harrowing and arduous, but Catelyn Stark endured it. She was born in the Riverlands, and these waters flowed through her blood. This was her home, more than anywhere else: The North, the Crownlands or even the Westerlands.

A week later, when she finally arrived at the village Holdfast, she hung back, her distinctive red hair covered as she had Ser Mallister and Ser Piper to secure them mounts and food. They allowed themselves one night's rest at an Inn before they set off before the morning light broke. Catelyn had no idea how long it would take for her husband to discover that she was not on the Gold Road; ravens were scarce, and the road was packed with evacuees from all over the North and the Riverlands, and the Crownlands. Still, she felt a pang at what this might do to her marriage. How would Addam defend her actions? And what might Tywin do to her? Then she shook herself from such thoughts, knowing she was on the right course of action. A mother did whatever she had to to ensure the safety of her children.

It was another week's ride to Harrenhal, with only a small village for a stop partway, and they set a hard pace.

When they stopped at the small village, Catelyn was shocked to find it all but deserted; only a few old men left. Her and the ten loyal men she had with her had their choice of villager home in which to stay. It broke Catelyn's heart to see her people abandoned their homes, and for what? Because Jaime Lannister and Stannis Baratheon claimed a man from legend was coming for them all? How were they to believe such nonsense? Catelyn had never warmed to the old ways of the North, never understanding her late husband's affinity for his weirwood tree and tale old Nan told their children.

Before they departed the village, Catelyn instructed all the men to lose whatever house sigils or markings that might set them apart and gave them Lannister colours. Both Ser Mallister and Ser Piper looked almost ill to wear the golden lion, but on this, Catelyn was resolute.

"We need to be as inconspicuous as possible. There are twenty thousand Lannister troops gathered at Harrenhal, and while there are also Rivermen, they are loyal to my Uncle. Should you be spotted with your House sigils, you will be swept up into his command and lost to me. Our goal is to rescue my children and ride hard for Riverrun."

With that last instruction, they mounted up; ten to twelve hard days ride from Harrenhal and their goal. Nothing more needed to be said. Each man was almost blindly loyal to Edmure Tully and had a grudge against Jaime or Tywin Lannister. They had known the moment they'd set this course that there was no turning back; they had cast their lot with Lady Catelyn, and they would die to fulfill her wishes if that was what was required of them. No one looked back from where they had come; only forward to Harrenhal, where it seemed like all of Westeros was gathering.

They heard Harrenhal long before they saw it, keeping to the woods and then the dirt track that led from those woods and onto the field where the massive castle stood. As far as they could see, there was a mass of humanity. It seemed like every banner from across the Kingdom was represented, all shades and colours. Catelyn had never conceived of such a showing and could see the war preparations well underway.

Her small group set up camp at the very edge, choosing to be beside those from the Stormlands. It was the Kingdom that Catelyn had the fewest ties too, and therefore rationed she might be recognized least. Within a day, they saw the steady stream of people moving down the King's Road, and she worried she was too late.

It was a day later when Ser Piper and Ser Mallister reported that they were not. Only a few days had passed since Lord Robb Stark and his siblings, Northern houses, an army of Wildlings and thousands of others had arrived at Harrenhal. The relief that Catelyn felt was palpable.

It meant that Lady Brienne was here, and she was critical to Catelyn's plans. Catelyn had seen Lady Brienne's loyalty to here in King's Landing, and although Brienne had married Jaime Lannister, Catelyn knew the woman would take her vow to her seriously. She only needed to secure an audience with the woman to convince her to help spirit Bran, Ric and Arya away to Riverrun and that by doing so, Lady Brienne would have fulfilled her vow to Catelyn Stark in a way she hadn't been able to with regards to Sansa.

It was later that evening when Ser Mallister and Ser Piper hurried Catelyn Stark through the mass of tents to Lady Brienne's. Slipping inside, Catelyn was pleased to see Brienne was by herself.

"Lady Catelyn," Brienne exclaimed, shocked to see her here. "What are you doing here?" Brienne would have through for sure that Lady Catelyn would remain by Sansa's side in King's Landing.

"You have been loyal and true to me; Lady Brienne and I am here to remind you of your vow."

Brienne's brow furrowed. Her vow? To keep the Stark sister's safe? As far as Brienne could tell, both were safe. Sansa was never safer than where she was right now. And Arya was well-loved within the Stark household and had many loyal Northern guards. When she sputtered this to Catelyn, the woman's eyes narrowed.

"Lady Brienne, have you seen this army of the dead?"

Brienne shook her head. She had not been part of the group that had gone to Hardhome, instead of remaining behind at Castle Black. When the other’s had arrived back, Jaime and Stannis had already been on their ship back down to King’s Landing. It had been weeks after the Hardhome raid that she’d seen her husband. Of course, Brienne had heard the stories of what had happened at Hardhome; but only second hand.

“No My Lady, I have not.”

Catelyn’s mouth thinned. “And do you believe them? That an army of the dead is coming for us?” Cat almost spat the words.

Brienne hesitated. She loved Jaime, and when he spoke of Tommen’s death and what had happened, she heard not only the rage and grief in his voice but the fear and almost panic. It had been the same when she had to hear Jon Snow, or Robb Stark or even Lord Stannis speak. The problem was, she didn’t like or trust any of them, not the way she did Jaime. And she knew her husband was in a fragile mental state, given the deaths of Joffrey and Cersei. To watch Tommen die, it could have easily pushed him over the edge.

Brienne did not doubt that something was coming for them; there were now dragons flying in the air Westeros, and to deny that magic was alive was idiotic given the beasts that took to the sky. But an army of the dead? A king that could wake them and make them join his ranks? Brienne had struggled with that since she’d first heard it.

“I don’t know what to believe, My Lady,” she told Lady Catelyn honestly, her wide blue eyes riddled with confusion.

Catelyn knew if she pushed too hard, she might lose Brienne, so she gentled her tone and changed tactics. “You made a vow to me, Lady Brienne. To see my daughters to safety. I ask you know, do you still plan to honour that vow?”

Brienne’s eyebrows came together in confusion. “My Lady, are your daughter’s not safe? Is my vow unfulfilled?”

Catelyn pounced. “Sansa is lost to me, Brienne, but Arya. My sweet Arya. Do you think if we send her south, into the Great Lion’s clutches that he will not use her for his gain? How long until he announces a marriage for her? What if her husband is cruel and beats her? How would that be keeping her safe?”

Brienne’s frown deepened. She had no love for the Great Lion and indeed knew he disapproved of her. Before Brienne could say anything, though, Cat pushed harder. “And what of my other child? Rickon. He’d be a fine prize. My son is sending two of my children into the arms of that man that will use them for his end. And Bran? I hear he is incapable of even defending himself. We need to take them to safely Brienne.”

“Where?”

It was at that moment that Catelyn knew she had Brienne on her side. She clutched at the woman’s hands. “Riverrun. My family's seat. They will be safe there, and even if this army of the dead is real, there is an escape down the mountain pass and to Casterly Rock; the very Castle your husband is set to inherit. They are my children, Brienne, and you made a vow to me.”

Brienne lived her life by a simple code; her word was sacred, and she would do whatever it took to uphold it. She had been prepared to battle every Lannister in the Red Keep to ‘rescue’ Sansa until the Lady convinced her she wanted to marry the Great Lion. Brienne had pledged herself to Renly and would have died to defend him given half the chance if some black magic hadn’t taken him almost before her very eyes. It had never sat comfortably with Brienne that she’d been unable to return Lady Catelyn’s daughters to her, and now she could see the desperation in the woman’s eyes and the genuine fear for her sons and daughter should they be sent to King’s Landing.

Brienne thought of Jaime and how she told him that he could be a good man; and that sometimes being a good man meant making hard choices. This was a hard choice before Brienne, but she knew there was only one possible answer. She had vowed to return Arya Stark safely to Lady Catelyn, and there could be no safer place for Arya than with her mother at Riverrun.

“I will fulfill my vow, Lady Catelyn,” Brienne said, making her decision and feeling the rightness of it settle over her. Once Arya was at Riverrun, her vow to Lady Catelyn would be complete. Jaime would understand; he’d made the same vow, and once she had a chance to explain, he’d see why she made the choice she did.

Catelyn almost collapsed in relief, and barely heard Brienne’s next words. “Arya and Rickon are being sent south in two days, Lady Catelyn. I will volunteer to escort them to King’s Landing. I am, however, unsure of how we might rescue Bran.”

Catelyn nodded, clutching at Brienne’s hands. “Leave that to me,” was all she said. Brienne nodded and then took her leave, somehow missing the madness dancing in the woman’s eyes. It would come to be a decision that Brienne would regret for the rest of her days, but at that moment, as she walked back to her tent, she felt a sense of purpose settle over her. This was why she was here, in this massive war machine. To protect those who could not, and to fulfill a vow she had sworn years before, and the mere thought of being given another chance to complete this mission buoyed her in a way that nothing had for a long while. She barely worried about Jaime’s reaction; her husband knew her, and he would see why she made the choices she did. Now all she had to do was convince Robb Stark to entrust her with Arya and Rickon and leave the rest of Lady Catelyn.

* * *

_EndNote: So the King's Landing plotline is just slightly behind the rest- intentionally. I have a fairly important meeting with Dorne and Tywin that I need to get through, that I wanted to do justice to and didn't want to rush it and this chapter is already reasonably lengthy, so we will start in KL next chapter and then quickly back to what is unfolding at Harrenhal-Riverrun._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that people love these characters- and I know you're trusting me with them and this story. 
> 
> If you disagree with me, please just keep it respectful.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to preface this chapter by first saying there is a lot of Jon in it- for good reason. 
> 
> First, Jon is NOT who he was in the TV show. In this story, he's had a dramatically different arc- men to learn from, a cousin to respect, and TIME, more than anything, to figure out what being both a dragon and a wolf means.
> 
> I hated how he never got that chance in the show- and I'm sorry if the choices I have him make seem too off canon but, in my world, he is quite different from the show so this makes sense to me. 
> 
> With that, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

_A quick reminder that this chapter starts a little BEFORE the end of Chapter 37. So we're backtracking to some more King's Landing interactions before we get back to the other plotline._

* * *

_King's Landing_

As promised, the next day, Wynafryd, along with her mother and her sister, joined Sansa in her solar for tea. Also in the room were Myrcella, Shireen, Genna, Roslin and Dacey. By now, Sansa had started to gather quite a court of loyal women and adding three more from the North pleased her greatly. She had the two princes along with Lady Joanna with her as well, and the women fawned over the babies as they were wont to do.

Wyn had hardly slept the night before, unable to believe she was finally in the capital. It was so different from what she had been told. Her entire life, King's Landing had been spoken of harshly; in the worst possible terms. She knew that most of the changes here could be attributed to Lady Sansa, the Queen. It was almost impossible to conceive that her childhood friend and a woman who might have been her goodsister had Wyn married Robb the way their families had discussed, was now Queen of the entire seven kingdoms. And she was from the North!

Even more impossible was to see the love between Sansa and the King, Tywin Lannister. The Lannister name was not one that was spoken highly of at White Harbour, and her father and grandfather had warned Wyn and her sister repeatedly on the trip down that the lions were not to be trusted. Her grandfather, in particular, was highly suspicious that the tales he had heard of their love were true. He had grumbled for days that Tywin Lannister was not a man to fall in love. Until you saw them and then it was impossible to ignore how much the King and Queen loved one another. Even her curmudgeonly grandfather had to admit that the King was besotted with his Northern wife. 

The Great Lion treated Sansa like the Queen she was; utterly devoted and enamoured by her, and he hid his feelings from no one. It was a heady feeling for Wyn, who was only twenty-one and yet to be married but longed for something similar in her marriage. Wyn soaked them in every chance she got to observe them together. They were so elegant and regal, and they were everything she had ever envisioned the King and Queen of Westeros to be; from the crown on Sansa’s head, to the beautiful clothing they wore, and even the elegant apartments they occupied.

Even now, surrounded by women and children, the King had no qualms about striding into Sansa's solar whenever he wished and drawing her attention to him. He seemed utterly unaffected that he was the only man in a room full of highborn women, and Wyn watched as Sansa's blue eyes danced as she met Tywin's gaze, then she struggled to rise before her husband was there. The King was shaking his head at his wife, but there was no animosity in the gesture; in fact, he looked like he was quite taken with her and her pregnant form.

"Sit, woman. No need to rise on my account. We all know your power over me," he muttered into her ear, as Sansa smiled, turning her head to press her lips to his. She heard the exasperation in Tywin's voice that she had tried to rise to greet him, and it made her happy that he cared so much about her well-being.

Sansa didn't seem to care who saw her kiss her husband, and she was always reaching for him, touching him or fussing over him. Shockingly, the King seemed to preen under her hands and let her putter about him. Wyn had never been around two people who touched each other as much as they did- and they did so without a care to whomever else was in the room with them.

"Hello, husband," Sansa all but purred to him, and saw his green-gold eyes dance in amusement. 

Wyn watched in astonishment as the King placed one hand on Sansa's prominent stomach while the other gently touched his heir, who was napping in Sansa’s arms. In her world, men were rarely so affection with their children, especially babies. Most hardly saw their children, leaving their upbringing to a veritable army of septas and nannies. Clearly that was not the case for Tywin and Sansa.

"How are our children today, my lioness?" he asked, genuine interest in his green-gold eyes.

"Good, Tywin, although Tysan is cutting teeth and cranky, and Jason seems to think sleep is for the weak." Sansa’s words held no heat though, as she gazed upon her son with love in her eyes.

Tywin grinned his approval at his two sons, before pressing his lips once more to Sansa's, and then whispered something in her ear only, which had the Queen both blushing and eyes lighting in anticipation.

Over the next few days, Wyn would come to realize that he did this often; if Sansa was not already with her husband, they rarely went any amount of time before seeking one another out. She asked Dacey if this were always the case, and the head of Sansa's Queensguard nodded.

"It takes time to get used to these lions, but once you do," Dacey said, shrugging philosophically. She'd been in King's Landing for long enough now, that she knew Sansa was well-loved by House Lannister and that Sansa loved her husband. In Dacey’s mind, it made them an unstoppable force; they were friends, lovers and rulers and their bond was unshakable.

Both Wyn's father and grandfather were pleased with their standing in King's Landing; they had been afforded apartments befitting of their status and had been included in Tywin's war council. Her grandfather especially prattled on endlessly about the smoothness of Tywin Lannister's reign as King and his impeccable taste at choosing a Northern Queen. It was all Wyn could do not to roll her eyes at his posturing; a few weeks ago, he'd been convinced that Tywin was the Stranger himself, coming to kill them all and had lamented the man to whomever would listen. Her grandfather had always been like that; opportunist, and while Wyn didn’t fault him for that characteristic, she tried her best not to emulate him.

A week after House Manderly had finally been fully integrated into King's Landing, their knights and archers adding to Tywin's already impressive defence of the city, the King called a family meeting to discuss what he'd come to refer to as _the Dorne situation. _

To date, there had been less than one hundred men sent to King's Landing from Dorne. Tywin didn't care if they marched up the Roseroad or sailed from Sunspear; he was done playing games with the Martells. He had enough men to withstand any siege from them, should they think his position weak, along with a dragon and his granddaughter out of their clutches. His position was strong, and it was time the final kingdom truly bowed to the King. They’d pledged the words- now it was time for action.

Gathered with him today were Jon, Jaime and Sansa. He would not be taking his wife along for this parley with Oberyn but wanted her to hear what was being discussed.

"Jon, is your dragon back?" Tywin asked without preamble. He felt a burning in his gut to get this situation settled.

Jon's eyes narrowed, and he nodded. "Aye. Late last night. He's in a far-field nearest the Kingswood. I've set some guards to make sure no one goes near him. The last thing I need is for some arsehole to get eaten, and then I've got an angry family on my hands."

No one had even thought to put the dragon in the dragon pit. Jon hadn't even stepped foot in the place, and he somehow knew that Rhaegal would never consent to it. The dragon shied away from that place and Jon never felt comfortable pushing him there. Jon had come to learn that worked best with Rhaegal was mutual respect, and it was slow to build, but the bond would be strong because he’d done things properly and the dragon would trust him fully.

Jon had come into his role down here in King's Landing nicely. He and Jaime sparred daily now, becoming closer by the day. Jon learned from the Kingslayer. Jaime may claim he didn’t know how to be hand to the King, but in Jon’s mind, he knew more about politics than he ever had, and he listened as much as he spoke.

Jon spent countless hours in the throne room, listening and watching as Tywin and Sansa dealt with petitioners. He was pleased to see how often Sansa was the one that was giving judgment, and the people respected her. She was as beloved as her husband; perhaps more so, but more importantly, she was given the authority her position demanded- it wasn’t lip service, but true autonomy and Jon could see that Tywin trusted her implicitly.

Jon was also included in the war council, and it was something to watch a man like Tywin's mind work. He was constantly running scenarios, and a part of Jon longed to ask him to come North to Harrenhal. There would be no doubt that having a mind such as his there would help them.

More surprising than learning from Tywin, was how good Jaime appeared at strategy. When Jon had mentioned this one day in passing, Tywin had puffed out his chest and proceeded to ‘educate' Jon on the impressive list of Jaime's accomplishments.

Jaime, of course, had looked embarrassed, a rare occasion for the cocky Golden Lion, but also secretly pleased with his father's praise of him. For years Jaime had thought most of his accomplishments had gone unnoticed by his father. He knew when Tywin had put him in charge of the Lannister army that his father trusted him, but to hear him openly boast about him, well, that was a rare occasion in Jaime’s life, and one he treasured. Every man liked to make his father proud.

Mostly, being in King's Landing had relieved a tremendous burden from Jon's shoulders and allowed him much needed time away from both Castle Black and his cousin to come to recognize his place in the world. It had changed so dramatically since Rhaegal had shown up at the Wall and he had struggled to assimilate what it all mean. He knew now that he wanted a title and a name. And a recognition that he wasn't a bastard. He wanted all of that and to be proclaimed by his true name, publicly by the King. Jon needed that for his soon to be wife and whatever children they might have. It wasn't just for him, but for them as well.

Jon wanted his castle and lands that belonged to his family, and he wanted to be close to Sansa. They'd grown close, and Jon felt he had so much still to learn. Robb’s place was in the North. He had married and had his heir; loyal houses and a man at his side that would defend him until the death. Jon’s place wasn’t there any longer. He could no longer deny he was both dragon and wolf. Jon also knew that Rhaegal would not do well in the North. His dragon was meant for warmer climates and would wither away should Jon head North if they defeated the Night King.

When he'd mentioned it to Dacey, as he had been thinking about Dragonstone more and more, he was relieved to find his soon to be wife in agreement with him. She was close with Sansa and loved the Queen, and she too was not ready to head North. It came as a surprise to them both that they might stay in the south once this war was finished. Both had thought their entire lives they’d only go back North, but things had changed and they were finding their place down here in the south.

Now, as he sat there in the King's private solar talking about Dorne, he locked eyes with Tywin. Jon wondered what the King was thinking.

Jaime's eyes had also narrowed.

"You mean to threaten them," Jaime said suddenly. He barked out a little laugh. "Really, father? With a dragon? The Targaryen's already tried that, and the Martells hid in their mountains for years. What makes you think you'll be any more successful?"

Jaime had taken to becoming much more open with his opinion since Tywin had pinned the hand broach to his doublet a few days ago in a small ceremony in the Throne Room. Almost everyone had missed the small swell of pride in Jaime’s face when that had taken place; but not Sansa or Jaime who had become especially close with Jaime.

"I am not planning on sending Jon to Dorne to burn woman and children, Jaime. Don’t be dramatic,” Tywin said, voice dry. “But Dorne would be well advised to heed our power and part of that power is a dragon."

Then Tywin grinned, and there was no warmth there and everyone knew that while the King wouldn’t be sending the dragon down to Dorne now, it was always a possibility in the future. No one insulted House Lannister and didn’t pay the price. Ask Catelyn Stark. Tywin had launched a war for Tyrion even knowing he wasn’t his true born son. What would he do to a Kingdom that failed to make good on their promise to the King?

"Besides, it is time Dorne knew who Jon was. Last I checked Prince Doran attempted to betroth his heir and eldest daughter to Jon's uncle. Perhaps if Dorne is so eager to back a dragon, it is time they realized that a dragon still lives- and is loyal to the lions and wolves of Westeros."

Sansa barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. She thought it was all too much posturing by her husband. He was giving Oberyn Martell, one of the cockiest of all the Lords in King's Landing, no way to back down from such a confrontation- not when her husband sought to threaten his very manhood and daring. There was no way he’d give in to the King’s demands, at least not the way the Tywin hoped.

Still, she held her tongue. Not out of fear from Tywin; never that. Indeed Sansa never feared to speak her mind to him. She was one of the few people in the entire Kingdom that could say whatever she wanted to Tywin Lannister and not fear his reaction.

No, she held her tongue because as brilliant as her husband was, he was a man and a damn foolish and stubborn one at that. There would be no dissuading him from this course she had set- she could see his mind was set. Sansa would bide her time and then step in and fix things when these men she loved messed it up.

She kissed him goodbye as they departed the room and then called for Myrcella. _Foolish men hadn't even realized what a gold mine they had in Jaime's daughter,_Sansa thought. Myrcella had lived there; with them and knew them better than anyone else. Sansa would ask her what her thoughts were on Dorne. If anyone knew what Prince Doran was thinking, it would be Myrcella.

Tywin, usually a very astute judge of character, had missed the calculating look in his wife's eye, fixated on confronting Prince Oberyn. That name alone grated on the Great Lion's nerves. His sons were the princes, not that pompous peacock that strutted around here with his mistress of all things. Openly. Tywin was in such a foul mood that his strides had lengthened, and both Jaime and Jon shared almost amused looks as they approached Rhaegal, seeing the King in such a state.

Jaime hadn't been back to the dragon since that fateful flight down to King's Landing as he'd clutched Tyrion's small body to his. Rhaegal turned his eyes, gold, towards the three men, Jon speaking softly to him, before Jaime heard Jon say, "Kingslayer come here."

Jaime startled a bit, and then looked to his father, who raised his eyebrows as if to say, _go on_. Not wanting to anger the dragon, Jaime tentatively stepped up to him, trying not to flinch when the dragon bumped him.

"He knows you lost a brother as well," Jon said lowly, looking Jaime directly in the eye. All Jaime could do was swallow and nod.

"How do you know what he is thinking?"

Jon was quiet for a time, stroking Rhaegal's scales. "We share… time and space is the only way I can describe it. In dreams, most often, but I can always feel him. Mostly like a long thread, and we're always connected."

Jaime shook his head, wondering at all they had yet to learn about these creatures. He took a chance and reached out his one hand, his only good hand, and touched the dragon's nose. Rhaegal snorted, but did nothing more, and then closed his eyes in one long show of acceptance. Jaime felt pure joy rush over him at being so close to a dragon and not being eaten alive by him.

A cough interrupted the moment, and both Jaime and Jon turned to see Oberyn Martell watching them; dark eyes hooded and cautious.

"At first, I believed I was being asked to meet you here to be roasted alive, or perhaps reminded what might happen to Dorne should we not bow to the Great Lion's demands," he started to say, stopping only when Tywin snorted at him.

"But I should have known the Old Lion was much too clever for that. What is this, I wonder?" he asked, almost to himself as he looked between the three men. Oberyn Martell might live his life by a separate moral code than Tywin Lannister, especially when it came to sex, but that didn't mean the man wasn't exceedingly intelligent.

It took only a few moments before Tywin heard the man curse as he looked between Jon and the green-gold dragon that was sitting there. Tywin knew immediately that Oberyn had worked out precisely who Jon Snow was.

"Your mother was that whore Lyanna Stark that stole my sister's beloved husband." Oberyn spat on the ground, fury rising in him as he looked at the living embodiment of the greatest betrayal to his house.

"Bastard," he all but shouted, forgetting he was the proud father of eight bastard daughters, all of whom he claimed publicly.

Jon tensed, knowing things were volatile, and he had a dragon at his back that fed off his emotion- he needed to keep himself under control lest Rhaegal burn the Prince of Dorne to a crisp in front of their very eyes.

Before he could say anything, Oberyn spun back to Tywin. "Your wife is the niece of that whore. I wonder what her daughter might be like."

Tywin merely arched an eyebrow. He had wanted, no, he had _needed_ such an emotional reaction from this man. Oberyn was so cocky and so collected, the only when he was in the throes of such an outburst, did Tywin think he might actually get something from him.

Before Tywin could press his advantage though, Jon had drawn his sword, ready to defend his mother and his cousin and the Queen's unborn child. That statement was a step too far for Jon.

"You'll shut your mouth about both of them," Jon cried, swinging Longclaw dangerously.

Jaime had known precisely what his father had been doing. He'd watched the Old Lion play such mind games his whole life and reached Jon in time; before, he could do permanent damage to either Oberyn Martell or the fragile peace that House Martell had pledged to the King.

"Careful, Lord Targaryen," Jaime said, making sure his voice was loud enough to carry to Oberyn, who didn't miss the title Jaime had bestowed upon Jon.

Oberyn snorted. "Lord Targaryen. I think not. Lyanna Stark was a whore, who birthed a bastard son, which she foisted on her honourable brother. Nothing more. Never anything more. He doesn’t even deserve the name Sand." The sneer on Oberyn’s face was impossible to miss.

Hatred for Jon burned in Oberyn's eyes, and he remembered his sister and the betrayal to not only her but their house- by this man's mother.

Tywin let out a deep snarl, and it was not a pleasant sound. For the first time, he spoke.

"Prince Oberyn," he said, sneering the Prince, "Do you think I do not have proof that Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia and married Lyanna? Would I, the King, make such a bold claim, if I could not back it up?"

Oberyn, if possible, paled and looked frantically between Jon and Tywin. His mind worked frantically, trying to decide if Tywin was lying or not. There was never any doubt that the King was a brilliant man and an even better strategist. He almost never showed his hand unless he knew he was in the best position.

"No," Oberyn whispered. "Rhaegar would not. He would not do that… not to my sister. Not Elia. She loved him, and they had children," he said, voice trailing off as he thought of his goodbrother and the Targaryens in general. They were not a house known for rational thought or action.

At that moment, Jon felt for the man in front of him; and he felt the shame of his parents' actions rise and wash over him. It hadn't been that Elia had died, and Rhaegar had fallen in love again. His father had actively left his first wife and two small children to be with Jon's mother. He felt sick at his father's actions and dropped his head, feeling his dragon huff and push against him, as if to offer comfort.

Jaime stepped closer to Jon as if he could see his thoughts, and feel the emotion he was going through. This had been why Jaime had said so little about Jon's parents. Their actions were selfish and had led a country to war. Thousands of people had died, but none of that was Jon's fault, but knowing the type of man he was, Jaime knew he'd take some of that blame on himself, which was the last thing Jaime wanted for him. Jaime knew what it was like to live with someone else’s shame his entire life; he had saved people, but kept the Mad King’s secret and had suffered for it.

Oberyn, though, had no trouble pushing the emotional dagger deeper into Jon.

"Two undeserving people fathering him," the Prince all but spat at Jon. "I don't care if they were married; Lyanna Stark will always be the whore that seduced my sister's husband away from his family."

Not since Alliser Thorn had Jon had someone look at him with such hatred.

Tywin barked out a harsh laugh until Oberyn finally drew his heated gaze back to Tywin. Tywin pinned him with a look and shook his head.

"Such hypocrites, the Dornish. Was it not your brother that attempted to betroth his eldest daughter to Viserys? And if I'm not mistaken, in the war with Robert, it was Dorne that was pledged to the Targaryen cause. Gold, food and supplies and men, all given to a Mad King. A Mad King that your sister feared, for a good reason," Tywin said, his eyes glittering in rage whenever he thought of Aerys and the destruction he had wrought.

Oberyn scoffed. "The Mad King. Convenient from the House that benefited from his death the most. A goodson on the Throne in that fat bastard Robert, and now a crown on your golden head, Lion. And the only price you paid was a son that was known as Kingslayer."

Tywin wanted to rage, to tell Oberyn about the damage that Aerys had done went far beyond what he thought he knew, but now was not the time or place. Right now, he needed to convince Dorne to pledge to Jon. He was the last Targaryen, and they had pledged to his house before. Tywin could not let emotion rule him.

Jaime, it seemed, had different ideas.

"Small price? You don't know the price, Prince."

His green eyes glittered in anger. For a man that had kept his secret for over twenty years, Jaime was finding it surprisingly easy to tell people the truth these days.

"Oh, do inform me, Golden Lion. What was the price you paid? What lies do you tell yourself, in killing the King? How many lives you saved by killing Aerys?" Oberyn scoffed, disbelief evident in every single part of his body.

"Half a million," Jaime said, without any inflection. "More or less. The entire population of King's Landing if I'm not mistaken. We never did have too accurate an account."

Oberyn looked stunned and then skeptical. He laughed.

"What are you talking about, Kingslayer?"

Oberyn knew the Lions of Lannister to inflate their egos beyond compare, but this was outrageous even for the man they’d called oathbreaker his entire life.

In a few short sentences, Jaime explained why he'd killed the King.

Oberyn looked no more convinced at the end of the story than he had at the beginning until Jaime started to tell of a Mad King that burned hands and raped his wife and wouldn't bath because he was afraid of water. He painted a gruesome picture of a King that had descended into madness quickly. And of a beloved wife of Rhaegar that wanted to never be around the Mad King for good reason.

Jon looked sickened by what Jaime had said, realizing that this was his grandfather Jaime was talking about. Jaime gave Jon a small nod and then clapped him on the back. Jaime's eyes promised that whatever he wanted to know, Jaime would tell him, no matter how painful that history may be.

Tywin saw his opportunity. "Your House backed the Targaryen's in the last war." Tywin pointed to Jon. "He is the last dragon alive. If you won't pledge men to me, pledge them to him."

Oberyn said nothing, turning on his heel and stalking away from them, leaving Jaime and Tywin to deal with the aftermath of what had been revealed.

"I knew," Jon said, after a time, looking at Jaime. "About what you'd done. Robb can't keep a secret just so that you know." Jon gave a rueful grin at that thought, and Jaime let out a little laugh. "But I didn't know about the other… stuff. I mean, I knew what he'd done to Lady Joanna, because of Tyrion, but his wife?" Jon shuddered at the thought. That, along with the burning people alive, it made his blood run cold. He was related to a monster.

"You are not him, Jon. You have too much Stark in you; blood and upbringing, nature and nurture as it were," Jaime said passionately, draping an arm around a man he'd become close to. He didn’t want to doubt who he was; for the most part, Jaime had never been around someone quite like Jon. He was almost naïve in his view of the world; still quite innocent and idealist and Jaime could see that changing before his very eyes. Jaime had his innocence taken from him at a very young age, but he wanted better for Jon.

Jon gave a grim little shake of his head. "Those are just words, Kingslayer," Jon said, unconvinced. It was almost as if he could feel the mad dragon blood coursing through his veins and he wondered if he was a danger to those he loved.

Tywin snorted, and both men looked at him.

"You have a giant direwolf that you warg into, Jon. Please do not ever think you are too much dragon, lest that beast needs to remind you."

Jon cocked his head and thought about that. It was true that he'd been raised as a Stark; in the North. And he'd bonded with Ghost almost from the moment he'd held his wolf in his hands. In his heart, he'd always known he was part Stark, even if he'd thought that part of him was Ned and not Lyanna. He supposed it was true that he was both dragon and wolf and that he wasn't his grandfather. He nodded at the two men, then turned back to Rhaegal.

"I'll be back later; tell Dacey and Sansa. I need a few days."

"Where?" Jaime asked, and Jon just smiled.

"Dragonstone." Then he mounted the dragon and clutched at him as they took to the sky.

As they made their way back to the keep, Tywin allowed a hand to rest on Jaime's shoulder. Today they had worked seamlessly together, and it was an experience that Tywin had enjoyed.

"I'm proud of you, Jaime," Tywin said, somewhat gruffly, and Jaime nodded. He'd felt it too; how he had known what his father had needed him to do to get what they wanted from Oberyn.

"Think he'll send men?" Jaime asked, truly curious.

"I imagine when he discovers that Myrcella is no longer in Dorne and that our might have increased in the capital, then he will."

"And if they don't?"

Tywin's cold green eyes narrowed. "Then, when this war is over, the Crown will turn its attention to its southernmost region and take it apart brick by brick."

Jaime allowed himself one grim smile in answer to his father. They would make Dorne pay, if not now, then in the future. There was a reason that Houses still trembled when they heard the first few lines of the Reynes of Castamere sung, and Dorne would be well-advised not to anger the Great Lion.

* * *

_ A Week Later _

Jon left for six days. He felt horribly selfish, unable ever to remember a time in his life when he'd taken such time for himself without having to account for it to someone. But now, as an almost Lord, he seemed to be allowed to come and go as he pleased. It was such an odd feeling for a person that had almost this entire life dictated to him, first by the men in Winterfell, and then by the Night's Watch.

He felt awful that he hadn't brought Dacey here and lasted a single day and night without her. He flew back to the castle early the next morning, and with Tywin's permission, secreted her away, all without waking Sansa. Jon wanted time with just Dacey, in a place that was his by all the rights of Westeros.

Jon had never in his entire life ever conceived of being the heir to anything, let alone a place like Dragonstone. He'd remembered how much Stannis hated it, but he and Tyrion hadn't.

It needed work; the castle itself was depressing and run down, dark and dank. But it was the seat his family had always given their Prince that was destined to the throne, and that was now Jon. And there were no dragons left; just him. It was a daunting task to think he along would be responsible for rebuilding his house. And wondering if he even should. The Targaryens had a painful history in Westeros.

He had apologized profusely to Dacey for leaving as he had. She finally shut him up by kissing him when they had landed on Dragonstone.

"Seven hells, Jon, quit saying you're sorry," she said, a smile dancing on her pretty lips and an expression of exasperation in her voice.

He gave her a bit of a shy grin. "I can't help it, Dacey, you're so beautiful, and I'd hate to make you regret your choice."

Dacey shook her head at him. He had no idea his appeal- handsome, humble, and titled. Jon Targaryen was the stuff girls dreamed of, and he was clueless about all of it. Dacey meant to make sure he never figured out his appeal by marrying him before anyone else could get any designs on him.

Jon grabbed Dacey's hand and then turned her so she could see the castle for the first time from the ground. For a woman from Bear Island, it was a sight to behold.

"Jon," she breathed, her voice low and quiet in the face of such a building.

"It's cold and drafty, and there are bloody dragons everywhere, but it's mine." He blushed a bit and then quieted. "It's not official yet, perhaps when we are back, but I've discussed it with the King, and he seems amenable to making this my seat."

Dacey grinned at him, knowing how much it meant to him to have his own keep.

Then, like children with no responsibilities and nothing but time, they explored the castle for hours, laughing at the sheer amount of dragons that littered the keep. Jon's favourite room was what he'd taken to calling the map room. The room was carved from one of the high walls of Dragonstone and had open windows that looked out on the narrow sea and across towards Braavos.

The map itself rivalled Tywin's in King's Landing and was a full rendition of Westeros, filled with carved pieces representing all the houses. Jon let his hand trail over the Wall, which he now knew had fallen, and down the familiar landmarks of the North.

"We rode for days, Dacey, all around the North. I saw places I'd only heard talked about," he murmured, tracing a finger over Winterfell and it's familiar walls. When he raised his eyes, there was pain there. "Do you ever worry we won't see it again? Our home?" His eyes flicked towards Bear Island, so far in the North.

She was quiet for a time, contemplating her words. "I made a vow when I left and when I pledged myself to Queen Sansa. If I never saw Bear Island again, I'd at least die with my honour and pride. My family would know I'd done my duty."

Jon grunted at that. He understood duty.

"But I won't lie and say I wouldn't fancy a ride on your dragon Jon, to visit the people we love. When this country is free from the threat of the dead."

Jon smiled at her, soft and full of love.

"I want to show our children where we came from, Dacey, even if we never live there again. I want the North to be free from this threat," Jon said, and she nodded eagerly at that thought.

He let his eyes travel down the map and further south until they landed on Dorne, and he found the Tower of Joy, where his mother died. As if sensing something was weighing on him, Dacey came to his side, taking his hand and waiting. He liked that about her; she never pushed, just allowed him to speak at his own pace.

He started slow, talking about his mother and father until the words spilled from him in a jumble. Rhaegar, Lyanna, Aerys. Mad Kings and broken vows and so much hurt and heartache. He confessed his feelings of guilt and how the burden seemed too much, until she vehemently told him no, it was not his shame what his parents had done, and not his responsibility. He shared how he'd felt growing up in Winterfell; outside, alone with his family just out of reach. And then he all but whispered he worried that the madness of the Targaryen's would come for him as well.

In the end, they were crying and clutching at one another as Jon poured his soul into this woman who held him in his arms, and reassured him that he was not them and that he never would be.

"You're a wolf and a dragon, Jon, and that'll always be who you are," she said, fiercely, clasping his tear-stained face in her hands. She pressed her forehead to his, praying he believed her words, feeling him almost tremble in her arms until he took one shaking breath, and then another.

When he was finally back to himself, they stumbled to the Lord's chambers, grateful that the fires had been kept blazing by the Lannister stewards here, and that food had been left for them. Ravenous, they ate and then collapsed in the large bed, twined in each other's arms.

Their remaining days on the small island were spent together; on Rhaegal and on foot, exploring the moors, the caves, and the beaches. On their final afternoon, they stood overlooking the Bay, back towards King's Landing. Both knew the time would come, soon, for Jon to go back to Harrenhal and fight.

Jon pulled Dacey close. "I love you, Dacey Mormont, and I don't want to wait for you to be my wife. Marry me when we get back to King's Landing, in front of Sansa's godswood tree."

Dacey's face broke into a wide grin. "Aye, I'll marry you, Jon Targaryen, and send you off to war as a man who has a wife waiting for him. It'll make you come back to me."

Jon carded his hands through her hair, pulling her close and kissing her deeply. "Let's go see the King and Queen, my love."

The ride back to King's Landing was cold. Even thus far south, there was always the threat of winter in the air. Jon knew that his time was growing short in King’s Landing. The need to make Dacey's him drove him hard until they strode hand in hand into the King and Queen's chambers. It was right before dinner, and Jon knew that Sansa would most likely be with her sons, while Tywin could often be found in his solar at this time. Surprisingly, Jon found them both there, speaking quietly to one another, and they glanced at them.

The King had a smirk on his face, while Sansa's face lit with joy at the sight of him. She rose, awkwardly as she seemed to grow larger by the day, and came to embrace him, searching his face for something. When she was satisfied, she smacked him lightly on the chest.

"Bad cousin," she scolded him, and Jon had the grace to blush. Then the King was there, and he nodded at Jon.

"What is it you want, Jon Snow?" Tywin said, emphasizing the last name.

Jon's spine stiffened. "To be acknowledged as the true born son of Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen and given my rightful seat at Dragonstone."

"And do you pledge yourself to Queen and me?" Tywin asked.

Jon nodded. "Aye, I'll bend the knee, and be a loyal bannerman of Houses Stark and Lannister."

"Good. Tomorrow in the throne room. I had the confirmation sent from Old Town," Tywin said, picking up the piece of paper from the Citadel.

Jon could hardly believe it as his eyes read the entry from the Maester’s journal. Proof that he wasn’t a bastard and never had been. He felt almost lightheaded at it all. His entire life he’d wanted to know who he was and now there it was.

"Anything else?" Tywin asked pointedly, looking at their clasped hands and bringing Jon’s attention back to the present. Jon had the grace to blush.

"We'd like to be married, in front of the weirwood tree, in Sansa's little godswood. Before I leave for Harrenhal." Jon met Tywin's eyes. "If I die, and my wife is pregnant with my child, that child will inherit my seat. They will have my name, Your Grace."

Tywin nodded, and then in a rare display of affection with someone who was not Sansa, clasped Jon quickly in a hug. "It is done, Jon. Tomorrow we will announce your true parentage, and then, in a week, you will marry Dacey Mormont."

Sansa was beside herself with joy, although she did not miss the calculating look in her husband's eye. When Jon and Dacey had first spoken of marriage, Tywin had explained to her how that would all but secure Tysan's reign; neither Jon nor his children would be able to challenge him for the throne given that their mother was a bastard. Sansa knew it was a cold and calculating viewpoint of the world, but such was their life and if it allowed Tywin to twist Jon, well, then Sansa welcomed it.

Still, for tonight, Sansa would be happy for her cousin and all he had gained. The fact that Jon would be so close, in the south, and almost next to her, also made her quite happy. They had spoken often about their childhood; she had apologized repeatedly for her treatment of him, and Jon had told her how much he’d wanted a real name. Now he would have that.

Word spread, so the next day, the Throne Room was packed with those Lords and Ladies that had heard a secret Targaryen had been found. No one quite knew what to make of the idea that Tywin Lannister was set to reveal the last dragon, knowing he'd been at odds with that house for years. Still, some remembered when Tywin had been hand to Aerys, and for some of the older generation, it made sense knowing who rode on the back of the green-gold dragon- the Queen’s cousin.

When Jon walked into the throne room, he was gripped by fear so overwhelming that it almost stopped him in his tracks. Thankfully, he had Jaime at his side, while Ser Addam was on the other. Both men knew it was past time that Jon's true parentage was revealed, and so they watched as he approached the King and Queen, on the high dais, taking in the Iron Throne in all its horrific glory.

It was his family that had forged such that chair, Jon thought, shuddering. He knew he'd never sit there, and he thanked the old gods for that small mercy. Sansa smiled encouragingly at him, as Tywin rose to speak, and Jon gave her a grateful look back. He wondered for a moment how she did it, all the pressure of being the Queen, but it was as if she'd been born to have this position, and it looked natural on her in a way Jon knew it never would on him.

The Great Lion looked at Oberyn, who looked both sickened and outraged at what was about to take place. Tywin did not care. Jon hadn't been the one who'd left his wife, annulled his marriage and married another. Tywin would not allow Jon to suffer bastard status when it wasn't the truth. And he was long past playing nice with Dorne. Tywin had upheld his part of the bargain; he'd given the Martell's Elia's killer in Ser Gregor, and he'd given them a seat on the small council. It was Dorne that was being belligerent.

Generating the proof from the Citadel, Tywin told the court the story of Rhaegar and Lyanna; their love, their escape, their marriage and finally their child. Their trueborn child.

"Jon Snow, do you acknowledge that you are the trueborn son of Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen?"

Jon felt a shiver run down his spine at those words. He remembered how he'd longed for Ned to legitimize him in Winterfell; to make him a Stark. He now knew why he never had. Jon had never expected to have a different last name from either Snow or Stark. It had been his greatest wish for almost his entire life. But he was who he was, and his name was neither of those. He met the King's green eyes and swallowed hard.

"I do." Jon was shocked at how steady his voice sounded.

"And as the true born son of Rhaegar, do you accept your family's seat at Dragonstone?"

"I do."

"And do you pledge your word and your sword to the King and Queen of the seven kingdoms; to Tywin and Sansa Lannister of Houses Stark and Lannister."

Jon raised his eyes as he bent the knee. "I do." Then he coughed. "I also hereby declare will never seek the Iron Throne; that as of this moment, I willingly and openly pledge that I will defend the King and Queen and their heirs with my sword, my direwolf, my dragon and if needs be, my life."

Shocked gasps rang through the crowd, as those in attendance all realized what Jon had just done. He'd all but secured the Lannister legacy and Tysan's place on the throne. Any lingering support for House Targaryen evaporated like mist on a chilly spring morning. Tywin could not be more pleased by what had just happened, and his voice rang with approval of Sansa's cousin.

"Rise, Jon Targaryen, loyal bannerman to House Lannister and House Stark, and rightful heir of Dragonstone."

Jon rose and bowed once more to the King and Queen, before Tywin dismissed the court, and allowed Jon to be swarmed by Lords and Ladies; men and women who mere days ago would hardly speak to him, unsure of his bastard status, and who now preened over their newest member. Jon only barely managed to see the smirk of Tywin's face, and the smile on Dacey's face before the crowd swallowed him. When he finally broke free he made his way back to his apartments alone needing space.

It was odd to feel like he finally had a place and a name in this world, more than just his bastard one. He would soon have a wife, a castle of his own and maybe even children one day. It was more than Jon had ever expected, and he and Dacey were scheduled to be married in six days.

Jon awoke the next morning, feeling out of sorts, and so he sought out Sansa. He came to her chambers and pushed inside to come across Dacey, Sansa and Wynafryd chatting happily in the family solar. Sansa had all three babies with her, and Jon's heart did a funny roll, looking at Dacey with Jason in her arms as she cooed at the little prince. For a man that never thought he'd have children of his own, he was fast becoming accustomed to the idea and found he liked it more and more.

Jon almost flung himself into a seat, listening with half an ear as talk turned to the North and tales from their childhood. Of course, all three women had grown up on stories of the White Walkers, and they soon turned to Jon, who gave each one a pointed look.

"I'll not be scaring you. It's not a tale for noblewomen," Jon said, a firm set to his lips and a defiant look in his eye.

Dacey scoffed, and Sansa almost growled at him, sounding so much like her husband that Jon couldn't help but laugh at her. Only Wyn had the graciousness to blush, not knowing Jon that well, and still being quite taken by how handsome he was. Wyn knew that he and Dacey were betrothed, but she'd never seen so many attractive men as she had in King's Landing and her heart seemed to be constantly racing. She had also never experienced women talking to their men the way that Sansa and Dacey did- as if they were equals. Shockingly, neither Jon nor Tywin seemed to mind.

"You'll tell us, Jon. And hold nothing back. We want to hear about this army of the dead that threatens us all," Sansa said, her blue eyes flashing.

"And if I don't?" His voice had taken on a belligerent tone, one he'd often used with her when they'd been younger.

Her blue eyes narrowed, and she huffed out an annoyed breath.

Jon was secretly grinning, wondering if she was going to pull the Queen card on him. Then her eyes gleamed.

"Because if you don't, I'll tell Dacey about the time your bare arse got dragged out into the training yard by Father and Ser Rodrik." Sansa grinned triumphantly as Jon scowled, while Dacey howled.

Jon gave one last dirty look to Sansa, as his cousin, not the Queen, and then told them his tale; from the time he'd first gone North and everything since. Servants brought food and wine, and they spent the day, the four northerners in Sansa's solar.

Sansa cried when Jon spoke of Tommen's death, and her heart broke again for Jaime and all he'd lost.

"You all speak of the Kingslayer as if he is a good man," Wynafryd said after Sansa composed herself. She had three very pointed glares come her way.

The Queen sniffed and then said, voice cold and majestic, "Jaime Lannister is one of the best men in the Kingdom, Lady Wynafryd. You’d do well to remember that and remind yourself that not everything you think you know is true."

Wyn’s eyes went wide and she nodded shakily as the others agreed. She didn't quite know what to make of it all; everyone had heard about what Jaime had done, but even the Mad King's grandson, Jon, seemed to be more likely to defend Jaime than his flesh and blood. Somehow, everyone in King’s Landing loved Jaime and Wyn wondered why that was.

Jon continued his tale, talking about when he'd finally made it back to Winterfell and how he’d felt seeing his home. He reached for Sansa’s hand then and squeezed it hard.

“I have to believe we’ll see it again, sweet cousin,” he told her and she just nodded, too choked up to say more. She wanted to see her sons in the godswood where her father had prayed and watch them wrestle in the yard where Robb and Jon had squabbled as children, and then fall asleep with them, between her and Tywin in a big bed, warmed by the walls of Winterfell. Sansa wanted that so much she fairly ached with it.

Sansa loved hearing Jon's stories about all their direwolves reunited, and even Wyn chipped in that it was a tale that was told throughout the North; the Stark's and their wolves and that people spoke of them from all corners of Westeros.

Jon winked at Sansa to lighten the mood. "Perhaps they'll gift you with another wolf, dear cousin, now that Nymeria is back with the pack."

Sansa almost startled at that thought, wondering if that were possible and thinking what a sight that would be, for her to have Lady back in some form, beside her down here in King's Landing.

"Perhaps for the Princes," the Queen murmured, and Wyn looked shocked.

"The King would allow that?"

Both Jon and Dacey snorted together, and Wyn glanced at them, while Sansa just smiled knowingly.

"That man will allow his Queen anything," Dacey said, winking at Wyn.

Dacey and Wyn were about as different as could be when it came to noble-born northern women. Dacey was armour, swords, fighting and her bastard status, while Wyn was songs and books, beautiful dresses and poetry. Still, there was something about sitting with people from your region that bonded them together. Both women were impressed with Sansa and how she had found such power in the south.

Sansa rolled her eyes at them. "He's not that bad at spoiling me," she said, blushing only slightly, lightly touching the heavy lion torque necklace that was around her neck. All three of them laughed at her.

"He's not. He can be quite snippy sometimes," Sansa said primly. "And growly."

"Seven hells, San, you've got him wrapped around your finger," Jon said, laughing so hard tears were running down his face. "And we've all seen the marks that man leaves on your pale flesh. Not to mention the two babes in your arms and another in your belly. The man positively spoils you rotten, Sansa."

Sansa sniffed and gave him a pointed look. "Oh and like it isn't the same for you and Dacey?" she challenged him and watched as a look of love came over Jon's face, and he reached for her hand.

"I make no apologies for my feelings," Jon said, making his soon to be wife blush adorably.

Sansa wondered if the wolves would stay with Robb at Harrenhal and Jon nodded that the most likely would. They hadn't spoken much about their ability to warg into their wolves; Jon thought that might be too painful for Sansa, seeing as she'd had such a short time with Lady, but he'd known from Ghost that the direwolf pack would remain to fight the army of the dead.

Wyn asked about the war effort at Harrenhal, and Jon shared what he'd seen. It was when Jon was describing the Isle of Faces, and that was when Tywin and Jaime appeared. It was mid-afternoon though it seemed almost like night outside, as a strong storm had blown in making everything dark.

Tywin sat by his wife on a couch, and each held a son, while Jaime held a goblet of wine in his hand, and relaxed in a chair, his bright green eyes missing nothing. He wondered briefly at Wyn's inclusion in their little group, but Sansa seemed comfortable with her there so Jaime held his tongue. He’d reserve judgement on her; he’d seen exactly what her grandfather and father were like.

"An entire Isle of weirwood trees," Wyn said, her voice barely above a whisper as she almost shuddered.

"Bran says it's where the Pact was signed, 8,000 years ago, between the Children of the Forest and the First Men. They carved each weirwood tree, to serve as a reminder of the war and the peace that came," Jon told them, realizing that much of what they had heard had come from a raven- none of them, save Jaime, had seen Bran and the changes in him.

"How can he know that he is the three-eyed-raven?" Wyn asked, and Jon told her all about Bran being the last great greenseer.

"And you believe him?" she asked, her tone full of skepticism. "I mean, you believe his claims that he is this three-eyed-raven?"

Jaime snorted, and all eyes turned to him.

"I watched dead men rise to fight against the living, all with a simple wave of this Night King's arms. This one here is riding a dragon. And four huge direwolves are ranging around Harrenhal. An island full of faces and a boy that claims he can see the past is nowhere near the craziest thing I have seen, Lady Manderly.”

Wyn blushed and darted her eyes away from Jaime, who looked almost smug that he'd provoked such a reaction. Sansa rolled her eyes at him.

Jon flashed Jaime a grin. "You forgot the giants, Jaime," and the Kingslayer threw his head back and laughed.

“True, and they are almost impossible to forget,” Jaime said, thinking back to Hardhome.

"Giants?" Tywin said, and Sansa looked on eagerly as Jon spoke of WunWun and his pledge to the living and the structure of the Wildlings and their ‘King' Mance Ryder.

"It's so fascinating," Sansa said, lost in her world, thinking of the tales she'd grown up on and how they were all coming true.

"Says the woman who used to scream us bloody awake at night when a scary story was told," Jon japed lightly with her.

Sansa threw a pillow at him, as Jon laughed, and Tywin watched their comfortable family dynamic, loving seeing this happy side to his wife. She missed her family, that much was clear.

"Oh, stop. I was but a child, Jon. And you and Robb made it your life's mission to scare me."

"We did. But then we'd beg you for a song, Sansa, and all would be forgiven when your sweet voice rang out in the halls of Winterfell."

Sansa laughed lightly and then blushed when Jon raised his eyebrows. "Sing for us now, Sansa. A song to get us through this long and dark period."

Tywin had only ever heard Sansa sing to their sons and only silly little nursery rhymes. He wasn't sure she would now until she cleared her throat, and the first haunting melody came through as she sang about Jenny and her ghosts. That song was barely done when she sang a new one, something less sad, but equally moving about the old ways of the North. She finished with a hymn in the faith of the seven, and Tywin had never been more stunned in his life by her talent.

"Sansa," he said gruffly, emotion making his voice thick. She glanced at him, saw his face and the love he had for her, and waved a hand.

"I'm sorry I'm out of practice," she started to say, and he silenced her with his lips.

When he finally drew back, the others were quiet, not quite sure they hadn't imagined such a sound. He tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at her with such love. "My talented wife. Never make yourself less, my love," he said and kissed her again.

"What do you miss most about Winterfell, dear Sansa?" Jaime asked suddenly, and Sansa ripped her eyes away from Tywin's to lock on Jaime's.

"The hot springs," she said immediately. "No matter how cold it was, we always had pools of warm water, almost too hot, and they would warm you through."

Jon grunted his agreement at that.

"What about you, Jaime? What do you miss most about Casterly Rock?" Sansa asked as the winds and rains howled outside the castle walls. She glanced around the room; happy they were all warm and safe.

Jaime sat back in contemplation and then grinned, looking at his father. "The cliffs where I could dive into the sea," he said, and Tywin rolled his eyes and muttered about his foolish son. "In fairness, I miss the food of the Westerlands and the air. Gods, King's Landing stinks compared to the West." Tywin could agree with that.

"Jon, what about you? Is there anything you miss about Winterfell?" Jaime asked, knowing it was a touchy subject, given his bastard status when he was there.

Jon nodded slowly. "I miss the people. Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik. Hard asses, but fair to a fault. I miss how open it was around Winterfell, miles of grass and plains to ride, and hardly a person for miles." Those from the North could agree that King's Landing was much too crowded for them.

"I miss my mother and my sisters," Dacey said suddenly, reaching for Jon's hand. "Our island is small and cold, but on occasion, we'd get a warm day, and mother would let us all strip down, naked and run through the surf. We'd be blue and shivering, and she'd bundle us up and pour hot cider down our throats and wrap us in bearskin furs."

There was silence for a time, each lost in their own thoughts. And then Tywin spoke. "I miss the smell of the Sunset Sea; it's nothing like the Blackwater. The air is light, and when the sun sets, the family chambers all face the West, and there is nothing quite as spectacular in the entire world as watching a sunset from Casterly Rock."

Sansa squeezed Tywin's hands. This is why they fought; for their homes and their people and their land.

That night as Sansa lay wrapped in Tywin's arms, she asked him to tell her about Casterly Rock. He was quiet for a time, until his low, raspy voice filled their dark room, only the light from the fire illuminating them. She was delighted when he spoke of his home, its grand size, and beautiful cliffs. He spoke eloquently about the Hall of Heroes, where those from Lannister history were immortalized. He told her the Lord's chambers and how large it was with the adjoining bathing rooms, and how a part of him ached to bring her and their sons there.

"A part of me will always wish that we could raise them there, Sansa."

She turned so that she was facing him as he rested his hand on her stomach.

"I know," she said, and she did. There was a part of her that wondered what it would be like to have a Westeros free from war and to raise her sons in the North like she and her siblings had been raised. But she knew there was peace because of her and Tywin, and she trusted no one else with ruling the seven kingdoms.

"One day, my lovely wife, I will take you to the Rock. And we will watch that sunset," Tywin whispered to her before sleep claimed both of them.

Two mornings later, Ser Addam rushed into the dining room of the King, clutching a raven in his hand, looking slightly panicked.

"Your Graces," he said, eyes flicking between Sansa and Tywin. "It's my wife."

Tywin's eyes narrowed, and he reached for Sansa, whose face had gone pale white.

"What is it, Ser Marbrand?

"She hasn't arrived at either Casterly Rock or Ashemark, Your Grace. No one knows where she is. It is as if she disappeared on the Gold Road, My Lord," Addam said in a rush, his face contorted in worry.

Sansa gasped and felt a wave of guilt wash over her. "Send for my Uncle. Perhaps he has heard from the men that were sent with her."

Her voice didn't waver, but only just. She was worried sick about what might have happened to her mother. She'd be an excellent prize for bandits looking for a ransom and Sansa felt almost ill that she might have sent her to such a fate.

When her Uncle entered the dining room, everyone knew he had no idea where Catelyn Marbrand might be, and it was more than obvious he hadn't heard from either of the loyal men he sent with her. Edmure Tully looked positively sick with worry.

"Who is left at Riverrun?" The King asked, and Edmure shook his head.

"No one, Your Grace. We sent everyone south, to Wayfarer's Rest, and on to Sarsfield and finally to Casterly Rock." It had been almost impossible for Edmure to send that raven. To think that his people might be safe at a place like the Rock, but he'd done as the King has asked believing the threat to humanity.

"Where in seven hells could she be?" Tywin muttered, wondering if Sansa would hold him responsible for sending her mother into danger. It had been him that had demanded she leave, and now she was missing.

The King should have trusted his wife; once they were alone, she sought his arms and his strength and whispered that she did not blame him at all.

"She should have been safe, Tywin. The men she had with her and the road she was on."

Tywin's arms tightened around her.

"I am sorry, Sansa," he said into her hair, and she shook her head.

"This is not your fault, Tywin."

While Sansa didn't blame him, it still shook his wife, and on top of the war, it extended a pall over the royal court. Jon came each day to spend time with Sansa while she fretted and waited to hear. Jon had mentioned to Tywin about taking to Rhaegal and searching for Lady Catelyn, but Tywin had stopped him. As much as it pained him that Sansa was hurting, Tywin would not waste a resource like a dragon on searching for Lady Marbrand.

Sansa barely left her rooms; content to only be with her family and her husband, needing to be close to her sons. Shireen and Genna were constantly by her side, and both did what they could to try and ease her worry. Shireen helped by telling stories of Gendry learning to read, and how her cousin spent hours with Jaime and Jon sparing in the yard and getting used to wearing armour.

A few days later, Jaime was walking calmly through the many hallways of the Red Keep, having just been with his father in his map room, when he came across Wynafryd Manderly, who was alone and lost. She stopped when she saw Jaime and then gestured somewhat helplessly.

"Can you help me back to my chambers, Ser Jaime?"

Jaime watched as a blush stole across her face and couldn't help himself; it had been an age since a woman had blushed around him and he knew that she didn’t quite know what to make of him. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice.

"Aren't you afraid, little mermaid? I'm the Kingslayer. What on earth would your dear father say, if he were to find you alone with me?"

Jaime had watched people scurry away from him his entire life; some were appalled by him, some disgusted, but almost all universally judged him. There were only a very few people in Jaime Lannister's life that had looked beyond his cocky, Kingslayer persona.

Wyn straightened her spine and looked him in the eyes. "I'd imagine my father would have his issues with you, Ser Jaime. I, however, have listened to your family defend you. One of the best men in Westeros, I believe, were the words the Queen used."

Jaime's eyes widened, and for a brief moment, he lost his cocky swagger.

"Tell me, Ser Jaime. Is the Queen a liar?"

Before Jaime could say anything, a steward came running around the corner.

"Ser Jaime, you are needed at once in the King and Queen's chambers," the man said, breathing hard.

Jaime glanced at Wyn and then grabbed her by the arm, hurrying them through the Red Keep and towards the apartments of his father. When they entered, it was as if death itself had come into the room.

"What happened?" Jaime barked out, meeting his father's eyes.

"It's Sansa's brother, Bran," Tywin said. His wife's eyes were glassy and unfocused as she clutched at a raven. "He is missing."

"Missing?" Jaime asked, voice incredulous. "He cannot walk. Where in seven hells is he?"

Jon shook his head, stopped his pacing and looked at Jaime. "We don't know. Robb hadn't seen him in a few days, and when he sent Sandor to his chambers, he was gone."

"Gone? How?"

Jon shook his head. "No one knows."

The mood in the Red Keep was decidedly sombre after that. It seemed like someone was targeting the Queen's family. First, her mother, and now her brother- gone. Jaime and Jon had spent countless hours speaking with Sansa and Tywin, explaining how Bran had said he needed to be on the Isle of Faces to defeat the Night King.

"He is the key to everything, Tywin," Jon said, slipping and using the King's name, desperate to do something. "I'll wait a few more days and then…"

"And then what? You'll circle Westeros aimlessly, Jon?" Tywin bit out, frustration lacing his every word.

"Let them search," Sansa pleaded with Jon, knowing he wanted to leave King’s Landing. Sansa could all but see the guilt rolling off of him. Robb had written another raven saying that the castle was huge, and there were thousands upon thousands of tents. It could take days to search everywhere for Bran. 

Jon grunted, frustrated at his inability to do something to find Bran. He wished now he hadn't stayed south for so long, but he had no idea that his being at Harrenhal would have prevented Bran from disappearing.

Sansa was a wreck, hardly sleeping or eating, worrying about her mother and brother, which made Tywin almost lose his mind with worry for her and his clear inability to solve this problem. When word came that Jeyne Stark, along with Robb's heir, Ned, were spotted just outside the walls of the Red Keep, Sansa's heart leapt at the thought of seeing Arya and Rickon and finally meeting Robb's wife. They would be a welcome distraction and she and Jon eager got ready to greet them.

Sansa stood in the courtyard of the Red Keep, waiting for her family, alongside Jon, Tywin, Addam and Jaime. They all looked shocked when a small party entered the courtyard in a carriage, and a single dark-haired woman emerged with a little boy on her hip. Her face broke out into a tentative smile and then she frowned as everyone looked confused.

Jeyne curtseyed to the King and Queen, dipping her head demurely and saying, "Your Graces,” wondering what was going on. She had expected a much warmer greeting from the Queen, who she had been conversing with for months through ravens.

"Lady Stark," Tywin all but growled at her, looking over her shoulder. "Where are you goodbrother and goodsister? Lady Arya and Lord Rickon?" Tywin asked.

Jeyne's brow furrowed. She glanced around. "What do you mean, Your Grace?”

"Lady Stark? Where are my brother and sister?" Sansa asked, clutching at Tywin's hand, her stomach twisting in worry.

Jeyne opened her mouth and then closed it and then opened it again. "I do not understand, My Queen. They left two days before me with Lady Brienne as their escort. We did not pass them on the Kings Road. They should be here, already."

Sansa paled and swayed, and Tywin clutched her to him. "Seven hells," he muttered a sick feeling settling in his stomach.

"Tywin?" came Sansa's voice, weak and desperate.

Then Tywin looked to Jaime, who had turned almost green. His eyes clashed with his father's and saw the brutal truth in the King’s gold-green eyes.

"No, she wouldn't, Father. Not Brienne." But Jaime knew that his wife had an almost slavish devotion to the idea of fulfilling her vows, and he'd heard what had happened in Flea Bottom with Lady Catelyn, Sansa and Brienne. Brienne’s last vow, before her marriage ones, had been to Lady Catelyn. Jaime's stomach clenched and the world darkened until he saw spots before his eyes.

Sansa's eyes flicked to Jaime's and her hand almost crushed Tywin's. "No. No…" she whispered, horror washing over her. "No, Ty. She wouldn't. Would she?"

Jon looked at them all, a growing sense of dread settling over him. He glanced at Tywin, who was almost having to hold Sansa up by now.

"My love look at me," the King commanded her, and she straightened and took a deep breath. Then she opened her mouth.

"My mother and Lady Brienne. They have them, Tywin. It's the only thing that makes any sense. They have Bran and Arya and Ric," Sansa said, her voice all but breaking. She knew her mother was as good as dead; this was treason, a betrayal of the King and Queen. She clutched at Tywin as she heard Jaime bow over and retched in the yard.

"Sansa," Tywin said, but she heard the truth in that single word. Jaime had straggled back to his feet, and Jon was there, holding him up. All four of them looked at one another, nobody daring to say a word, until finally, Tywin nodded.

"Jon Targaryen, it is imperative you find them. Find Bran and Arya and Rickon Stark and return them to us," Tywin ordered, and Jon nodded.

"And the women? Lady Marbrand and Lady Tarth, Your Grace?"

Tywin's eyes hardened, green and cold. "Return them to King's Landing, Lord Targaryen, where they will stand trial for treason against the Crown.

Sansa and Jaime both sucked in sharp gasps and watched as Jon nodded.

"Aye, Your Grace." Then without a word, Jon let go of Jaime, nodded at Sansa and strode from the courtyard, determine to get his cousins back at any cost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thoughts and comments are always appreciated as long as they are respectful. 
> 
> Things are going to pick up quite dramatically- the final battle is almost here, and while I know I must deal with it, I am definitely here for other aspects of the story.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't quite get to where I wanted to in this chapter, but at almost 13k words, it's quite large. 
> 
> I hope people enjoy

_ King's Landing _

Tywin's eyes met Jerrod's, and he indicated that his loyal man should get Jaime to their chambers immediately. Tywin had seen both Jaime and Sansa pale when Tywin had given his decree of treason for the two women that kidnapped the Stark children. Tywin knew he needed to get the situation under control as quickly as possible and was grateful when Sansa let herself be led back inside the Red Keep. Tywin saw that Jerrod was ushering Jaime and Addam inside as well and felt thankful for his presence.

Within the hour, Jon, Jaime, Sansa, Genna, Myrcella, Addam, and Tywin were in the King's solar, grim looks on some of their faces, utter shock on others. It was still hard to comprehend the level of betrayal that their family was feeling.

Jaime and Sansa hadn't said a word since the courtyard, and it was them that Tywin worried about most. He had to think because if he gave into emotion, the sheer anger and embarrassment that his wife's mother and his son's wife had caused House Lannister threatened to bring him to his knees. Tywin knew if he reacted with emotion, he would make things worse. Already he had openly declared that both women would be held on charges of treason, and everyone knew the punishment for treason- just like everyone knew, Tywin would not hesitate to carry out that sentence.

"Jon, why is Bran so important?" Tywin asked, voice tight with barely controlled fury. He needs facts right now, more than anything and a plan for how to salvage this debacle.

Jon's brown eyes met Tywin's green-gold ones, and the new lord of Dragonstone could see the palpable rage in the King's stance.

"No one knows. All we know is that Bran has said he needs to be there; to defeat the Night King. Without Bran… well, none of us stand a chance against him. Dragon fire doesn't touch him, and we have no idea how to kill him. He brought down a dragon with a single spear, Your Grace." Jon's words shook the room; this was no jape. Bran Stark was the key to everything that was happening with this creature that was coming for them all.

"Where would she go, Sansa?" Tywin asked, hating to put his wife on the spot, but needing her assurance with his thoughts. He was briefly reminded of when he'd asked her a similar question, so many long months ago and she'd been correct then guessing her mother had fled to the Vale.

Sansa raised her eyes to Tywin's, and he sucked in a breath at her appearance. She was ghostly pale, and her blue eyes stood out even more dramatically. "Riverrun, Ty. It's the only logical place for her."

Tywin nodded his agreement. That was what he had thought as well, and his gaze swung to Jerrod, Addam and Jaime. "I will send Daven up from Casterly Rock with a garrison of men to meet Jon at Riverrun," Tywin stated.

Jaime shot to his feet. "I'm going with him, father."

Father. Not Your Grace, or My Lord. Father. Jaime's eyes were almost pleading with Tywin, and he gave a short, jerky nod, when suddenly the doors to the solar opened and Edmure Tully strode in, looking particularly distraught and upset.

"What is this I hear that my sister has been accused of treason?" Lord Tully almost spat the words at Tywin, who had turned to face the angry river lord. Before Tywin could say anything, Sansa suddenly surged to her feet.

"It is true, Uncle," Sansa said, voice steady. Tywin was immensely proud of her.

"It is a lie!"

Sansa shook her head, eyes fixed firmly on her Uncle's reddening face.

"He has no facts, Sansa. He should have held his tongue until he knew what happened."

"What was my husband, _the King_, supposed to do, Uncle? My mother has kidnapped my siblings, one whom is critical for the defence of this country I am the Queen of," Sansa said, her voice steady, but rising. She would not have either herself or her husband be questioned by the likes of Edmure Tully. Not when everything hinged on them finding Bran. 

Tywin stood in shocked awe of his wife and her defence of him, while the others were equally as stunned.

"She is your mother, Sansa," Edmure snarled at his niece. "Think of your family." Once, that barb might have hurt Sansa, but not now. 

"I am her Queen," Sansa snarled, her blue eyes raging. "I am her Queen; before I am her daughter or her friend. And she bent the knee, she pledged herself not just to me, Uncle, but to my husband. To the rightful King of the seven kingdoms. To a man who had every legal right to have her head when she held a knife to my throat or when she started a war by kidnapping an innocent man."

Tywin saw her sway slightly and was by her side, drawing him to her as she shook from the overwhelming emotions assaulting her at the moment and clung to her husband. Sansa clung to the man who loved her more than anyone in the entire kingdom; her touchstone and her whole heart. He was her world, and she should never have asked for mercy for her mother those many months ago when she had first come to King's Landing. Had Sansa listened to Tywin, none of this would have happened.

"Tywin," she said, twisting in her arms, her face awash in anguish. "I am so sorry, husband, for asking you to spare her life. It is my fault that the war might be lost. Because I loved her and asked for mercy when she threatened me," Sansa sobbed into her husband's chest, completely broken.

Tywin cursed the day he'd ever laid eyes on Catelyn Tully. He wished the woman had gone out that same moon door as her sister. The grief she had caused and was causing her family was immeasurable.

"My love, no." Tywin grasped her chin and gently forced her eyes to meet his. He'd never seen her so bleak, not even after she'd given Cersei the sweet sleep. As if they could communicate with no words, she slowly nodded, seeing his love and understanding.

Sansa knew her mother's fate; it was the same as Joffrey's and Cersei's. Her heart broke, even as she accepted it and straightened her spine, spinning to look at Jon.

"You have to find them, Jon."

Her cousin nodded.

"I will, Sansa." Even saying those words, Jon knew that they had both accepted Lady Catelyn's fate.

Her Uncle stood there, sputtering.

"You're going to let him murder your mother?" Edmure Tully screeched.

Tywin snapped. He was out of Sansa's arm in a moment and grabbed Lord Tully by his tunic, hauling him against his long, lean frame.

"One more word against the Queen, Lord Tully, and you will wait for your sister's arrivals in the black cells. Lady Catelyn has betrayed the Crown; that is treason. It is not my wife that will pass judgment on her. It is me. The King." Tywin's green-gold eyes glittered, and Edmure knew that if it came down to it, the man in front of him would swing the sword himself to take his sister's head.

Tywin leaned in closer. "You will never speak to the Queen in that tone again, lest I take your tongue."

Edmure felt his bowels clench and want to let loose. He was staring directly into the lion's jaws, and he had no doubts he'd make good on every promise in those cold green eyes.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"You are dismissed." Tywin all but snarled as he watched the man scurry from the room and turned back to have his eye land on Jaime.

His son looked… destroyed. There was no other word for it. Myrcella was kneeling beside her father, holding his hand. Tywin had the fanciful thought that had she not been there, Jaime might have floated away on heartbreak alone.

Jaime Lannister had lost everything. Son, sister, lover, son, beloved brother and now his wife. Tywin cursed Lady Brienne and her presence in Jaime's life, as much as he cursed himself for ever allowing the lady knight anywhere near his family. He should have had her sent back to the Isle of Tarth the moment she'd tried to keep Sansa from him on their wedding day.

"Jaime," Tywin started to say, and Jaime waved a hand.

"There is nothing to say, father. My wife, whom I'm assuming the moment I walk out of the room, will no longer be my wife, is a traitor," Jaime said bitterly, adding a hollow laugh that chilled Tywin with its despair. The King had no idea how to reach his son and his mind was thinking about Jaime's words. One of Tywin's most significant assets was the ability to run scenarios through his mind at an alarmingly fast rate.

"As is mine," came a deep, tortured voice and all eyes looked at Ser Marbrand. The man was wrecked, as they could all see.

This betrayal against his house was so deep, so vicious, that Tywin Lannister worried for a moment if this would be what finally destroyed his great house. He always assumed it would be his children that might lead House Lannister to ruin- but how two loyal, good men had been brought to their knees by their traitorous wives.

His wife, his Queen, had been deceived by her mother, whom she had already saved once. It was a devastating blow to even a man like Tywin. He'd gone back to Sansa, who had sunk down into one of the chairs, her hands resting protectively over her stomach while he rested a large hand on her shoulder.

"When can you leave?" Tywin squeezes Sansa's shoulder, knowing they needed to be united right now and that they would need one another more than ever.

Jon swallowed hard.

"Tomorrow. First light. I'll go to Harrenhal first. There is a chance that she only has Arya and Rickon." Jon held up a hand when Sansa went to protest.

"Sansa, we don't know. And if this is what has happened, I'll need to speak with Stannis and Robb. It will only delay us by a few days, and it will give Ser Daven time to bring up troops from the Rock. I love Arya and Ric, but we need Bran- for all of us."

Tywin nodded his approval with Jon’s plans; he was keeping his head and thinking logically, as Tywin would have. It was rare when a man so young got the praise of the Old Lion, but Jon was earning it daily.

"Once Bran Stark is secured, bring Arya and Rickon to King's Landing. Ser Daven will be responsible for getting Lady Brienne and Lady Catelyn to the capital.”

Jon nodded and then came to kneel in front of Sansa. Before he could speak, Jaime did.

"We'll leave at first light."

Tywin started to shake his head when Jaime surged to his feet. His green eyes met his father's, and he prayed to the seven that he wasn't going to disappoint the man he'd just come to forge an actual bond with.

"Trust me, father. I will deal with Brienne and her treachery if it is indeed treason. But let me at least find her and ask her. Give me this," Jaime all but pleaded, hating that his wife had forced him into this position. He could not stay behind. Jaime had to look in Brienne’s eyes and ask why she had done this.

Tywin felt Sansa squeeze his hand and gave one curt nod after looking in Jaime’s eyes. Jaime sucked in a breath and then spun and left the room, followed by both Genna and Myrcella.

"We'll take Joanna and stay the night with him, Ty," Genna said, brushing a kiss across her brother's cheek and resting a hand on Sansa's shoulder.

Genna had been close with Catelyn; she had encouraged Sansa to give her mother another chance, and she had thought that they had bonded, that they were friends. She, too, was hurt by this betrayal, and she ached for her family.

_Thank gods Ty had Myrcella brought back to the capital_, Genna thought. She knew Jaime's daughter was one of the only things that were left in his life that brought him happiness, along with his niece and Sansa.

When they had departed, Ser Marbrand stepped up and then kneeled.

"Your Grace, I humbly resign my position as Lord…" he started to say before Tywin hauled him to his feet. Addam Marbrand had been loyal to House Lannister since the day he had been born. The man had done nothing wrong, and Tywin would not punish him for his wife's mistake.

"Stop, Ser Marbrand." Tywin held the man's face between his hands, looking deep into his eyes. "Stop," Tywin said in a gentler tone. "You are the Lord Commander of the City Watch, Master of Laws, and loyal bannerman to House Lannister. Nothing we learned today has changed that. Nothing."

The man gulped down a sob and nodded.

"I am a loyal Westerman, Your Grace. Hear us roar," he all but whispered devastated.

Tywin cursed Catelyn again for bringing such a good man so low. She seemed to destroy everything she touched. He squeezed Addam’s face; hard.

"Good. We will not speak of this until we know more, Ser Marbrand. For tonight, you are dismissed from your duties."

Addam nodded at the King and then quickly fled, leaving only Jon, Sansa and Tywin in their private chambers.

"Sansa," Jon said, voice soft. Her eyes had drifted off, and she appeared lost. When they finally came back to Jon, she let out a whimper, and Tywin growled his displeasure at her pain.

"Get them back, Jon. They are all that matter. Not her… not anymore," Sansa's ragged whisper all but filled the room.

Jon nodded and rose, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'll get them, Sansa. And we'll defeat the Night King. Your sons will see Winterfell, and perhaps our children will play on the beaches of Dragonstone one day, sister." Jon deliberately used the more familiar tone. Sansa was his family, his sister in all but blood. Just like Arya, Bran and Ric were his siblings as well.

Sansa clung to Jon for a moment longer. "Be safe, Jon. And come back to us." With one last kiss, Jon rose and clasp hands with Tywin. No words needed to be spoken, but Tywin did anyways.

"I trust your decisions, Jon," the King of the seven kingdoms said, pointedly.

What went unsaid was that should something happen to Catelyn or Brienne, under Jon's command, the King had sanctioned it.

"But remember the goal; you need Bran Stark to defeat the Night King. Nothing else matters if he wins."

As much as Tywin wanted the two women held accountable for their actions, he was the King. Millions of people in this country looked to him to lead them and to keep them safe.

Jon nodded and then spun to take his leave. He'd never had the chance to marry Dacey, but none of that mattered now. They'd spend the night together, because tomorrow he was leaving, and he didn't know if he'd live to see her ever again.

Then it was only Sansa and Tywin, and the King looked down at his wife, who, despite being in the sixth month of her pregnancy, suddenly seemed small and almost fragile. Tywin took a spot on his knees in front of Sansa. She was the only person in the entire kingdom he would put himself in such a position for; she was the only person in the whole world that could bring Tywin to his knees, willingly.

"What do you need, my love?" he asked her, trying to make his voice low and soft, although he was anything but a soft man as they both knew.

Her blue eyes found his.

"Make me forget like you did when I came back from…" Sansa didn't have to say it.

Tywin knew what she had been through that night that she had given Cersei the sweet sleep. He gently pulled her to her feet and led her into the bathing chambers, filling the warm water and scenting it perfectly. It had become almost second nature for him, to know once again how to care for a wife; and fact that almost no one knew. Even what they showed their closest family, did not even compare to how Tywin cared for Sansa when they were alone and how utterly devoted he was to her. A wife he loved and that filled the coldest parts of his life and his heart.

He undressed her, kissing and touching her pale flesh, murmuring everything and nothing to her, making her float away in her mind, letting her focus only on the pleasure he could give her. When he sunk to his knees and gently pushed her legs apart, she sighed as she worked her hands into his hair.

"My lion, always so hungry for me. Always so willing to give me comfort and love," Sansa whispered, feeling him probe her entrance with his tongue and growl slightly, so she opened fully and gave herself over to him. She came, panting his name and then was promptly scooped up and deposited in the warm water, where Tywin worked his large hands through her hair, kneading her scalp and helping her relax further.

"Sansa, my wife, my lioness," he whispered into her ear, sucking gently on her ear and neck, making her arch and moan, building her desire again. She wiggled against him, her back to his chest and cupped her heavy breasts, pulling gently at her nipples as she arched into him.

"That's it, my love," he told her, chasing away all her heartbreak if only for a moment. Suddenly, and surprisingly for a woman her size, she turned and captured Tywin's lips in hers before she lowered herself onto his aching member, taking him inside her warm channel.

"Mine, mine, mine," she muttered against his lips, digging her nails into his neck.

Tywin bucked at the slight pain and then moved his hips, making his wife writhe on him as she rode them both to a stunning peak. Afterwards, she collapsed on top of him, and finally let the tears come. She sobbed on his chest until the water-cooled, and she was spent, and then let him dry them and get her into bed.

"Do you want our sons with us tonight, Sansa?" They had done this when the babies had been small, so tiny and needy and eating all the time. But since they'd grown bigger and now were rolling over, they'd kept them in their cribs. But as if Tywin knew she needed them with her, he'd given her the option tonight.

"Please," she said, and he was back in a short time with a son in each arm. They cooed happily when they spotted her, and soon the four of them were in their bed, snuggled together. Tywin and Sansa watched in amusement as the princes kicked and gurgled, happy because they had no idea how close all of humanity was to utter ruin because of their grandmother. Eventually, they fell asleep, and Sansa followed them. Tywin could not find any way to shut his mind down, instead, allowing himself these single perfect moments with his family. It was still almost inconceivable to Tywin that he had this second family at all, and he stroked Sansa's hair as he watched them all sleep.

Before dawn broke, Ty brought both boys back to their nannies and gently woke Sansa. She would want to say goodbye to Jaime and Jon. She dressed quickly and warmly and then clutched Tywin's hand as they made their way out to the courtyard where Jaime, Genna, Myrcella, Jon and Dacey had already gathered.

It was a sombre group that walked across the cold, misty fields and towards the dragon. Sansa tried to hold back the tears, but it was a losing battle and finally just let them come, making tracks down her pale face. When they finally stopped walking, she threw herself into Jon's arms.

"Come back. Please," Sansa demanded of him, and he nodded and told her he'd try.

Then Jon turned to Dacey and pulled her into his arms as she sobbed into his neck, whispering how much they loved one another.

Jaime had just finished kissing Myrcella's forehead when Sansa was there in front of him. She hugged him as close as she could with her large stomach.

"You are loved Jaime and you are needed in this family. You come home to us, please," she begged him. He cupped her face and pressed his forehead to hers. Their relationship was so close, so accepting and loving, and Jaime knew she was one of his dearest friends and biggest champions in his entire life.

"My dearest Sansa. You are the brightest thing that the Lannister's have ever had a claim to, including all the gold in Casterly Rock." He kissed her forehead gently and then turned to his father.

With a ragged sigh, Tywin pulled Jaime into his arms.

"Come back, son."

It was all he said; it was all he could say, Tywin's throat suddenly constricted. Tywin had always loved Jaime best; it had been no secret, and it would destroy the King if he were to lose this child as well.

Jaime knew there was a wealth of meaning in that word. There was love, pride and trust. Tywin finally saw his son for the man he was, and Jaime, for the first time in his life, was not found to be lacking.

"I promise I won't dishonour our House, father," Jaime said, and Tywin nodded. That was all that had to be said. Tywin trusted that Jaime would make the right choice when he finally found Brienne.

When Jon and Dacey finally parted, Jon kissed her one last time and then spoke loud enough that they all heard him promise to marry her when he came back. She choked out a yes, and then stepped back, and Sansa grabbed her hand, knowing both their hearts were breaking as Jon and Jaime climbed atop Rhaegal.

As the dragon launched itself into the air, Sansa stood and wondered if she'd ever see the two men she loved most after her husband ever again. There had been a time when she had thought she had hated Jaime, but that was so far from this moment, it was hard even to recall it.

And Jon. Her dear cousin Jon. There was no one in her family that she was closer to than him. Should he survive, he was staying in the south. His soon to be wife was one of Sansa's dearest friends. She loved him, in a way she hadn't or couldn't when she was a child, and she wanted a lifetime of him being close; she wanted their children to grow up together and for him to become one of their most loyal bannermen.

The small group stayed until the dragon was only a speck in the sky, and then Tywin finally ushered them all inside the Red Keep, _his pride_, wounded and hurting but still stronger together. It was on him now, to protect these women along with Shireen and the two princes and baby Joanna. They were now under his care; he would not leave Westeros unless there were no choice. Tywin Lannister, the Great Lion, had handed the fate of the world over to Jon Targaryen and Jaime Lannister. It was on them now- they needed to be the men he knew they could be. Their time was now, and the fate of all of Westeros hung in the balance.

* * *

_ Riverrun _

It was fascinating for Lady Catelyn to be back in her childhood home. She had been here with Robb when they'd been battling the Lannister's, but that was years ago now. Even then, during a war with their neighbouring region, they had a full castle. Now it was empty, except for the men loyal to her, Lady Brienne and her three children and a few that had stayed behind, ordered to maintain the castle by Edmure Tully.

Cat knew it was only the chaos of Harrenhal and its sheer size that had allowed them to execute their plan successfully.

True to her word, Lady Brienne had told Robb she'd escort Arya and Rickon to King's Landing. Robb trusted her, and she'd taken only a few loyal north men with her insisting that Pod and Bronn stayed at Harrenhal, telling them Jaime would be back soon and that they were to guard his back should she not make it back in time.

It was on the second day that Brienne had slipped sweet sleep into everyone's drinks and then slipped away with the two Starks. Brienne had confessed to herself that she had felt bad that she had to bind and gag them, wrapping them in Lannister red so they'd blend in. She had worried incessantly that they'd be spotted or captured, that she rode for twenty straight hours to get clear of Harrenhal and deeper into the Riverlands.

Brienne needn't have worried. People were fleeing towards King's Landing, not away from it. Brienne tried not to listen to the tales on the road, but it was almost impossible. There were more and more people that now talked about an army of the dead, the unnatural cold and the creature everyone was now referring to as the Night King. It seemed that many people had spotted dead men, women and children that had somehow come back to life. Similar stories were on everyone's lips. Brienne closed her ears to such tales, needing to believe that they were just that; tales and nothing more. It couldn’t possibly be the truth because it was absurd.

When Brienne eventually caught up with Lady Catelyn and her band of loyal men, she wasn't shocked to see Bran Stark also trussed up and on the back of a horse. She said nothing as she handed Arya and Ric over to their mother, feeling like she was closer to having completed her vow now that Arya was finally back with her mother.

The trip to Riverrun was misery. The fast onset of winter had not left the Riverlands immune, and each day, they were faced with snow and cold, until their breath could almost be seen each time they spoke. Small streams were frozen overnight, and the ground was hard and cold. Brienne thanked the gods that she'd acquired warm clothing when she had been in the North, but even being at Castle Black, she couldn't recall the bite in the air the way it was now. They needed to get to the safety of the castle before they all became victims of winter itself.

There was a pervading sense of uncertainty that Brienne could not shake the more they travelled and the fact that the Stark children glared at her the entire time as if she were somehow wrong, left and an uneasy feeling in the pit of Brienne's stomach.

She came across Arya and Rickon one evening, cursing at the fact that their direwolves had stayed behind at Harrenhal for the battle against the dead. Brienne wanted to ask them why they believed such nonsense. She had convinced herself that it was not true; that this was some elaborate story made up by Jon Snow and the Night's Watch.

Jon and Stannis were close, and she did not trust her liege lord. Brienne knew what she had seen when Renly Baratheon had died, and no one could convince her that Stannis Baratheon was not somehow responsible for his death. In her mind, Stannis was somehow behind this entire debacle. It had only been after Stannis had arrived at the Wall that the lords of the realm had accepted the whole idea of an army of the dead.

Brienne dismissed from her mind what Jaime had told her he'd seen in Harrenhal. He had been too emotional from the death of Tommen to be rational; Brienne had seen just how shaken he was in King's Landing with the dual blows of Joffrey and Cersei dying. Adding Tommen, well, Brienne knew that had pushed him over the edge of rational thought.

Brienne thought of Jaime as they crossed the Red Fork, remembering when they had been on their journey together- those first few weeks when they had hated each other. They had sniped aat each other constantly, and Jaime had mocked her relentlessly for her so-called vow to Lady Catelyn while Brienne had implored him to honour his. Brienne had seen how Jaime had changed; the Jaime she’d had as a prisoner wasn’t the same man as he was now.

It was this thought that sustained Brienne now; that Jaime would know why she had done what she had, and he would understand. He had always known about her vow to Lady Catelyn to return her two daughters to her, as he'd sworn the same one. A part of Brienne even thought Jaime might praise her for what she'd done.

By the time they had arrived at Riverrun, Brienne had justified her actions. She'd spent each evening with Lady Catelyn, and the woman had told her stories about Tywin and Sansa and how they ruled with absolute power in King's Landing. The aligned with Brienne’s view of the King and Queen, forgetting that she’d been taken in Sansa’s confidence for a time.

"I fear what they might do. Rickon and Arya would be in Tywin's grasp, and we will never get them back," Cat told her again and again, eyes glittering with hatred and madness, a madness that Brienne refused to see.

Brienne knew what it was like to be a noble-born woman, where men saw your value only in the marriage you could secure. Brienne had also spent enough time with Arya that she knew that she didn't want that either. Brienne had come across Sandor and Arya sparring one day and overheard an entire conversation between the two where Arya spoke of travelling the world; to Essos and beyond. Surely if anyone of the Starks could understand why Brienne had done what she had, it would be Arya.

As they approached Riverrun, Catelyn Stark openly cried seeing the abandoned villages of her homeland. It was disconcerting to ride through village after village with not a living soul around. The message from the King and Queen had been obeyed to the letter of the raven sent, but it was an uneasy feeling to see people's entire lives abandoned. Catelyn wondered if there were some elaborate plan by the King to seize vast tracks of land.

The castle of the river lords rose out of the confluence of two rivers and could be seen from leagues away. As they drew closer, Brienne's eyes noted the sandstone walls of the castle, with the battlements crenellated and high towers. Riverrun had to be one of the prettiest castles in the entire Kingdom, and after spending time at the ruin of Harrenhal, it was a welcome sight for everyone except the three bound Starks.

Once inside the castle, now occupied by only a Maester named Vyman and Utherydes Wayn, it's steward and a few other loyal men, Catelyn ordered her children to be secured in family rooms inside the keep; locked and guarded at all times. Ser Mallister and Ser Piper immediately obeyed her commands, and the feeling of power that surged through Catelyn to see her word carried out was both heady and addictive

The same day that they arrived, Catelyn gathered those men that had come with her from King's Landing, along with Lady Brienne, Wayn and Vyman and the few others still there that were loyal to House Tully. They met in the Great Hall, where the high seat of the Tully's sat, and Cat felt a tug at her heart that she would never see her father sit there again.

Catelyn explained that she did not believe the threat of the Night King or the White Walkers; and that her daughter, Sansa, the Queen was lost to her. She said that Sansa had all but abandoned her family when she had fallen in love with her husband, the Great Lion. Tywin Lannister's reputation preceded him in the Riverlands. Each man in the room had lost someone they loved to the lions of Lannister, and they seethed with hatred for the King. It wasn’t a stretch to get them to believe such a tale.

Catelyn looked at Wayn, and demanded to know what type of supplies had been left at Riverrun when Edmure had ordered it all evacuated.

"A year and a half, at most, My Lady," he told her, uneasy with her appearance here. He'd heard nothing from Lord Edmure and Catelyn showing up here with her children drugged and bound sat awkwardly with him, but he held his tongue, for now. He was in no position to challenge her.

"I want the sluice gates opened tonight," Catelyn then said, and shocked gasps reverberated throughout the room.

"My Lady," Wayn stuttered, unsure if he'd heard her correctly.

"They will send men for us, Ser Wayn, but we have enough supplies to outlast them. The castle is virtually impregnatable once it is surrounded by water, and we can see them coming from miles away."

Everyone in the room understood that this had been her plan all along.

Opening the sluice gates would essentially turn Riverrun into an island; no one would be able to get to them. Once Catelyn had their promise they would do what she demanded, she swept from the Great Hall, walking through the godswood towards the keep where her children were. She was so lost in her mind; she didn't even take time to appreciate the bright and airy garden that made up Riverrun's godswood, filled with elms, redwoods, wildflowers, birds and streams. Nor did she notice that the cold was killing the normally cheerful place.

The godswood was a place she had spent countless hours reading as a child, but now she had only one thing on her mind; convincing her children that she had done the right thing, that they were safe with her and that no matter what happened, she would defend them.

Catelyn might be bordering on madness, but she hadn't missed the anger in Arya's eyes when she'd attempted to speak with her. Rickon was even worse. He'd snarled and spat at her as if she were somehow the enemy. He was no longer her baby but a boy of twelve that had only known people like Robb and Sandor Clegane as his role models. As for Bran, well, Catelyn had no idea what he was or what had happened to him. He was older, but he was not her Bran. He barely even acknowledged her presence.

As Catelyn opened the door to the room where she had them housed, she was grateful she had Brienne's sword at her back and gave the large woman a small, quick smile.

Though bathwater had been delivered, none of the Stark's had taken advantage. They'd eaten, but that was all. When Cat and Brienne entered the room, Rickon charged at them. Of course, both Arya and Rickon had been stripped of anything that might be a weapon, but it did not stop his fists from trying to connect with his mother's face.

Brienne grabbed him and pinned his arms as he struggled while Arya glared at them.

Arya’s arm was aching, and she knew that any progress she had made with it had all but been destroyed when she'd been tied up and then unceremoniously thrown on the back of a horse and paraded up the river road to her mother's home. It wasn't even her mother that Arya was the most upset with; it was Lady Brienne. Since meeting the fierce woman in King's Landing, Arya had looked up to her, perhaps even wanted to be her one day. Brienne’s betrayal hurt worse than a mother that Arya had long stopped respecting.

"How could you do this to Sansa?" Arya snarled at both women. "She stood up for both of. Mother, you held a knife to her neck, and she still begged the King not to take your head. And you," Arya's eye raged with pure hatred towards Brienne. "You swore a vow to Sansa. To keep her safe. She told me that you did that in her favourite garden. Tell me, Brienne, what good is your word when you so willingly break it?"

Brienne was shocked at the vitriol coming for Lady Arya's mouth. "I swore a vow to your mother, first, Lady Arya. To keep you safe and return you to your mother." Her voice was haughty and condescending.

"Safe? Safe? Do you think this is safe?” Arya was shrieking at her. “The Night King and his army are coming for us, Brienne. He means to turn us all into meat for his army. If I were in the capital, I'd be safe. With Sansa and Tywin."

Catelyn snorted. "Your sister is under the thumb of that man. Make no mistake, daughter, had you returned there, he would have used you for his own gain."

Arya shook her head. "He would not. He was good to me, Mother, at Harrenhal and he kept me safe. We have an understanding."

Catelyn had stopped listening. She knew that Arya had no idea how the real world worked. For too long, Robb had let her galivant around, catering to her wild ways. Catelyn had heard the stories of her ‘training' with Sandor Clegane and then witnessed it in King's Landing. It was utterly preposterous, in her opinion, for a noble-born woman to not do her duty to her house.

Cutting off her daughter's speech, Catelyn waved a hand. "You'll remain under guard until your attitude changes," she said, turning to leave the room. Before she stepped out, Bran's eerie voice reached her.

"They'll come for us, Mother."

Catelyn whirled back to Bran, eyes narrowed. "What do you know?" she snarled, shaking him lightly as he sat there, eyes unfocused.

"They'll come."

That was all Bran said, no matter how much Catelyn tried to coax him into revealing more. Finally, Arya had enough and moved to stand in front of her brother.

"Leave." Her eyes were murderous, and if she'd had a weapon or any level of strength, she would have attacked her mother. As it was, being drugged for days on end had left her feeling weaker than ever before. Arya knew that both Jon and Robb trusted Bran; she would go as well.

When Brienne and Catelyn left the room, they were both shaken.

"What did he mean, My Lady?" Brienne asked, worry coating her voice. She had assumed that they would be left alone here in Riverrun, at least until this so-called war was done. They didn't have the men to hold a castle, and it seemed like Catelyn had forgotten that the King had two dragons at his disposal.

"I don't know," Catelyn whispered and then shook her head, walking away and leaving a stunned Brienne behind, bracing for what was to come.

* * *

_Harrenhal-Riverrun _

Jon and Jaime flew North towards Harrenhal, knowing that time was not on their side. Both men were locked in their thoughts, unable to speak to one another. Jaime was the more distant of the two; he was still in shock about what Brienne had done.

Jaime had always known that Brienne had a stringent moral code, one that she judged everyone by, including him. He hadn't been incorrect when he'd told Sansa that Brienne's love and acceptance of him came with conditions, and for a so long, he'd tried hard to meet those conditions.

But now, he wondered if she had even considered him at all when she'd done what she had. Jaime knew she took her vow to Catelyn seriously; he'd seen how passionate she was when they had first been released by Lady Catelyn. But this was beyond anything he could even conceptualize that she would kidnap the Queen's siblings! She had to know what this would result in. Arya was in no danger from his father or Sansa. This was not the same situation as before when Jaime had been released from the Young Wolf's camp and the Stark sisters had been in danger. The greatest danger to them, to everyone, was the army of the dead.

Brienne had been in King's Landing and seen Sansa and Tywin. Brienne knew precisely what his father was and what he would do for his wife. She'd been punished once before when she'd hesitated to defend Sansa, and she had been lucky that the King had listened to Jaime and Sansa and not punished her further.

Jaime thought about the woman he was married to. They'd been together almost every night for weeks as they'd made their way down the King's Road to Harrenhal. Jaime had held her in his arms each night as they spoke of their future; he'd listened to her fears about Casterly Rock and how she might fulfill her duties to him as his wife. She'd told him she loved him. _But she couldn't have_, Jaime thought. This wasn't love; to betray him in such a way. She had to know what an embarrassment and hurtful action this was. Didn't she?

Thoughts swirled in Jaime's head, chasing each other endlessly like a cat after its own tail. Jaime was no closer to understanding his wife's actions when they finally landed at Harrenhal.

Jon was solely focused on the monumental task of finding Bran Stark. His heart ached at what Arya and Rickon might be going through, but the entire war hinged on Bran. Jon knew that Lady Catelyn didn't believe them about the Night King and what was coming for them. She hadn't seen what Jon had; she had no idea what they were facing.

But more, Catelyn Stark had no idea what Bran Stark was. He was more than just her son; he was the three-eyed-raven and the person they needed to defeat this Night King. He was the key to everything and Jon needed him back at Harrenhal immediately.

Jon could feel his blood almost boil; he briefly wondered if it was the dragon in him or just the pure stunning betrayal against his family. Having spent time in King's Landing with Sansa, Jon could not, for any reason, understand Catelyn's position. There was nowhere safer for Arya and Rickon than with the Queen. Sansa was beloved by the King, had agency and power herself, and there was a clear escape plan in place for the Queen's family should they fail to stop this army of the dead. King's Landing was the safest place in all of Westeros for Rickon and Arya. With this one move, Catelyn Stark had jeopardized all their lives.

When they finally saw the five burnt towers and the sheer massive presence of Harrenhal, Jon felt only a pressing need to push forward. He barely wanted to stop here; he knew deep in his gut that Bran wasn't missing in some tent or forgotten chamber in the ruined castle. A madwoman had kidnaped him.

They landed and were escorted directly to the War Room. Jon stopped and looked around the room, momentarily stunned by everyone who was there. Stannis and Davos, Kevan and Lancel, Robb and Sandor. The Blackfish, Lord Tarly, and Yohn Royce. Lords from Houses in the North; Jon saw Maege Mormont and wondered if he'd get a chance to speak with his future goodmother. Big Jon Umber, the Tallharts, the Reeds, and the Glovers. There were other lords from the Vale, and Lord Mace Tyrell from the Reach and some Jon had no idea but assumed were from the Stormlands and the West. Then there were the Wildling; Tormund standing beside Edd from the Night's Watch, along with a few other crows.

There was such a vast wealth of experience in the room that Jon almost staggered under it. And all of them were looking at Jaime and Jon as they entered the room.

Both men cleared their throats, and they looked at one another.

"Has Bran Stark been found?" Jon asked, voice low and urgent, and Robb shook his head.

Jon knew his next words would destroy his cousin. "Arya and Rickon Stark never made it to King's Landing. Lady Jeyne Stark and Ned did."

Shocked gasps rang the room. Jon saw Robb stumble until a massive hand belonging to Sandor Clegane steadied him. When their eyes met, Jon saw the hurt and the guilt in Robb's eyes. Jon nodded once at his brother and then looked at Jaime, who stepped forward.

"Brienne Lannister is missing as well, along with Catelyn Marbrand." Jaime met his Uncle's eyes and saw the sorrow come into them as Kevan comprehended the gravity of those words. The room was buzzing as those present tried to understand what this meant.

Finally, taking control, Stannis stepped forward and cleared his throat. "What does this all mean?"

The arrival of Houses Mormont and Glover was good news, but it meant they were weeks away from the final confrontation. Everyone knew the Night King and his army was right behind them and without Bran Stark, they didn’t stand a chance at stopping the Night King.

Jon swallowed hard, locking eyes with Stannis. "The King and Queen believe that Lady Catelyn and Lady Brienne have kidnapped Bran, Arya and Rickon Stark and taken them to Riverrun."

Deafening silence met Jon's announcement, and then complete chaos broke out until finally, a booming yell by Sandor Clegane brought the calm back to the room.

Jon sighed and looked to Jaime; he was more than worried about his new friend in the face of what they had revealed. They were in a war for their very survival, and the men in this room knew that. Now Jaime's wife had jeopardized all of their lives. Jon grasped Jaime's arm and felt him squeeze back.

"Dorne continues to be stubborn and not send men. We know we need Bran Stark; he is critical in this battle. We need to get him back as soon as possible."

"How?" Robb asked, finally finding his voice, stunned at the turn of events, desperate to speak with Jon privately. Robb could practically feel Sandor vibrating in rage beside him that something had happened to Ric and Arya.

"We'll take Rhaegal to Riverrun," Jon started to say when the Blackfish stepped up and interrupted him.

His face looked ravaged at what his niece had done. "She'll have flooded it. We left it with enough provisions for a year or more." He was shaking his head. "You won't get near the castle with a normal army, and you can't burn the place to the ground because she'll have her children in the deepest part of the keep."

"Then, how?" Jon asked, frustrated, voice angry and low. It was what he'd been afraid of. He was exhausted, heartbroken and practically sick with worry that all their efforts had been for naught if they couldn't find Bran in time.

Brynden Tully looked around the room and let a heavy breath leave his mouth as he ran his hand through his thick hair. "There's a way in. A secret way."

Jon felt a glimmer of hope rush through him, and he looked up and met Jaime's eyes. "Jaime?"

His friend nodded, and Jon saw that his hand was clutching the pommel of his sword. They had spent almost every day together for the past few weeks and had become quite close. Jon knew Jaime was hanging on by a thread, but he had stepped up to be here, and Jon trusted him.

"I'm ready."

“Then we leave at first light,” Jon said and saw the relief in Jaime’s eyes that Jon would not keep him from the confrontation he needed to have with his wife.

No one argued with Jon’s statement that he was trusting Jaime on this mission. There was a swagger and confidence to Jon that had been missing and an absolute certainty in his words that no one could miss.

After that talk turned to strategy and men, what was being done at Harrenhal, and how close the Night King was. The men who had been left here had accomplished and incredible amount in a short period; trenches had been dug to God's Eye lake to funnel the Night King and his White Walkers there. Dragon glass weapons had been stockpiled, along with relentless training by the Lords and Knights that had come here so that tens of thousands were ready to fight. It was a staggering accomplishment and a true testament to the united front of this war.

Jon didn't have the words to be grateful for what others had done. He knew it had made all the difference that Stannis and Lord Tarly had seen the Night King and knew what was coming; he couldn't even conceive of trying to convince them of what was happening had they not gone to Hardhome and seen for themselves.

Soon enough, the council meeting broke up, and Stannis kept Jon, Jaime, Kevan, Brynden, Robb and Sandor behind. Stannis noted the hand of the King pin on Jaime's chest and stiffened slightly at that, wondering what had changed the King’s mind. Then, shaking himself, he turned to Jon and looked him directly in the eyes.

"Do you honestly think you can do this?" Stannis wasn't asking if Jon could find Bran; he was asking if Jon would be able to put a sword to Lady Catelyn or Lady Brienne if needed.

Jon's eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned as he nodded.

"Aye. The King has my word."

Without looking at Jaime, Stannis said, "And your companion? Do you trust him?"

Jaime opened his mouth to protest, but he needn't have bothered. Jon beat him to it.

"Jaime will do whatever is necessary. He knows what is at stake."

Stannis wanted to protest, but Jon shook his head.

"The King and Queen have given us this task, Lord Stannis. Tywin is who I swore allegiance to, as Lord Jon Targaryen and Jaime is family. They trust him, as do I."

Everyone's eyes widened when they realized that Tywin had publicly legitimized Jon.

Jaime hadn't realized how he'd needed to hear those words from Jon; that someone believed he'd do the right thing. Jaime knew that Sansa and his father trusted him, but to hear Jon publicly stand by him, made Jaime almost collapse in disbelief. And he was thankful to feel something other than despair; anger that Stannis was questioning him.

"I'll do my duty, whatever that is," Jaime snarled at Stannis, feeling no need to justify his thoughts to the Storm Lord.

"She's your wife, Lannister," Stannis all but spat at him, unsure about this plan. How could he trust that Jaime would do what was necessary? They needed Bran Stark; that was all the Stannis cared about. There was no room for error, no room to second guess and no room for leniency even if it was a man's wife that had betrayed them. Days were growing darker and colder, and the Night King approached. Stannis meant to win this war; the other option was unfathomable.

Jaime's green eyes glittered, and he stepped closer to Lord Baratheon. "You've judged me my whole life, even knowing what I did, how many people I saved. My son and my brother died at the hands of this army, Lord Baratheon. What have you sacrificed?"

Stannis eyed Jaime critically and saw that even though the man was reeling from the betrayal of his wife, he seemed determined to do the right thing. And there was something else there- a burning need in Jaime's eyes to rectify this situation. Stannis nodded and then turned and left the room, leaving only Jon and Jaime's family.

Talk turned to what had happened in King's Landing, the arrival of the Manderly's, Tyrion's funeral and finally, the situation with Dorne.

"How is Jeyne?" Robb asked worry etched deep in his face. Since he'd found out that Bran had been missing, he'd hardly slept. His rage and guilt got worse when he'd learned it had been his mother than had kidnapped not only Bran but Arya and Ric.

"I'm sorry, Robb. I barely spoke with Jeyne. I'm sure Sansa has her settled."

"And Sansa?" Robb felt positively sick about what she might be going through.

Jon rubbed his tired eyes and thought about Sansa's face when he'd last seen her.

"The truth, Jon." Robb's voice had an edge and Jon sighed.

"She's devastated, brother. She feels she is the reason this happened. If she had let Tywin punish Catelyn…" Jon didn't need to say anything more. Both men knew precisely why Sansa would feel responsible. Jeyne had been uncomfortable with Catelyn and Robb had allowed Sansa to deal with the problem of their mother. In truth, she should have been punished the moment she had released Jaime.

That didn’t even take into account the fact that she had essentially started the entire war kidnapping Tyrion, and then escaping to the Vale, the death of her sister and her complacency in Littlefinger’s plan to kill the King and marry Sansa. All of that was punishable and she’d never been held to account for her actions.

"And the King?" Kevan asked. He knew how much pride Tywin had in the family name, and he knew that the Great Lion already disapproved of Jaime’s marriage.

"He's livid; embarrassed. And worried."

"It's a fucking mess," Sandor murmured, and everyone agreed.

"I just don't understand," Robb muttered, and Jon shook his head. Surprisingly it was Jaime that answered.

"Neither one of you were there when she arrived in the capital with Lord Baelish. He had her completely brainwashed.”

The Blackfish let out a pained breath. "It's true. His interest in her was always unhealthy."

"But after all, Sansa did for her," Robb cried, running a hand through his hair. "Why?"

Jaime and Jon shrugged. "We don't know; we can only speculate, and that gets us nowhere, Robb. Right now, the most important task is to get Bran back."

"But Arya and Ric are with her as well. That's what you said," Robb demanded and looked Jon in the eye who just shook his head.

"Bran is the key, Robb."

Sandor snarled and then pinned Jon with a look. "You might be a fancy fucking lord now, but I didn't save her for her mother to kill her."

"What would you have me do?" Jon yelled at Robb and Sandor. "For fuck sakes, the Night King is coming. We need Bran; we can only defeat the Night King with him. Otherwise, none of this matters. They're my family as well. I want them back. But I have to get Bran." Jon was breathing heavily at the end of this sentence and Sandor and Robb at least had the grace to look slightly chagrined.

"What will you do with the women when you find them?" Kevan asked, drawing the attention away from the tense family scene. He was looking at Jaime when he asked.

"The King has ordered them back to King's Landing with Ser Daven to stand trial for treason." Everyone sucked in a breath at that statement

"Jaime?" Kevan asked, uncertainty in his voice.

"My wife betrayed our house, Uncle; she betrayed our marriage vows. She betrayed me. I have to know why. That is all. I need to look her in the eyes and know why she did what she did. That is the only way I might find some closure," Jaime spat, the words feeling like acid on his tongue. “Then my cousin can march her down the Gold Road and father can punish her accordingly.”

Jon was there, by his side as Jaime's breathing became laboured. The blows this man had taken would have destroyed a lesser man. "Easy," Jon whispered to him, and Jaime nodded, trying to slow his breathing.

"I need to know. But I promise I will do my duty. I understand what is at stake. Despite what you think of me, I do have some honour left. Sansa and Myrcella are in the Capital. I will not let this Night King take anything more from me. Not while there is breath in me. I made a vow to fight for the living; I intend to honour that vow."

Every man in the room felt Jaime’s conviction to very bones and no one would question his intentions, nor his heart.

There was nothing else to say. Jon and Jaime asked for beds; they would leave at first light and were shown a room where they could spend the night. Shockingly, Ghost was waiting for Jon in the stone hall. Jon knelt down to bury his face in his fur and Robb grimaced at the sight of his cousin with his wolf.

"That's another problem. Shaggy and Nymeria are beside themselves since Ric and Arya have been gone," Robb told Jon knowingly. "I've done what I can, but…" Both men knew that the direwolves and their owners had bonds that bordered on mythical. "We need them back, Jon."

Jon nodded, grateful for Ghost's presence and clicked his voice as the huge wolf curled up in his bed as Jaime took the other bed.

Neither man slept much; lost in their thoughts until the pale dawn signalled it was time for them to leave. They met the Blackfish outside the castle walls. He was joined by Stannis, Kevan, Robb and Sandor as they made their way across to field in the cold morning. The dragons had seemed to take some comfort in seeing each other once again and were curled up around each other as they approached them.

Before they three mounted Rhaegal, Robb pulled both Jon and Jaime into hugs. "Safe travels, brother," he told both men.

Sandor snarled for them to return the little wolves while Stannis said nothing. Jon approached him instead.

"Trust me, Lord Baratheon. I know what is coming," Jon said. “I’ve been fighting this enemy for years.”

Stannis held Jon's gaze and gave a curt nod. "I do, Lord Targaryen.” Then he clasped Jon to him for a mere moment before letting him go.

“I remain here with Drogon and the army of the living,” Stannis Baratheon said.

Jon had never had three full-grown men on Rhaegal, but he knew the dragon would accept them. Last night, with what little sleep Jon had gotten, he’d let his mind travel into the dragon’s and they both knew what they needed to do.

As soon they were in the air as Jon turned the dragon up the River road, the air bitingly cold the higher they flew, until Jon could only hope they were going in the correct direction. It took them three days to reach Riverrun; coupled with the time that it had taken to get to Harrenhal, they estimated they'd meet the garrison from the Rock within a day or two.

When they were close to the castle, the Blackfish told Jon to go lower. They had discussed it at length, and there were no scorpions on the castle, so they knew that Rhaegal would be safe, and they needed to get an idea of how many men Lady Catelyn might have been able to rally to her cause and just what was facing them.

As predicted, all three men saw that Catelyn had flooded the castle, which now looked like an island. The Blackfish had been correct in that any traditional approach would have been almost impossible; perhaps with the full Lannister army, they might have been able to break the Castle's walls, but not with only a handful of men. As they flew over Riverrun, the only sign of life was smoke from several fires. Otherwise, the entire keep appeared deserted.

That evening they retreated to a nearby village to discuss strategy; the Blackfish had been cagey about his secret entrance, not wanting to give anything away.

"Perhaps we can try a raven, first?" he asked, desperation in his voice. He was worried Jon would get angry and start melting castle walls with his dragon. He'd been at Harrenhal for enough weeks to appreciate the power of a dragon and what it could do against stone and wood.

"And what do you suggest we say? Please give us Bran?" Jon snorted in disgust. "I'm sure she'll gladly open the doors and hand him to us." Jon was pacing inside the small hut where they'd bedded down for the night.

The closer Jon had got to Riverrun, the more potent his anger had become. He'd thought he'd dealt with the worst of his hatred for Lady Catelyn when she'd apologized to him in King's Landing, but now, it seemed impossible to let the old hurts and slights die. This woman that had made his life miserable was now jeopardizing the entire war effort with her selfish and short-sighted actions.

"Jon, we have to try. Perhaps there is some way to end this without bloodshed," Jaime said, voice quiet. He had spoken at length with Jon about his treatment when he'd lived at Winterfell. As much rage as Jaime had at Brienne, that emotion was equally matched in Jon from all the neglect over the years from Catelyn.

Jon ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not sure there is even a raven left to send. But if you can find one, do so quickly and send it without haste. Give her a day to come to her senses. Then, Lord Tully, we'll hold you to your word about this secret entrance to Riverrun. I needn't remind you what is at stake." Jon turned and left the small dwelling then, leaving Brynden and Jaime alone.

"Not hard to see who his father was now," The Blackfish said conversationally before he too left the hut in search of that elusive raven.

Jaime collapsed into a rickety chair, staring at the fire that was roaring in the small hearth. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what was happening in the castle just a short distance away. What was Brienne thinking? What was she doing? Would she see the error of her ways with a raven, or was Jon right that both women were too far gone to see reason?

The sigh that emanated from Jaime sounded as if it had been wrenched from the very bowels of some hellish place, so filled with pain and bitterness. He allowed himself his self-pity. His entire life was a comedy of errors, of always having to make impossible decisions. Honour his vow to the King or let a million people die. Love his sister or do his duty to his father and marry a woman he didn't love. Save Brienne from being raped, only to lose his sword hand. Finally, marry a noblewoman, arguably the most honourable one in the seven kingdoms, only to have her betray him worse than Cersei ever had. His whole life was like a jape that he could not escape.

Jaime was lost in his thoughts, when Jon came back, flagons of wine in his hand. He sat with Jaime and handed him one, and both men drank, comfortable in the silence.

"We'll send the raven; give them a chance," Jon said, and he saw Jaime's shoulders visibly relax, and Jon knew it was the right decision.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Jon said a time later.

Jaime let out a harsh laugh. "For what?"

"Tommen. Tyrion. Brienne."

Jaime's eyes closed, adding Joffrey and Cersei to the list. When his eyes opened again, Jaime gazed into the flames.

"I know what hangs in the balance, Jon. But the pain I'm feeling isn't for how close we are all to ruin. It's personal. How can she claim to love me and then do this?"

Jon grunted. He understood what Jaime was saying. Some betrayals were just too close. He remembered when he'd come across the word traitor written in red at Castle Black, or even the arrows that Ygritte put in him.

Jon started to speak, telling Jaime all about his time with the Wildlings, including falling in love, the cave, and ultimately his betrayal of the woman he loved to go back to the Night's Watch. And Ygritte’s rather unique reaction to said betrayal. 

"She shot you?" Jaime said, eyebrows raised, voice incredulous, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Aye." Jon had a melancholy grin on his face when he'd thought back to when he'd left Ygritte. He wondered now if it had all be worth it, loving her and losing her the way he had.

Jaime barked out a harsh laugh and then choked a bit on his wine. "Sorry," he said, waving a hand. Jaime was just about to ask where this Wildling woman was when Jon gave him a sad, half-grin, and Jaime knew she was dead. Jon had the same expression on his face that Jaime was sure he wore for months after Cersei's death.

"How?"

"The night the Wildling army attacked the Wall. We held it with less than a hundred men," Jon said, swallowing hard, taking a long sip of wine. "One of my brother's, he…" Jon's voice trailed off. "She died in my arms."

Jon was unashamed of the tears that ran down his face. Jaime said nothing, and Jon appreciated that he didn't try to make things better with empty words. Jon knew that Jaime had lost Cersei, and so if anyone could understand what it was like to see the woman you loved dead, it was Jaime Lannister.

"What was she like?" Jaime asked, interested in this seldom-seen side of Jon.

Jon rubbed a hand down his face. "Smart. Vulgar tongue on her. Independent. Fiercely loyal to the Wildlings and their way of life." Jon paused. "Beautiful, with red hair and a lithe frame."

Jaime grunted, thinking of Cersei's beauty then. His sister had always captivated him with her beauty. Even though he knew he was a handsome man, he'd been enamoured with her his entire life.

Not for the first time, Jaime wondered at his attraction to Brienne; how it had come about. For years only the most feminine women stirred anything in him, and Brienne was anything but. Sometimes it felt like everything with Brienne was some dream, as if someone had bewitched him to see something that wasn't there. Jaime hadn't been lying when he'd said that it only made sense with Brienne when he was in her presence.

"Sansa and my father killed Cersei," Jaime said after a time when the silence had stretched between the two men, and Jon startled at that statement.

"No," Jon said, shaking his head, unable to believe that his sister was capable of such an act. His eyes had widened, almost comically.

Jaime gave him a rueful grin and nodded. "It's true, Jon. Your sister is every inch the Queen this kingdom needs." Jaime had made his peace with Sansa's actions somewhere between watching Tommen die and holding Tyrion's body in his arms.

"But you and Sansa are so close," Jon started to say, and Jaime drank more.

"We are. In many ways, I think Sansa has loved me best out of everyone in my life besides my father." Jaime shifted in this chair and took another drink. "My sister was cruel. Mad. Vindictive and bitter. She sent a woman to kill Sansa's baby by slipping her moon tea," Jaime said, eyes distant, thinking back to when he'd arrived back in King's Landing, physically maimed and reeling from Cersei's latest rejection. The chaos that had been gripping House Lannister at that time.

"You have to understand that she would never have stopped trying to kill Sansa. Cersei hated her; hated that my father loved her, hated that she had power. Hated that she was younger, more beautiful and more loved. Cersei would have eventually succeeded."

"But Sansa… surely not my sister," Jon said, voice incredulous. "I cannot imagine Sansa killing a person."

Jaime gave Jon a look as if to say he couldn't possibly be that naïve, and Jon had the grace to blush. "She is married to my father, Jon. And while they love one another, she accepts Tywin for everything he is. And my father is a cruel man. The Great Lion likes you, Jon, and he loves me. But those he doesn't…" Jaime let the sentence trail off before he spoke again.

"I knew my father was involved from the moment I found her. I had my suspicions about Sansa but couldn't prove it. I knew he would do anything to protect her, Jon." Jaime's eyes found Jon's, who had sat up in his seat. "You have no idea what he would do for her. You think you do… but they are wholly dedicated to one another."

Jaime shook his head when he thought about the King and Queen of the seven kingdoms and their love and commitment for one another. It was unlike anything Jaime had ever seen, save perhaps his love for Cersei. Jaime thought about what he had done for Cersei, the hateful, awful things, and he knew he was more like his father than he cared to admit when it came to the women they loved.

"Tyrion finally told me. The night before you three left to go North. Sansa gave her sweet sleep," Jaime murmured, taking another pull of wine. "My father made it look like an accident as if Cersei had added too much to her wine, but I knew she'd never have been that careless."

"Why don't you hate Sansa?" Jon asked, truly curious. He could see no anger in Jaime's face or body, nor hear any in his tone.

Jaime shook his head, looking at the fire again.

"Sansa forgave me when she hardly even knew me for what I did to Bran. When I told them about Aerys' and Ned Stark finding me, she was sick with worry and guilt about her father naming me Kingslayer. She welcomed Tommen into her home; treated him like family. She defended Tyrion, loved him and championed him. And she loves my father, beyond all reason."

"But still," Jon started to say, and Jaime stopped him with a single look.

"I loved my sister, Jon, but even I knew what she was. Hateful. Spiteful. Vengeful. Cersei conspired with Littlefinger to have Sansa kidnapped. She sent someone to kill Sansa's handmaiden, forcing Sansa to watch as she was raped. She tried to kill Sansa's baby. She would never have stopped, Jon. My father made the right call to protect his wife and future heirs."

It had taken Jaime months and months of thinking about Cersei's death to come to grips with it; to reconcile the woman he knew Sansa to be, with the deed he had known she had done. In the end, he had to accept that Sansa had been acting in self-defence, not only for herself but for her unborn child.

That night both men were haunted by women that were long dead, but closer than ever. They rose from their beds when the Blackfish entered their hut, clutching a raven and a scroll. He gave Jon a pointed look.

"Just one raven. That is all I ask, and then, if there is no reasoning with her, I will show you the entrance to Riverrun."

Jon nodded and took the quill and parchment and demanded the immediate surrender of the castle, along with the freeing of the hostages, Arya, Bran and Rickon Stark. Further, he stated that the women might be granted leniency should they comply willingly with these orders. Both Brynden Tully and Jaime Lannister scowled at that, but Jon wasn't wrong. The three men watched the raven fly away.

The next day, the first soldiers that had been sent from Casterly Rock appeared on the horizon, and it was a welcome sight for Jaime, who hadn't seen some of them since he'd been a child. Men from houses he hadn't seen for years: Lydden and Stackspear and Swyft. The Westerlands had always been a proud people, but even Jaime could see that having Tywin as King lent even more pomp and swagger to their natural countenance, and soon Jaime was being hugged by his second cousin, Daven.

That night the men from the West settled in the little village outside Riverrun, and the streets were once again filled with life. When Jaime finally explained what had happened, grim looks from the assembled lords met his green eyes.

"And the dragon?" someone asked in an awed whispered, which had Jaime ginning and Jon standing.

"He's the last resort," was all Jon would say.

"What are we waiting for?" another asked, and all eyes turned to the Blackfish.

"We sent a raven, hoping perhaps they might see reason…" was all he could say.

Ser Daven was eyeing Jon warily, knowing that he was cousins with Robb Stark, whose bannerman Lord Karstark had killed Ser Daven's father in the war with the Young Wolf. For a long time, the only thing that had kept Ser Daven going was his vow for revenge, but Tywin had all but obliterated that when he'd married that Stark woman. Daven would never act against his liege lord and the King of the seven kingdoms, but that didn't mean he trusted anyone from the North, not even this Jon Targaryen as he was now being called.

The meeting soon broke up when Jon said if they hadn't heard back from Riverrun and that they would enact their plan in two days, while Lannister forces mustered outside the castle walls.

Later, Daven pulled Jaime to the side and found a secluded spot to speak with his cousin. Daven had heard about his marriage to this Lady Brienne, and now this woman had kidnapped the Queen's family. He was also suspicious of the King's marriage; by all accounts, it was a love match, but Daven had a hard time believing that Tywin Lannister had somehow fallen for his wife.

"And you, Jaime? How do you feel about this business?"

Jaime swallowed hard and looked at Daven. "I've seen what is coming for us, cousin. I was at Hardhome and saw this army. There is no lie in what is marching down the King's Road even as we speak."

Daven nodded at that, seeing the haunted truth in Jaime's eyes. "And the King? He believes this as well?"

Jaime nodded.

"And his wife? You trust her?"

At that, Jaime smiled and clasped his cousin on the back. "Lady Sansa, the Queen, cousin, is the best thing that has happened to house Lannister in an age. She is my father's perfect match and loyal to him."

Daven startled a bit, thinking that Jaime might be resentful of some outsider claiming his father's love, but it appeared he was not. "You're sure that these northerners can be trusted?" He was still bitter at what had happened to his father and still wanted his revenge.

"I'm sure, cousin. Jon, Sansa, even Robb. They are honourable. We need Bran Stark to end this Night King."

"And your wife? If I am to escort Lady Catelyn and Lady Brienne to King's Landing, Jaime, you know what the price of treason is."

Jaime swallowed hard and nodded. "I know, cousin and the fault will not be at your feet. You are following your King's orders."

"It's not right what she did, Jaime. Not to you, or your House," Daven said, refusing even to speak Brienne's name.

"It is not."

Nothing else needed to be said between the two men, who once again embraced and then parted. Jaime felt slightly more settled having his loyal family at his back, and when he found Jon, he didn't need quite as much wine to fall asleep that night.

The following afternoon, a raven was seen approaching the village. When the parchment was unrolled, the response was clear. No surrender was written in an elegant hand, clearly Lady Catelyn's. Jaime and Brynden both looked shocked and then resigned. When the Blackfish raised his head, he sought Jon and then to Jaime.

"Be prepared; we leave at first light. I'll show you where to drop our cache of weapons and armour Jon," then he spun and left the room, leaving Jaime and Jon to ponder how this all might end, and praying for the least amount of bloodshed.

But both men knew, there was no way that this wouldn't end in death; it was just a matter of who would pay the price for Catelyn and Brienne's betrayal and if they could save Bran Stark.

The most pivotal moment of the war so far came down to trusting Brynden Tully to break them into an impenetrable castle, and that they might, somehow, against impossible odds, secure Bran Stark and make it back in time to stop the Night King from advancing on King's Landing. Tomorrow, the very outcome of the war could be decided, and Jaime and Jon felt the crushing weight of the entire country on their shoulders, grateful that they at least had one another to see them through these dark days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up- we will get the 'rescue' at Riverrun, as well as the Jaime/Brienne confrontation, and check-in at King's Landing. 
> 
> I will warn character deaths in the next few chapters. We are getting closer to the end of the war!


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I preface this chapter by saying I am not great at action scenes- and at almost half a million words, I feel you should be aware of my style at this point.
> 
> As much as I wish I could write something to the level of some, my work tends to be about the relationships.
> 
> Huge thanks to LC and Celia for their insights and constant willingness to brainstorm with me. 
> 
> I do hope you enjoy this installment.

_ King's _ _ Landing _

The day after Jon and Jaime left, Sansa woke early, startling Tywin, who had been awake for an hour or so when she opened her eyes. He had clearly been deep in thought, and Sansa could see the weight of everything that was happening pressing down on him. The face that she loved had deep worry lines and she reached a hand out to trace one of them.

For his part, Tywin knew the fragile state that Sansa was in, and he expected very little from her for the next few days. He was more than prepared to pick up any tasks she might be responsible for, willing to give her time to recover from this latest blow.

Tyrion's death had hit her hard, and now this betrayal by another friend and family member was cutting deep. Tywin reached up and twined a long lock of her red hair in his fingers, wishing he had the power to make things easier for her, and his son. Even thinking the worst of people, Tywin had not been prepared for this betrayal and it made him feel almost all of his sixty years; he couldn’t ever remember being so tired in his whole life, with so much happening right now.

Tywin had assumed that once they had dealt with Joffrey and Cersei, that they might settle into their reign; that there would have been time to take Sansa and his sons to the Rock and perhaps even North. It surprised him how much he wanted that; time with her and their family with no threats and no war breathing down their necks. These days, he wondered if they'd ever see anywhere but the capital. The powerlessness at being a King, but not even being able to do something as simple as visit their homes, frustrated him beyond all measures.

He was lost in his thoughts, so Sansa surprised him when she brushed her lips across his, weaving her hands into his hair to hold them close to one another. His eyes cleared, and he met her gaze, an unanswered question there.

"I am your Queen, husband. And I have things to do today." Her voice was steady and strong, and the surge of pure love that Tywin felt for her at that moment was almost staggering.

"And what might those plans entail, Sansa?" Tywin asked, beyond pleased with her resilience.

"I need to meet with Jeyne. As much as I hate even to consider the possibility, if something were to happen to Robb, she will be regent in the North until Ned comes of age. She needs a council, friendship, and direction."

Tywin felt his pride in her at her endurance and hope to hear her speak of after the war. That hope would be critical for the people in these upcoming days and weeks. Hope was something they all desperately needed right now.

"And," Sansa continued her hand still caressing his face, "I need you to be there. She married Robb and is Lady Stark, but she is of the West, my lion, and therefore her liege Lord might be a comfort to her right now." Sansa couldn't help but see how Tywin's chest puffed when she called him her lion, and she loved that about him.

"I will be there. What else, love?" He let his lips linger close to her ear, nuzzling her and heating her blood, and while she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in him and his love for her, Sansa knew she had things to do today. Still, Tywin always made the lust roar to life, and this morning was no different.

Sansa had decided that she would not allow her mother to make her a victim; she was a Queen, and she was Tywin Lannister's wife, and she had survived worse than her mother. More importantly, she was not without power; she had built a loyal and dedicated court of women that needed her and would support her. And she had a husband that seemed to delight when she exerted her power, which was a rare thing in their world.

Sansa turned and gave him a look, and immediately he wondered what was on her mind. He loved the brilliance he saw there. It had always been one of the things that he was most attracted to; her intelligence.

"I plan on meeting with Myrcella today."

Tywin's head cocked.

"In what capacity?"

"Her insights on Dorne, husband."

Both Sansa's look and tone were pointed, and Tywin had the wherewithal to, for perhaps the only time in his life, look chagrined as he realized the implications of her words.

He rubbed at his whiskers as he sunk back down on his pillow, his mind racing, as he realized he'd missed the most obvious source for insight into Dorne.

"Seven hells," he muttered to himself and shook his head, wondering how he'd missed it. He pulled her closer and murmured in her ear, "My brilliant wife." His words were a purr in her ear and filled with love and admiration.

Sansa let out a small laugh as she pressed her lips to his, delighted at his reaction. This was the Tywin that no one else ever saw, the one that was hers alone. He was so open and loving with her and so effusive in his praise. Sansa had never had anyone that was as proud of her and her intelligence as Tywin was.

"Let me meet with her, Ty. I will let you know what she says."

He nodded, willing to let her do this her way. If nothing else, these tasks would keep Sansa busy and hopefully keep her from worrying incessantly about her family that was in chaos right now. Tywin was also extraordinarily proud of the woman she had become; he couldn't imagine any other at his side as he ruled this country. Sansa would ensure that their children would rule properly, and Tywin knew that she was the key to securing the Lannister legacy he'd dreamed of his entire life.

"How is my daughter, wife?" Tywin asked then, pressing his lips to Sansa's pregnant belly.

She laughed, utterly delighted by him. He was convinced she carried a girl, and nothing would dissuade him from the notion. Sansa smiled as Tywin leaned down to speak to her tummy, telling this baby all about its two older brothers, along with stories of the West.

Sadness and death stalked their heels, but there was also life, and Sansa needed to remember that in these upcoming weeks.

Tywin had held off on annulling Jaime's marriage, willing to give his son time to confront his wife, but he wanted the paperwork prepared for the moment that Jaime sent word he was done with his marriage. He spent hours in the war room, pouring over his map, Addam, Jerod and Dacey by his side as he tried to imagine what it must be like at Harrenhal. He couldn't help but let his eyes drift to Riverrun, and traced an elegant finger down the river road, and then further, stopping at Riverrun, where they thought everyone would be. At best, he knew, it was a guess.

Ty hoped it was only a matter of time until Jaime came to the same conclusions he had about Brienne, and it made Tywin's heart hurt for his son. For years he'd wanted nothing more than for his first-born son, the one he loved more than anyone else, to marry and take his rightful place, to be the man that Tywin knew he could be. Now to have it all end in such a spectacular fashion, Tywin knew it would take Jaime years to recover from all the trauma he'd been through. Tywin vowed to be by his son's side; Jaime would not go through this alone; of that Tywin was adamant. All the Lannister’s would rally around him to ensure that Jaime found happiness again.

It was late in the afternoon when word came that the Queen had Lady Stark in her chambers and requested his presence. Dismissing the war council, Tywin strode through the halls of the Red Keep towards his rooms, wondering if Jeyne Stark was up for the task in front of her should her husband not survive the upcoming wars. Tywin Lannister would not give up the North, not when it was where his wife was from.

When he found Sansa in the central solar, she smiled when he entered the room, and he was by her side in a moment. As was his custom, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, lingering for a moment, resting his hand as was his habit on her pregnant stomach.

"Hello, my King," Sansa said, giving him a small smile.

"Hello, my Queen."

When Tywin finally sat beside his wife, he gazed at the pretty dark-haired woman seated opposite of them. He could tell that she was from the West; there was a look about those from his region, much like he could tell a Northerner now. Tywin tried to make his face appear less intimidating, but he wasn't sure he was successful. Jeyne almost looked like she was scared of him, and he grunted at that thought. Sansa had never once ever acted scared of him; not even during their very first meeting.

"How are you settling in, Lady Jeyne?" Sansa asked. She had sent more ravens to this woman than any other, and they had talked at length about their children and the homes. Sansa felt as if they were more than friends; they were family, and even though they had met under less than auspicious circumstances, Sansa was determined that the actions of her mother would not taint their relationship. Sansa understood the critical role the North would play after the war.

"Good. It is very different from Winterfell,” came her quiet reply to which Sansa laughed softly.

"It is."

Sansa couldn't help but turn to Tywin, thinking about how different her time in King's Landing was once she had approached him with her demand that they marry. As if he knew her every thought, Sansa felt his hand caress her back lightly, letting her know he was always there.

As was her talent, Sansa was able to draw the shy woman out, getting her to give an account of her life from the moment she met Robb, to when she arrived in King's Landing a few days ago.

It was fascinating to listen to her story; from her first meeting of Robb and Greywind to their marriage, her fall out with Lady Catelyn, and then the pact for peace.

Jeyne's brown eyes filled with tears as she finally locked eyes with the King.

"Your Grace, it was a most welcome sight, to see Lord Kevan come to meet with my husband at Riverrun. Returning the Stark family sword was…" Jeyne was lost for words, and she waved a hand. 

Tywin rumbled out a sound and squeezed Sansa's hand, marvelling that one gesture had such an impact on the entire kingdom. It had sealed the pact with the North, allowed Robb Stark to trust him and brought peace to the seven kingdoms. 

Jeyne spoke of bonding with Lady Roslin at the Twins and Robb catching Arya sparring with Sandor in the mud, along with the journey North to Winterfell.

"It broke something in Robb's heart to see Winterfell with all that damage, My Lady, but when we left, almost all of it had been restored, including the glass gardens, Your Grace."

"Oh, that was one of my favourite places," Sansa said happily, and Jeyne nodded. They had written of it extensively in the ravens they had exchanged, and it made Sansa wish to see her home even more so. When Sansa had explained to Tywin the exotic flowers that they could grow in the glass gardens, he knew his wife would love the fruit trees that lined the orchards around Casterly Rock. Sansa was well known for her love of all things sweet and lemony.

When Jeyne spoke of Theon and Ramsay, the room had a chill; and Sansa knew that the only reason that Theon was given a second chance was this woman sitting in front of her.

"He and Rickon bonded, and eventually, Robb forgave him. Theon proved his loyalty when he defended us against his own family, Sansa." Lady Jeyne Stark’s voice was thick with emotion, and Sansa loved how empathetic she was. She clearly loved Sansa’s brother and was not arrogant or haughty despite marrying well above her station.

The women cried for what had been done to Theon. He had betrayed the Starks but had paid such a high price in his torture and then his death.

It was evident with the affection that Jeyne spoke of Sandor that the big man had won the loyalty of Robb's wife and her fellow Westerman.

"You should see Robb and Sandor," Jeyne said, waving a hand. "They are as close as two men could be having no blood between them. Robb trusts Sandor with his life. Thank you for allowing him to come back North, Your Grace. Without Sandor, we all would have died when the Greyjoy's attacked Winterfell."

"I'm so glad he found his place," Sansa murmured, and Tywin could only grunt his agreement. He was a happier lion without Sandor Clegane around his wife, no matter the man's skill with a blade, and it was more than evident that they loved him in the North. And it seemed that Tywin owed the man a debt, since he’d kept Robb Stark’s heir alive.

Jeyne spoke of the terror when word came about the Night King, and then the excitement in the North at seeing Jon on a dragon. Sansa could hear the heartbreak in her voice when she talked about leaving her new home, and Sansa knew as long as she had a loyal and robust council around her, Jeyne would ensure that Ned Stark rose to take his rightful place in case something happened to Robb. It was more than apparent that she loved Winterfell, and the North.

Since leaving Winterfell, Jeyne had been operating solely by her wits and limited training; and now down here in King's Landing, it was clear that she had so much to learn, and she hoped that Sansa was up to teaching and guiding her. Robb had said his sister was beautiful, and while Jeyne was stunned by her beauty, she also knew that her husband hadn't understood how intelligent and powerful his sister was. Jeyne did; it was obvious to anyone who spent more than five minutes with the Queen. What was even more stunning was how the King seemed to encourage and praise his wife’s intelligence and independence. 

Jeyne had hoped that the ravens that she and Sansa had exchanged would lend itself to a fast friendship when they finally met in person, and it seemed that would be the case to Jeyne’s immense relief. Sansa had been warm and welcoming even in the face of such a devastating betrayal by her mother and sworn protector, and while King’s Landing was not home, Jeyne was comfortable with Sansa.

Jeyne took a moment to observe Sansa and Tywin, sitting so close together, touching one another and supporting each other openly. Everyone had heard all about the great love between the King and Queen, and Jeyne was shocked to see her liege lord be so openly affectionate with his Queen. It was more than apparent to Jeyne that they loved one another deeply, and she was grateful for marriage that had allowed peace to come to Westeros, and that the Great Lion was now King. Her entire life, Jeyne had grown up listening to her father praise Tywin Lannister for being a great man, an almost a god-like figure. Now, she was bearing witness to his ability to properly lead the seven kingdoms, with a Queen by his side that he worshipped and she was in awe of them both.

When they had finished their conversation, Sansa pulled Jeyne into a warm embrace.

"I am sorry for reacting so poorly when you arrived, sister."

Jeyne felt her eyes tears at the warmth of Sansa and vowed she would do everything in her power to support her husband's sister and her husband in their reign. They had her loyalty.

That evening, Sansa had Gendry, Shireen, Genna, Myrcella, Dacey, Addam and Wynfryd at the table for dinner, along with Lord Manderly, his son and his wife and another daughter. Sansa also included her Uncle Edmure, and his wife, Lady Roslin for Jeyne. Tywin glared at Edmure the entire meal, while her Uncle refused to meet either of their eyes.

No one at the King and Queen's table would call the meal festive; the dark clouds that hung-over King's Landing were both figurative and literal these days.

The cold seemed to seep through the walls of the Red Keep and kept the stewards and attendants running from room to room to keep the fires going. Sansa couldn't even imagine how those living in tents were doing. She and Tywin had a serious discussion about their stores each day. They were more than healthy with the amount of food that continued to be sent from the Reach, and Sansa continued to make sure that everyone had at least one meal a day. Sansa knew better than most what hunger and cold could do to those who were already weak.

Tywin had been lost in his thoughts during the meal, when he heard a sharp voice, talking about Jaime. He looked down the table, to where his Northern guests sat.

"Grandfather, hush. You do not know Ser Jaime. He is a good man," Wyn all but hissed at the fat Lord Manderly, who quite drunk at this point, waved a meaty paw towards his granddaughter.

"Bah!" he cried. "He is a man that squandered his potential, a Kingslayer.”

Lord Manderly was either much too drunk to realize how dangerous his words were or was trying to bait Tywin for some odd and potentially idiotic reason. Either way, before the King could respond, Wyn stood and glared at her grandfather, her voice raised.

"You will apologize to the King. Ser Jaime is bravely fighting for the living, Grandfather, and you will not sully his name or reputation when he is not able to defend himself." Wyn was practically snarling at her grandfather by the end of the sentence.

Ty's eyebrows rose. He'd never heard anyone defend Jaime with such passion, save perhaps Sansa. He looked to his wife.

"Does she know?" he asked her quietly, wondering what had brought about such a forceful defence of his son, by such a high-born lady. Word had spread through the castle about Lady Brienne's betrayal, and Tywin knew that Jaime's reputation was in absolute tatters, even with him as the King. There were still too many who believed him to be the Kingslayer he'd been called his entire life.

Sansa shook her head, wondering at her friend. "No, my love, she doesn't. Although I've been defending Jaime to her since she arrived, so perhaps she suspects something."

Tywin caught the young woman's eyes and nodded his approval, seeing a blush stain her cheeks as she curtseyed to the King.

"Forgive my Grandfather, Your Grace. He is drunk." She had a look of disgust on her face when she looked at him.

Lord Manderly burped, loudly and then his son all but dragged him from the dining hall, embarrassed and hoping his daughter had done enough damage control not to anger the King further.

After the Manderly’s and Tully’s had retired for the evening, Myrcella, Shireen and Gendry were left behind with Lady Genna, Ty, and Sansa. Sansa had also encouraged Jeyne to stay as she was now family.

They hadn't had any time to discuss Gendry's training, and he eagerly told them what he'd learned. Myrcella had decided that she could help with his education and had become something of a big sister to Shireen. The two highborn women were almost inseparable these days, either with Gendry or with baby Joanna, Tysan and Jason. Sansa loved having both Myrcella and Shireen close by, and a true sense of family had developed between all of them.

It was once again a pleasant family atmosphere when the children were brought in, including little Ned. He looked so much like Robb that Sansa's breath caught, and she fussed over him, delighting Jeyne when Sansa praised him.

“He’s so handsome,” the Queen said, holding her nephew and kissing his cheek softly.

Shireen had taken a seat beside Tywin and she had an endless list of questions for Tywin, which he willingly indulged. He realized he'd been negligent in his attention with her. She was alone in King’s Landing, and he had to remind himself, with her father, at the front of their war effort. They were Shireen’s family and Tywin knew she was fiercely loyal to him and Sansa.

Tywin was pleased to see that Gendry had taken on the role of big brother, watching out for her, and Genna, as always, was a godsend taking the girl under her wing.

Still, it was enjoyable to have his brain challenged by hers, and they were soon in an in-depth discussion about dragon lore, while Sansa gazed at them with such warmth. She hoped that Tywin was correct and that their next child was a daughter. She caught the gleam in Tywin’s eyes as she verbally went back and forth with Shireen.

Even Gendry had become more comfortable in their presence, and he questioned Jeyne about Arya for hours, who told him story after story as Gendry soaked it all in, including Arya finding her huge wolf, and the disaster of the Greyjoy attack. 

It was late when Sansa finally explained the situation in Dorne to Myrcella, grabbing Tywin's attention away from Shireen.

"Oberyn is stubborn and refuses to budge; not sending men," Sansa said, exasperation in every word as she spoke with Myrcella.

"Because he is an obstinate man. Egotistical and arrogant, Sansa," Myrcella said, waving a hand. "His brother, Prince Doran, is much more pragmatic. It’s a shame he is not in the capital for you to negotiate with.”

"But he is not here, Myrcella. Only that blustering peacock is," Tywin muttered darkly.

Myrcella laughed at her grandfather. She had been surprised how much she enjoyed his company. “Of course, Grandfather. And you and Oberyn are as opposite as two men could be. The key to Oberyn Martell is Ellaria."

"His paramour?" Tywin asked, incredulously.

Myrcella shrugged and nodded. "They are proud people and they are very different from us, much like those from the North, Grandfather. They are descendants of the Rhoynar from Essos. You treated Robb Stark with respect when you gave him back his family's sword. Dorne needs reassurance that they will not be expected to give up their ways."

Tywin scoffed, but Myrcella's eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward. "Your Grace, they don't view things the same way as you or I. It is more than just calling themselves Princes. It is not shameful to have bastards in Dorne. Oberyn and Ellaria have four daughters, all of whom he is proud of and openly acknowledges. Prince Doran's daughter will inherit his seat; they believe in inheritance regardless of gender and no one questions that. That is uncommon in the seven kingdoms. Yes, Lady Shireen will inherit Storm's End, should something happen to Lord Stannis, and if he has no son, but it is not generally accepted here."

Tywin thought on Myrcella’s word, begrudgingly impressed with her observations and realizing just how big an opportunity he had almost missed in not discussing this with her.

"I gave them Ser Gregor, along with a seat on the small council. What more can I possibly do?" Tywin was quite honestly, baffled.

Myrcella sighed and looked between Sansa and her grandfather. "Let Lady Sansa and I speak with Ellaria. Oberyn will not capitulate to you Grandfather, as he would think he is losing too much.”

Tywin scoffed. “He swore vows to me, Myrcella.”

His granddaughter sighed and brushed back her hair, giving the Queen a look. Sansa squeezed his hand, and Tywin scowled her, although it lacked intensity as he was quite unable to glare at his wife for any length of time.

"Myrcella, your insights are most appreciated. Perhaps tomorrow we can meet with Ellaria. What is it she values most?" Sansa asked.

"Her children," Myrcella said without hesitation. "She alone would be able to convince Oberyn to do what you require. He will do almost anything for her and to keep his daughters safe. His brother is more cautious. It is possible that Prince Oberyn hasn't even spoken to his brother about your demands, Grandfather."

Tywin looked positively shocked at that idea. Was it possible that the real problem was Oberyn and not the entire region of Dorne?

"Doran is not a man to anger the King, Grandfather. I would guess that Ellaria also does not know what is happening. She is key here."

Tywin was stunned and looked to Sansa, who had a satisfied smile on her face. Considering what his family had been through, Tywin felt such pride in both Sansa and Myrcella and their ability to assist House Lannister when needed.

"Let us speak with her, Tywin," Sansa said again quietly. He gave his agreement and earned the smile his wife saved only for him when he'd done something that had pleased her. Tywin lived to see that smile, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that fact to himself.

The next morning, Sansa and Myrcella summoned the woman from Dorne to the Queen's solar, murmuring with one another until she arrived. Myrcella and Sansa were both extremely worried about Jaime, and they shared their fears, finding comfort in one another.

"I'm glad he has you, Sansa," Myrcella said, knowingly, squeezing the Queen's hand. "I've never seen anyone treat him the way you do - like he is more than his reputation."

Sansa blinked back the tears. "He's a good man, and he's been through so much."

Myrcella nodded her agreement, about to say more when a soft cough alerted them to the fact that their guest had arrived. Both women rose to greet Ellaria, Sansa frowning at the woman's choice of dress. Even now, with the constant cold and snow battering King's Landing, she was dressed in a gauzy silk dress with large cut-outs that revealed dusky flesh.

Myrcella saw the Queen's expression, and she laughed. "Ellaria is the very height of Dornish fashion, Your Grace." Oberyn's mistress curtseyed to the Queen and then pressed a kiss to Myrcella's cheek.

"Your Grace," she said and took her seat, her face masking her thoughts.

Sansa also took her seat and a moment to gather herself before she got right to the point. They had no time to waste; Dorne needed to know that Tywin was serious about requiring men from the region to fight in the upcoming war.

"The King has requested Dorne send men to Harrenhal to join the fight against the army of the dead. Your paramour has refused," Sansa said, eyes never leaving Ellaria's face. Sansa saw the subtle ripple of shock before Ellaria’s face settled once again into a neutral line.

"Dorne has its reasons, Your Grace."

"And those are?" Sansa pressed.

Ellaria swallowed hard, and Sansa saw her hand clutch at her gown. The Queen was convinced that Oberyn, as Myrcella had suspected, had not told his lover about the King's demands; which most likely meant that Prince Doran did not know either. Silence filled the room, and Sansa pushed on.

"Every region that has bent the knee to the King has sent men; the Stormlands, the Reach, the Riverlands, the North, the Westerlands and the Vale. Only Dorne and the Iron Islands have not. My husband considers the Iron Islands in open rebellion against the Crown and they will be dealt with."

Sansa and Tywin had discussed Balon Greyjoy the other day, and both wanted the Iron Born to pay for their refusal to acknowledge the King. Balon was the only one of the so-called Kings from the five kings war that was either not dead or not aligned with House Lannister.

The Queen saw that her statement made Ellaria pale and swallowed hard; no one wanted to be linked to House Greyjoy right now. 

"Of course, the Iron Born did not kneel in the Throne Room to King Tywin and swear their allegiance," Sansa continued, holding the Dornish woman’s gaze. Both women had been in the throne room that day when Oberyn had knelt before the Iron Throne and pledged House Martell to their reign.

"Ellaria," Myrcella said softly, "Think of your children. Of all the children. This Night King is a threat to all of us. He will not stop because you are Dornish and I am of the West and Sansa from the North. He comes for us all.”

"Your Grace, how can we possibly know that this threat is real? What you ask is too much. Sending men leaves Dorne vulnerable." It was the wrong thing to say to a Queen from the North, from the region that had sacrificed so much already, and Ellaria knew it the moment the words left her mouth.

Sansa rose, her anger coursing through her body. "My cousin has seen this threat, along with Stannis Baratheon and Jaime Lannister. Do you call them liars?"

Ellaria said nothing, but her eyes were full and round in her pretty face.

"The North is empty, Ellaria Sand. People from my home are dead at the hands of this army."

Ellaria swallowed hard. Sansa's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps Dorne forgets who my cousin is; how loyal he is to me. And that he has a dragon."

Ellaria's eyes widened, and Sansa could see the fear in her eyes. Sansa had tried to have sympathy for the woman, but she could not. Her people had paid the steepest price in this war; she would not stand by while Dorne did nothing. Not when Jaime had seen both his son and brother die and not when good men, women and children had already died at this Night King’s hands as he made his way south.

"Your cousin is not here, Your Grace," Ellaria said, stupidly, if somewhat bravely, her chin jutting out at a defiant angle.

"I will call him back and send him to Dorne. Perhaps years ago, when Dorne had warning, people scurried for cover from the Targaryen invasion. But now? I wonder how many would die in Sunspear should I send Jon there? How many would have time to run for the mountains? Would they even believe that a dragon was once again coming for them?" Sansa's voice was loud and cold, and her blue eyes blazed with a wave of righteous anger. "Every region has sent men, Ellaria. Either Dorne does, or they will pay the price of such defiance." Sansa paused to let her words sink in. "I want an answer by nightfall. Find your lover and convince him that the Queen is both a wolf and a lion, with a dragon at her back."

The woman from Dorne rose and hurried from the room, passing the King on the way out. When Tywin entered his wife's solar, he saw her sway, and he was by her side in an instant.

"Leave us, Myrcella," Tywin ordered quietly to his granddaughter. When they were alone, Tywin pulled Sansa down to the couch and into his arms.

"My Queen," he purred into her ear, stroking her back and holding her close. "I am so proud of you, my love."

Sansa let out a shaky breath. She was unsure if she would be able to carry out her threat; she was not a monster and burning innocent people make her positively ill. But she could see that Ellaria had believed it, and that was what mattered. They needed every able-bodied man they could get to fight, and Sansa had always known that as Queen, she would be faced with impossible choices.

"I'm not sure I'd ever be able to send Jon to burn them, Tywin," she whispered, and he kissed her lips.

"Hush, love. You did what you needed to do, acting exactly as a Queen does. You used your power to entice her to act how we require them to, as they vowed to do when they swore allegiance to us, Sansa." Tywin had listened to the entire exchange, and he knew his wife was every bit the capable ruler he was.

"I was so angry when she questioned things, Tywin," Sansa confessed, and she felt her husband's chest rumble out a laugh. Despite how well she had handled herself, his wife remained so good, so willing to believe the best in people.

"You conducted yourself admirably, Sansa. Dorne will either send men or not. At this point, we have done everything we can."

Tywin kept Sansa busy the rest of the afternoon; with ravens, they needed to answer, taking stock of their stores, meeting with Addam to discuss the safety of the city, and finally, to spend time with their sons and baby Joanna. It was here where they were found by their steward, laughing as their sons competed for their attention. Oberyn Martell was in their solar.

They entered the room together, Sansa's arm wrapped around Tywin's and gazed at the flamboyant man standing before them.

His eyes narrowed as he gazed at them, and his mouth tightened. "You sent your wife to threaten my people," he spat at the King. "What type of man does that?"

Tywin shrugged lazily. "A man that knows the worth of his Queen." He'd never been prouder of Sansa than he had been today and he did not care who knew it. She was his crowning jewel, worth more than anything else in his life, and he'd announce her achievements to anyone who listened.

Oberyn startled at that; at a King that so willingly believed in his wife. It appeared the Great Lion to believe his wife to be his equal in every way and that surprised Oberyn more than anything the king had done thus far.

"Dorne will send men." That was all he said as he turned on his heel and strode from the room, leaving a slightly stunned Sansa standing there, while the King of the seven kingdoms threw his head back and laughed, clasping his wife to his side.

"Wolf and lion. My Sansa," he finally said, pulling her into his arms and crashing his lips against her, overjoyed by the outcome of today. No matter what happened to him, this woman that had his entire heart would ensure that House Lannister ruled the seven kingdoms for years to come.

"My King," Sansa said, stunned by the outcome of today, knowing that no matter what happened, Tywin would keep her and their children safe. He was her entire world, and he'd given her everything; love, a family and now more power than she had ever conceived. She brushed her lips against his, and prayed to the gods, old and new, that Jaime and Jon could rescue her siblings, and somehow, someway, find a way to defeat the Night King and save them all.

* * *

_ Riverrun _

The Blackfish's way inside Riverrun was through a drainage pipe near the massive sluice gate that Catelyn had opened. It was hardly ever used and therefore no one but someone who had lived at Riverrun for their entire life knew about it. Jaime looked at the pipe and then at the Blackfish. They were on the back of the dragon and had to take off all their armour and weapons so it wouldn't sink them when they swam in the frigid water.

He couldn’t possibly be serious, Jaime thought as he gazed at the frigid water. But once glance the Tully man’s face and Jaime knew he was.

It was only a moment but Jaime thought just how much he hated this place and had since he’d been a prisoner here. Still, there was no time to waste thinking about just how uncomfortable he was being back here. Both Jon and Brynden were looking at him, and Jaime gave them a small nod, indicating he’d do what he needed to.

The plan was for Jon to drop the weapons and armour just inside the first wall of the Castle, and join them when the Blackfish opened the gate, leading Lannister men inside to secure the keep.

The biggest concern for Jaime and Bryden was that they would be overwhelmed by men inside the keep and unable to open the gates and let Jon and Daven through.

Privately, Jaime worried what Catelyn Stark might do to her children should she find herself surrounded with Lannister men inside her family’s castle. Jaime kept those dark thoughts to himself; he had more than enough to worry about in regards to his errant wife.

Jon had asked about just burning the gate down, but with no idea where Cat had the children, it was too great of a risk. For all they knew, she had all three of them pressed against the gate should Jon decided to do just that. She was mad but not stupid, Jon and the Blackfish reminded the Lannister’s again and again.

“She grew up here; this is her home and she knows its secrets as much as I do,” her Uncle told Jon and the Lannister forces.

“Then how do we know she won’t be guarding the pipe inside?” Jaime asked, still skeptical about the plan.

Brynden Tully shook his head. “Catelyn was a proper lady growing up. She never once dared played around the water of the sluice gate; only foolish boys like me who didn’t know how dangerous it was. She won’t know, and she’d need a thousand men to cover every portion of the lower levels.”

Jon and Jaime hated that they were at such a disadvantage but could see no other way in that didn’t overtly risk the Stark’s.

Now, Jaime was eyeing the water with trepidation. It was cold and dark and looked miserable; a churning mass that seemed just as likely to drown him as anything.

Still, when the Blackfish jumped in, Jaime followed; he couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t a strong swimmer after all those childhood years he’d spent in the Sunset Sea.

Jaime left the comfort of Rhaegal's back and sucked a deep breath as he hit the water – as predicted it was a shock to his system. He swam after Brynden and into the pipe, holding his breath and swimming for what felt like a lifetime up the pipe. It was pitch black and he felt like he was suffocating, unable to see anything but knowing he had to press forward or he’d drown. His lungs burned and his throat screamed until he was suddenly being hauled out of the water and onto a dirt floor.

Jaime laid there gasping for air, black spots in his vision until he finally caught his breath, shivering the entire time. It took several more moments for him to gather himself, and to be able to sit up and then stand. Once he'd gained his strength back, he stood to follow the Blackfish. They were clearly in Riverrun's dungeons, and Jaime could only hope that they weren't locked in, or else this would be the shortest rescue ever.

“Follow me and stay silent,” was all the Blackfish said as they headed out.

The quicker they moved, the warmer Jaime got, although he felt almost naked without his armour. Since he'd dropped his white cloak, Jaime had been outfitted in pure Lannister armour and cloak every day, and it felt odd not having it on his body.

Thankfully, it was clear that the Blackfish knew his way around his Castle. It reminded Jaime about how much time he'd spent wandering through Casterly Rock when he'd been a child and an ache for his childhood home rose up, unbidden and unexpected. Jaime followed the older Lord until they came to a set of steps leading to the primary levels of the keep. Brynden put a hand on Jaime's chest.

"Let me go first. If they see me, well," he said, shrugging. "They might not take a sword to me immediately." Both men knew it was true- the moment that Jaime was spotted by anyone in the castle, he would need to fight for his life. Right now, he had a single slim blade on his body and nothing else. He was as vulnerable as he’d ever been.

Jaime nodded and sunk against the wall, watching as the Blackfish slipped out into a courtyard and made his way quickly across the open ground, then disappearing.

It had to be close to an hour before he was finally back. Jaime had been out of his mind, waiting for him. He couldn’t move or pace and was shaking from how cold he was from their swim up the pipe. He’d also been left alone with his thoughts which was dangerous in his current state; Jaime felt ready to come out of his skin thinking about confronting Brienne.

As he’d struggled with reading words his entire life, the idea of arranging his thoughts into some type of meaningful dialogue was making him nervous. Jaime had one chance to make Brienne see reason. It was possible if he got her to hand Bran over, his father might, just might spare her life. Even that was a long shot as far as Jaime could determine. He knew as well as Sansa that if Brienne and Catelyn somehow survived this stupidity, that the King would have their lives for this treachery. Not for the first time in his life, did Jaime wish for his little brother's eloquence with words.

There was such a jumble of emotion in Jaime as he sat, still and miserably cold, waiting. He had such anger at Brienne and hurt. Hurt so deep that it felt endless. Jaime always expected pain from Cersei; as much as he loved her, that love had always come with misery. But he had never expected it from Brienne and that, more than anything, had spun Jaime more than he had ever thought possible. 

Jaime briefly thought of his discussion with Jon, when they'd talked about the women, they had both loved who had died. He had realized something over the past few days; he loved Brienne, but it wasn't that all-consuming love that he had for Cersei.

Jaime was lost in his thoughts when the Blackfish appeared, full armour with his sword at his side, arms full of Jaime's.

He handed it to the Kingslayer and then helped him until they were both ready and gave each other a silent look.

Jaime kept his hand on the pommel of his sword, the familiar lion's head a comfort in his hand. His heart was thumping, now that they'd made it inside the castle; it wasn't the fear of dying, but the looming confrontation with Brienne.

Their next task was opening the gate for Jon, who would lead Daven and his group inside to take the Castle, and if their luck held, they would not be seen giving them a chance to search for the Starks.

Unfortunately, Catelyn had thought about that, because four burly men were waiting at the gate, and Jaime knew immediately there was no way to deal with them, open the gate and remain hidden and undetected.

"What do you want to do?" Jaime asked the Blackfish, who had closed his eyes when he saw the sigils of the men who guarded the main gate to Riverrun, loyal bannerman to his house. He cursed his niece and her decisions that had led them all to this moment.

"We need to open the gate. We need men, having no idea how many she has with her in the Castle. You might be one of the best swordsmen in the seven kingdoms, Kingslayer, but simple numbers can fell even you."

Jaime grunted at that thought, knowing it was true. He and the Blackfish were not enough for this rescue mission. They needed Daven and Jon.

"How do we do this, then?" Jaime whispered, looking at the four men who were loitering near the gate, eyes alert.

Every so often Jaime heard the flap of wings and knew that Rhaegal flew overhead. Jon would have abandoned being on the back of the dragon by now. Jaime had become close enough with him to know he’d be on foot, waiting on the other side of the gate, ready to fight. It was one of Jon’s most admirable qualities and something that Jaime relied on; from Hardhome, to Tallhart keep and now at Riverrun, Jon Targaryen never ran away from a fight. Still, there was a huge difference between being one of two men inside the castle with enemies about, and being a man with a garrison at your back on the other side of the gate.

"I need time to open it," Brynden muttered, and Jaime nodded, rising, knowing what he had to do. The thought crossed his mind briefly if he was up to this task. A few years ago, with his sword hand? He wouldn’t have even questioned his abilities, but now, that ever-present kernel of doubt wiggled inside Jaime’s brain.

"Then let's do it." There was no time to waste, no matter what doubts Jaime might harbour internally.

They were able to get close to the courtyard in front of the main gate, as the Castle had all but been abandoned with hardly any notice. There were wagons full of food, barrels of ale and grain and other detritus scattered throughout the main yard and it gave them the ability to get closer. Still, they had to be several yards away when they were spotted, shouts rising from the rivermen protecting the gate, altering anyone nearby in the Castle that their walls had been breached.

"Seven hells," Jaime muttered to him, unsheathing his sword and rolling his wrist. The weight of his sword finally felt familiar again, even if it was his left hand. He'd worried he'd never feel that way again, but months and months of relentless and brutal training, coupled with his natural need to be the best once again, made Jaime Lannister nearly as deadly with his left hand as he'd been with his right.

And while Brynden Tully was no stranger to battle, he was older and slower, and Jaime knew that it would fall on him to give the other man enough time to throw the bolts of the enormous gate, allowing Jon through.

One of Jaime's greatest strengths had always been his speed, and he used that to his advantage, moving fast, reacting in half the time it took other men until he was in the middle of the fray.

Jaime pressed himself against one man, sinking his sword deep into the small chink in his armour, twisting it and pulling it out, barely even reacting to the blood and gore that now covered its silver length. He spun, clashing swords with another, who'd thought to come at him from behind, feeling the adrenaline pump through his body being back in battle.

This was different than fighting wights and white walkers; these men were alive, for the moment, flesh and blood that could cough and sputter as Jaime's sword responded to his touch as it had for all those years that he was considered one of the best swordsmen in the entire kingdom.

Jaime didn't love killing, not the way men like Sandor or Gregor Clegane did. But he was good at it. He'd been trained his entire life to be this man, a lion that could strike fear into the heart of anyone in Westeros. His natural skill with a blade, his speed and his father's absolute dedication to his training had all contributed to Jaime feeling as comfortable in battle as he was in a dining hall - perhaps even more so. He didn't question that he was good at fighting; Jaime just knew that he was.

Jaime slashed at the burly man's neck, watching dispassionately as a line of red bloomed across his pale flesh until he choked and dropped to his knees, the man's sword falling from his hands until he fell into the mud.

When he spun around, Jaime saw the Blackfish pushed back against the gate, unable to gain an advantage against either of the two men that he was engaged with. Jaime moved quickly, recognizing that there were now shouts coming from deeper in the keep and possibly outside the gate. In no time they would be overrun if Jaime didn’t do something.

Jaime remembered when a Lannister guard had slashed Ned Stark in the calf and Jaime had refused to finish him, preferring his kills to be ‘clean.' But he had no time for that now, and his sword swung down in an arc, destroying one man's legs as he howled in pain before Jaime drove his sword through the back of the man's head and out the front through the eye, giving Brynden a chance to finish his man.

When they were the only two left standing, Jaime heaved in a breath, looking at the four dead men.

"Get the gate settled and tell Jon to find me," Jaime said, whirling towards the Great Hall.

The Blackfish had made a rendering of Riverrun in the hut where they'd had their council, so Jaime had a vague idea of where he was going. As Jaime ran into the castle, he heard a shout and grunt of pain behind him and turned back, watching in horror as three men now attacked Brynden Tully, just as he heaved the last great lock. The grunts of pain only grew louder but Jaime couldn't linger, and he couldn't turn back. The River lord met Jaime's green eyes.

"For fuck, sakes, go!" Brynden Tully shouted, and Jaime knew he only had a matter of minutes to find the Starks. He had no idea what fate was in store for the Blackfish; if he might yet have the strength required to open the gate and allow Lannister forces through, or if he were to die right there, so close to his goal, leaving Jaime alone in Riverrun to try and save Bran Stark. Every part of Jaime hated leaving the man, but he had no choice, and he turned and sprinted faster inside the castle, focused on his task.

Jaime's biggest concern right now was what might happen to the Stark children once Catelyn realized that the walls of her family's seat had been breached. Jaime didn't even want to think that Brienne might do something to harm them; her vow, after all, was to save Arya, not bring her more hurt.

But that was the Brienne Jaime thought he knew, and this woman was anything but. He felt his blood pumping and he desperately tried to calm himself as he searched for signs of life in the castle. He whirled when he heard someone behind him, but it was only the old Maester, whose rheumy eyes looked at Jaime as if he were the answer to his very prayers.

"They are in the family wing, through the godswood, lion," the Maester whispered, pointed a gnarled finger in the opposite direction in which Jaime had been headed. The Golden Lion nodded and then sped away, knowing time was not on his side.

A few minutes later, Jaime heard the roar of the dragon, and then a giant thudding noise, and he knew the main gate was down. Now, time was even more critical. Jaime couldn't stop Lannister men from cutting through those who had betrayed the King and Queen, and if he wanted a chance to speak with Brienne, he had to find them before Daven did. Jaime loved his cousin, but he knew that Daven would cut through Brienne without hesitation.

Jaime rounded hallway after hallway, until he emerged into a frozen godswood, halting briefly and opening his ears to listen. He heard two men whispering to one another, easily giving their position away, and something heated in Jaime's blood as he crept towards them, thrusting his sword into one, before twirling back to the other, taking him down as well.

Seeing that the one man, Ser Mallister, was not quite dead, Jaime leaned down. "Where are they?" Jaime's green eyes were cold, and his tone hard.

Blood was sputtering out of the man's mouth, and his death would be painful. "Fuck. You," he spat, spraying Jaime with red.

Wiping sleeve across his face, Jaime leaned in. "I can make it quick. Where are they?"

The man shook his head, refusing to say anything, and Jaime stood and continued on his way, leaving him to suffer. When he finally entered the hall where the family chambers were located, he saw Brienne, Cat and the three Stark children. It would seem that Catelyn was attempting to move them to a lower level, perhaps fearing that Jon might use Rhaegal and his dragon fire to burn the keep to the ground.

Jaime swore to himself, cursing that he was alone. He was good but better than Brienne? It was a tall task, even for a man with Jaime's skill. Still, what choice did he have? For all he knew, Jon and the others wouldn't be able to make it here before Bran was gone again, and Jaime heard his father's voice in his head. His job was to secure Bran Stark.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Jaime opened them and then strode into the airy corridor, his left hand twirling his sword as he walked with a deceptive calm that had settled over him. He knew this might be the end of him. He'd never fought Brienne one on one when his life depended on it. He had seen her spar more times than he could count and knew that she was one of the best in Westeros. And there was a part of Jaime that doubted he'd ever be able to swing a decisive blow against her. He might be able to keep her at bay but kill her? Jaime didn’t think he had it in him unless it was his own life he needed to defend.

Jaime saw his wife's blue eyes widen when she saw him there, and she opened her mouth to speak when Catelyn spat, "Kingslayer. I should have known he'd send you."

"Lady Catelyn." Jaime bowed his head, mockingly. "I always used to admire how much you loved your children. It was the one thing about you that reminded me of my sister. But this, My Lady, well," Jaime shook his head, "I think we can all agree; you've taken it too far this time." Jaime let every ounce of Lannister pride carry his voice to the two women that had betrayed his house.

Catelyn's eyes narrowed. "I will die before I allow your father to get his hands on them. Sansa and Robb are both lost to me, but not them." Before Jaime could reply, his attention shifted.

Jaime dismissed Catelyn and looked to Brienne. "Wife."

Brienne nodded, her face a mask of confusion as she looked between Jaime and Catelyn.

"Ser Jaime."

"I find myself at a loss, My Lady. You see, I believed I married an honourable woman, a woman who swore a vow to the Queen to protect and defend her. A woman who swore vows to me- to her husband. And yet," Jaime said, voice firm and unwavering, "I find myself having to defend my marriage to a traitor to the Crown."

Brienne's face paled, and she shook her head. "I am no traitor. Jaime, you know of my vow to Lady Catelyn. You made the same one. I am merely fulfilling that promise."

Jaime's eyes widened, and he saw that Brienne believed her words. He wanted to shake his head at her idiocy.

"Lady Arya was not in danger, Brienne. There was no vow to fulfill.” His voice was filled with incredulity.

Brienne's spine stiffened. "She was being given to the King, a man that is not trustworthy."

"On whose word?" Jaime was stunned at Brienne's reasoning.

"Don't listen to him, Lady Brienne. He is handsome, and you may have fallen victim to his pretty face, but he is a lion, untrustworthy and dangerous," Catelyn said to Brienne, whispering in her ear. "None of them can be trusted. They will do anything to rule- look what the King has done to Sansa.”

"Jaime, please," Brienne pleaded, turning back to him. "The King has proven, again and again, the lengths he will go to maintain his power."

"He is the King, Lady Brienne, and your good father, and you swore a vow to his wife," Jaime reminded her.

“He had Arya in Kings Landing before and she left under her brother's protection. A brother that has sworn himself to the King and whose very sister is the Queen. A queen that my father dotes on; a Queen the Great Lion loves.”

Jaime would never be accused of being the smartest man in the seven kingdoms, but this stupidity was shocking to him. Where before Jaime had worried he might not be able to find the correct words, now they tumbled out of his mouth.

"Does not Lady Sansa deserve your trust, Brienne? She vouched for you, even after you failed to protect her from the very woman you stand in front of. Let us not forget who in this corridor held a knife to the Queen’s throat.” Jaime felt almost sick when he recalled the scene his father had described in Flea Bottom.

“You both have broken the Queen's heart with your insanely foolish and shortsighted actions."

Jaime could see Brienne's mind racing, trying to navigate this quagmire she found herself in. How could she possibly rectify what she had vowed to do for Sansa, with her actions here today? Where was her honour now?

"You do remember Sansa, don’t you Brienne? The woman that trusted you; the Queen you swore your allegiance to. The one who has single-handedly made the lives better for thousands in Flea Bottom, who has taken Lady Shireen Baratheon under her care and vowed to help her. The Queen of the seven kingdoms that is beloved from the North to the South, East to West."

Jaime's voice rose with every word; his anger at what Brienne had done to Sansa almost hurting more than her humiliation of him. He was fiercely protective of Sansa, and he hated that Brienne's actions had caused her a moment of shame or worry. Jaime was disappointed when he saw Brienne's face close down, and she fell back into the same rote bullshit he'd heard about his father his entire life.

"Can you say with certainty that the Great Lion would not have married Lady Arya off for his own gain? If she made it to Kings Landing what guarantee did Lady Catelyn have that her only remaining daughter would not be auctioned off to some vile man at Tywin Lannister’s behest? Especially since he sent Lady Catelyn away from the capital,” Brienne asked, and Jaime's mouth dropped open.

That was what this was all about? His wife had committed treason against the Crown, had betrayed him and their marriage, kidnapped the Queen's sister because they were worried about a marriage between Arya Stark and some unknown man?

Jaime threw his head back and laughed, bitterness coursing through him.

"You are two of the stupidest women I've ever met. My father could have married her off at any moment when she was in King's Landing before. It was well within his power. He gave his word, which is worth more than anything that has ever come out of your mouth, that he wouldn't. Not just to Arya herself, but Sansa and Robb."

Brienne looked troubled for a moment when Cat leaned in and whispered something else in her ear, and Jaime knew at that moment that she was lost to him. He watched his wife choose someone else’s word over his, and his entire body felt cold with the level of betrayal.

"You were my wife, Lady Brienne. I swore to protect you; to keep you safe, but I can no longer stay true to that promise," Jaime said, voice hard. "More, you have endangered the entire country with your foolishness. Bran Stark is the key to winning this war, and you kidnapped him!" Jaime's voice ended in a roar, and even Brienne and Catelyn reeled back at his anger.

His green eyes glanced around the hallway, taking stock of who was where. The Starks must be back in the room where Catelyn stood guard, Brienne, in front of her, and he was already trying to decide how he would get to the Starks.

"It's a lie, Ser Jaime," Brienne called suddenly, and his gaze swung back to her. Jaime was momentarily at a loss, confusion marring his handsome features.

"What is a lie?"

"This war. This Night King. An army of the dead?" Brienne scoffed, and Catelyn sent him a hateful, triumphant glare. Jaime had never wanted to hit anyone more than he wanted to smash the Tully woman’s face.

Jaime was stupefied, staggered by the conviction of Brienne's words. His son had died at the hands of the Night King, and his wife, a woman he thought he loved, a woman who had sworn a vow to him, though he'd what… made up the entire story of Tommen's death?

Jaime sucked in a pained breath, his heart-shattering at that moment. It hurt even to speak, and his voice didn't even work, his thoughts a jumble in his head.

"You think we made it up?" he finally managed to whisper harshly.

Brienne shrugged, seemingly unaware that her casual dismissal of her husband's claims was all but destroying him in front of her very eyes.

"It wasn't just me. Lord Stannis was there, along with Lord Tarly and Jon and Robb Stark. How can you dismiss all of us, Brienne?"

For the first time, her eyes softened, and he saw a tiny bit of warmth in them.

"Jaime, clearly you are confused from watching Tommen die. It is understandable and after losing both Joffrey and Cersei…" Brienne's voice trailed off, and all Jaime saw in her eyes was a pity, which he hated more than anything. He did not need pity from her.

"And Stannis? What excuse do you make for him?"

Brienne's spine stiffened, and she scoffed. "Lord Stannis is not fit for the title he holds. He is a kin-slayer and a dishonourable man."

Jaime barked out a harsh laugh wondering how it had come to this and how he'd ever thought Brienne was some moral compass for him to follow and bow to. His father, as always, had been correct. He was a lion, and why he had ever concerned himself with her opinion baffled him.

"Oh, that's rich coming from you." He had such a look of disgust on his face it was impossible to miss, and Brienne did not.

She furrowed her brow and shook her head. "What do you mean?"

Brienne honestly had no idea where this was coming from; Jaime had always deferred to her when it came to sticky matters such a right and wrong. Brienne was the honourable one here, not Jaime.

"He is your liege lord, Lady Brienne, and you swore your allegiance to his brother. His younger brother, who had no claim on the Iron Throne or Storm's End."

"Renly Baratheon was well-loved and would have made ten times the ruler of Stanns," Brienne said hotly, growling at Jaime.

"It doesn't fucking matter, Brienne. By all laws and rights of Westeros, the Throne belonged to Stannis. It is not up to Brienne of fucking Tarth to decide who is worthy. That is not your place," Jaime yelled at her, stunned by how much he'd misjudged her. "You knew Renly was a usurper, Brienne, and you flocked to him anyways. You turned your back on your rightful King."

Brienne's face paled and then reddened, and she unsheathed her sword. "Robert gave Renly Storm's End. His brother chose differently."

Jaime shook his head, stunned at his wife’s vehement defence of Renly Baratheon. "And if you knew how many times Stannis came to Robert, bitching about that choice. Robert was a fool to keep Stannis on Dragonstone. Hell, he sent the Stormlands into years of turmoil by giving it to Renly. Even my father feared Stannis and knew his feelings on being cheated out of Storm's End. You knew, Brienne, who your rightful Lord was, and yet you still chose to follow Renly. Because you loved a man that could never love you back."

Brienne sucked in a deep breath, and Jaime could see that his words had struck something deep inside her. He hated that this is what they had come to. He might have, given time, realized that he had never loved Brienne the way he'd loved Cersei, but he would have always honoured her; he would have never cheated on her, and he would have stayed faithful to his marriage vows. It was her that destroyed everything between them, not him.

Jaime had realized that he had never loved her the way he had Cersei. He'd been lost, reeling for the death of this he’d loved, and he was ashamed to conclude that he'd married her in a feeble attempt to appease his father and find something worth fighting for when he'd lost so much already.

Now his heart broke for the pain she had put people he loved through; Sansa, Addam, even his father and the humiliation she had brought to his house and that she was forcing a confrontation of this nature between them.

Jaime had tried in his marriage; he had respected her and cared for her. But he'd never had with Brienne what his father and Sansa had, nor what he'd had for Cersei and that was his fault. Still, he knew it wasn't his marriage to Brienne that had led her to make this choice. No, Jaime had reasoned, this was solely on her. She was the one who had followed the ravings of a madwoman, who broke her vows and who ultimately had brought this all on herself.

At that moment, Jaime saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and three men entered the hallway at the opposite end, charging past Lady Brienne and towards him, stopping short when they saw Jaime lazily swing his sword in his left hand. He briefly wondered where Jon was; he'd seen the Blackfish fall when he'd left him by the gate, and knew he was unlikely to be any help. But Jon should have been here by now.

"You must know who I am?" Jaime drawled, voice deceptively easy, trying to buy some time, to stall to wait for backup.

One snarled something about Kingslayer, but that barely affected Jaime anymore, as the man charged him. Jaime spun and thrust, cutting him down with a single blow, hearing the man's cry of pain as he writhed on the ground. His two companions then rushed Jaime simultaneously, from opposite directions, both swinging swords wildly. They may be loyal, Jaime thought, but they were shit with a blade, and he parried their uneven blows, spinning fast and ducking low to cut one man off at the knees, literally, while drawing his sword up, through the groin and into the soft belly of the other.

When the hall filled with the scent of shit and blood and guts, Brienne let out an almost animalistic howl.

"Seven fucking hells, Jaime, I'm doing the right thing," she cried, clutching her large sword and holding it in both hands as if to protect both herself and Lady Catelyn. "How can you not see that? We took the same vow."

"You're a traitor, Brienne. A woman without honour." Jaime let loose a bitter laugh. "Seems I've corrupted you, after all, My Lady wife. Here I was worried I would do something to sully you, but instead, and to my shock, it is you who is the traitor in this marriage. It is you who is an oath breaker."

Brienne snarled at him and charged, undone that he could think that of her; that he would call her such a vile name. She was reeling from the fact that he didn't seem to understand what she had done and that he, Jaime Lannister, a man who had been known for his lack of honour for his entire adult life, had the gall to call her dishonourable. Enraged, Brienne forgot for a moment just how skilled her husband was with a blade, even in his left hand.

"Brienne, please, don't," Jaime said, his voice low and cajoling. "Lay down your weapon. Surrender to us and let the King decided your fate." He backed away from her, backing up, seeing that Lady Catelyn had opened the door into the room where the Stark children were.

As Jaime tried to duck away from Brienne, he heard a commotion from the room and listened to a cry of pain. His heart raced, wondering if he was witnessing the end of life as he knew it, unable to get to Bran.

Before Brienne spun back towards him, he saw maniacal devotion in her eyes to her ideals and knew he would never get through to her. There was only one way Brienne would lay down her weapon, and that was if she was forced.

He felt his heartbreak, not because this woman was the love of his life, and she had betrayed him, but because she was forcing him to fight against her. Jaime remembered Cersei hitting him, and he'd never raised a hand to her. How in seven hells was he supposed to strike Brienne down? She might fight like a knight, but she was a lady and his wife.

Jaime used every defensive move he knew, dodging and ducking, retreating when he could, only raising his sword when she swung at him and never lashing out at her when she left herself open and vulnerable. There was more than one time when he had an opportunity to end her, but Jaime knew it would destroy him as well. He knew the moment would come when he'd have to strike her; he knew that they needed Bran, and he could feel himself tiring when suddenly there was a feral sounding cry and movement, and Brienne tumbled to the ground.

Jaime was unable to process what he was seeing; Arya and Rickon had somehow broken free from Lady Catelyn and had tackled Brienne from behind, their combined weight dropping the massive woman to her knees where they pounced on her arms.

"Fuck sakes Kingslayer," Arya screamed at him. "Your sword to her neck!" Rickon was snarling at her, almost feral in his anger as he sat on one of Brienne's arms while Arya wrestled with the other, essentially neutralizing her.

Jaime reacted instinctively, pressing it to the soft flesh there, his eyes meeting Brienne's. He saw her shock, her hurt, her confusion as if she didn't know why he was doing what he was. Jaime wanted to rage, to bellow at her, but it was as if all the words had left him.

It was at that moment that Jon came racing into the corridor with Daven at his back, along with a host of Lannister men, and shouted, "Where is Bran?"

Arya looked at her cousin, her face lighting in relief. "Mother has him; in the first room Jon."

"Jaime?" His name was a question on Jon's lips, and in his brown eyes, Jaime saw a wealth of unspoken words and too much compassion.

"We're good. Find him." The words ripped from Jaime’s mouth as if painful to even speak.

Jon nodded, trusting Jaime and raced down the hallway, Lannister men at his back. There had to be a story there, Jaime thought, seeing how loyal his father's men were following the new dragon lord, but now was not the time.

Suddenly Ser Daven was at his side, and he rested a hand on Jaime's shoulder.

"Let me, cousin."

Jaime couldn't even register the presence that there were people here for him after what he'd just been through with Brienne. He was scraped raw as if someone had taken a spoon and hollowed him out.

“Jaime," came Daven's quiet voice, as Brienne was snarling and spitting at the Lannister men that had taken over for Arya and Rickon Stark. "Go find Jon," Daven said, and that seemed to be what galvanized Jaime to movement again.

"Yes, Jon," Jaime said, glancing around and seeing the dark-haired man pounding on the door. Suddenly, Jaime realized it didn't matter that he'd taken down Brienne; Bran Stark was the key. Finding his legs, Jaime started to move, quicker as he came closer.

"She's locked them inside," Jon said, panic in his voice.

Jaime yelled for Lannister men, and three huge men raced down the hall and began to hack at the door.

"Jon," Arya said breathlessly, having come to stand by them. "She's mad. We have to get him."

Jon's grimace deepened; everything would be for naught if they somehow couldn't get Bran out of Catelyn's clutches safely.

Time seemed to slow as the men worked to open the wooden door, until finally, they stepped back, unlocking it and opening it, allowing Jaime and Jon to burst through. Both men glanced around the room, prepared for the absolute worst, only to see the crumpled form of Catelyn at the base of Bran's chair, a large book in his lap.

"Mother wouldn't listen to reason," Bran said, his voice monotone.

All of it had been too much for Jaime, and he couldn't help the laugh that burst forth from his lips, clapping Jon on the back. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as a riot of emotion washed over him. Surprisingly despite everything he'd been through, the most dominant was hope. For the first time since he'd learned of Brienne's betrayal, Jaime Lannister felt hope once more, and it broke through his pain, uncomfortable and hot in his chest, but there, nonetheless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goal right now is to make the next chapter the battle with the Night King. We have waited all story for this...


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of Riverrun and rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bridging chapter between the battle at Riverrun and the final battle with the Night King.
> 
> I have had this idea in my head since I started playing with the idea of taking this story all the way to the Night King. I was highly disappointed with the Night King ending in the TV show and I wanted something more. 
> 
> I truly hope you enjoy this chapter because I believe it sets up the finale with the Night King perfectly.

_ Riverrun _

The aftermath of what had taken place at Riverrun was not a new sight to Jaime Lannister. He'd been in enough battles to know the afterwards of any battle was almost as gruesome as the fighting itself. Dead bodies, spilled blood, and other fluids did not clean themselves up. It stank and there were very few around to help with the cleanup.

The only people that had been left alive were those too old, like the Maester, and others, common people, who had hidden when the Lannister forces had come. There were less than ten people in this category, all loyal servants to House Tully, who fearfully scurried throughout the castle to clean it and feed the Lannister forces.

Also alive, perhaps to the shock of many, were Brienne of Tarth and Lady Catelyn Marbrand.

Immediately after Jaime and Jon had burst into the room where the Starks had been held as captives, Arya and Ric had crowded behind them to see Bran. All of them had been stunned that he had been able to defend himself in such a manner. Jaime watched with envy as the four of them, Jon, Arya, Bran and Ric, hugged each other and he missed Tyrion fiercely in that moment.

Of course, Bran barely cracked a smile, and Rickon seemed to have grown more feral from the kidnapping, but it was easy to see the love and affection they had for one another. Jaime was acutely aware of how fast his own family had dwindled in these past few years. He thanked the gods that his father and Sansa appeared dedicated to solely repopulating House Lannister themselves.

Jaime knew that Jon was keeping him in the room while Ser Daven escorted a bound Lady Brienne and Lady Catelyn to the dungeons. Jaime appreciated the thoughtful gesture by Jon, but it wasn't necessary. Jaime would have years to work through what Brienne had done to him. He imagined there might be many late nights, speaking with his father or Sansa, hashing out why Brienne had made the choices she had made. For now, Jaime was able to compartmentalize it and put it away for a time; he knew their focus would soon turn to the Night King himself. There was still the sticky issue of having no idea how to defeat him. Getting Bran Stark back was only one part of the equation.

While they couldn't linger at Riverrun, they needed time to recover, at least a day or two. None of the Stark children had seen much of the Castle. They had been locked in the very room in which they stood, so they were eager to explore. Jaime ordered two of his largest men to carry Bran in a litter so he too could see Riverrun, leaving Jon alone with Jaime.

"The Blackfish?" Jaime asked when they were finally alone, and Jon shook his head.

"Sword straight to the side just as we came through the gates. I've already spoken with the Maester about their burial customs. Tomorrow we'll send him off properly, down the river and light his pyre."

Jaime cursed softly, wondering if there was something he might have done better to prevent such a death, but he knew that was pure arrogance speaking. Their plan had barely had a chance at working at all. It had been two men against the twenty or so that had been inside the castle. They were lucky there weren't more dead at their feet.

"We need to send a raven to the King and Queen as well as to Harrenhal," Jaime told Jon, who nodded.

"It should come from you," was all the dragon lord said, and Jaime sighed wearily.

They stood in silence for a time, before Jon looked at Jaime. "Are things settled between you and her?" Like Ser Daven, Jon would no longer say Lady Brienne's name. In his mind, she was a traitor, and what she had done to his friend was unspeakable.

Jaime jerked his head once and then clapped Jon on the back. "When we beat this Night King, we'll get drunk, Jon. Maybe with enough Dornish red, I can speak of how brutal my wife's betrayal was. But not now. Our task is not done."

Jon looked at Jaime, hard. He could see the pain in the man's eyes, and his heart ached for him. But he also saw something more. Determination. Grit. Fortitude. Jaime Lannister was not as advertised. He was not the man everyone had claimed him to be, and Jon knew this to his very soul. Jaime had once again proven his word was worth something with his actions today.

"I'm happy to have you by my side in the upcoming battle, lion," Jon said quietly, watching Jaime accept his words as truthful and heartfelt.

Jaime couldn't remember the last time there was anyone outside his immediate family or his house that looked at him the way that Jon did, who trusted him the way that Jon did, and who wanted him by his side. Jaime had always been apart from his peers due to his house, his wealth and his skills. His father had claimed that he’d been blessed with abilities few men possessed; but those abilities had always separate Jaime from his peers.

As brutal as it had been to be raised to think he was better than most, Jaime had also been stuck in the middle of a vicious sibling rivalry, unable to make either Cersei or Tyrion happy and knowing that they hated one another.

The only reason Jaime was still standing right now, and not a complete mess of a man, was that he had Jon at his side.

That night at dinner, as if Jon knew Jaime wasn't quite ready to be alone, Jon dictated that they would all bunk together. The Starks had spent the evening telling Jon and Jaime about the kidnapping. The pure rage Jaime felt about hearing what Brienne had done to them made Jaime grind his teeth and clutch his goblet of wine so hard his knuckles turned white.

"I'm sorry," Arya said suddenly to him, her voice low.

Jaime took a moment to look at her. He saw that her jaw was also set in a hard line. Jaime had spent some time with Arya in Winterfell and again on the trip down from Winterfell. Sandor had goaded her into trailing after him, almost begging him to explain how he'd come to be nearly as good with his left hand as he'd been with his right when wielding a sword. Jaime could see that her right arm was still mostly useless for anything more than holding a fork or a spoon.

Jaime had been much too self-involved to pay her much attention, reeling from Tommen's death and the feelings of self-loathing that Stannis Baratheon had elicited in him, and then wrapped up in Brienne and the upcoming war. Now he saw that she appeared just as angry as he was.

"Why are you so pissed?" Jaime asked her, leaning back in his chair. He had to admit that the food at Riverrun, when you weren't a prisoner, was first-rate along with the wine. Someone was ensuring that they ate well and Jaime, having been a soldier, appreciated a good meal whenever it came his way.

Arya said nothing, grinding the meat on her plate into mush. Jaime was sure she wouldn't answer him, and he couldn't blame her. They both might love Sansa, but they had never been close. Jaime imagined that Catelyn's betrayal had been a bitter blow for her. The words that left her mouth surprised Jaime.

"She was everything I never thought I could be. A woman that lived her life on her terms. I mean, did you see how she fought? She was brilliant. Big and strong."

Awareness dawned and Jaime understood then that Brienne hurt Arya emotionally.

"I think that was her problem, Arya. She always lived her life according to her rules," Jaime said quietly, taking a long drink of wine. "She had a moral code that was uncompromising. It didn’t allow her any leeway for anyone or anything that didn’t fit within her ideals.”

Arya snorted at him and shook her head. "You're the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister. Who are you to speak about morals?"

"Arya, stop. You don't know everything about Jaime," came Jon's commanding voice and her dark eyes darted to Jon.

She looked between the two men, unable to understand what had transpired between them to make them so close. She'd seen how Jaime was in King's Landing, and she'd seen how he was after Hardhome. He wasn't the same man, and she knew that had to do with the death of his son Tommen. And while Robb and Jaime had always seemed to get along well, something had changed when Jon and Jaime had gone to King's Landing with Tyrion's body- and Arya wanted to know what.

"What happened in King's Landing?" When neither man said a word, Arya pointed her finger at the two of them. "Something changed."

Jaime said nothing, but he smirked, and Jon, seeing his expression, shook his head and let out a little laugh. "Sansa," they said at the same time.

For the first time since Jaime had set foot in this wretched castle, he felt a sense of happiness come over him. He sat back and listened while Jon told Arya and Ric about the reason that Jaime had the name Kingslayer, including the role that Ned Stark had played. Arya shot to her feet, raging at Jon and his accusations.

"Sit down, Arya. Father was wrong to level such a name at Jaime without asking him why he'd done what he'd done. Sansa knew this, as do I. We all do. Jaime is a kingslayer," Jon said, leaning forward and levelling a finger at Arya. "But tell me, little cousin, what would you have done? Let all of King's Landing burn? Or take a mad king's head?"

Arya crossed her arms over her chest, feeling the slight pain in her shoulder and grunted, narrowing her eyes at Jon.

Then she looked back at Jaime, narrowing her eyes. "Does Robb know?"

Jaime nodded. "He does." Arya couldn't miss the slight smile on Jaime’s face at the mention of her brother.

"Alright. I'll try not to call you Kingslayer, but I make no promises. If I do so it won’t contain as much disgust as before," Arya said, and Jaime threw his head back and laughed.

He had to admit she had her attitude back and it pleased him. Jaime had heard Sandor talk about how she'd been almost catatonic after they Greyjoy attack. It had been at complete odds with the person he'd met in King's Landing, and Jaime knew a bit of the old Arya Stark was back. It seemed that the kidnapping hadn't done much to dim her snark.

"And before you say anything more, remember, that is my grandfather he killed. I'm not just a wolf, Arry. I'm a dragon as well. So watch your smart mouth before you start talking about anyone who isn't a Stark being less than you,” Jon said, warning her.

"You're Lord Targaryen," said Bran, his voice coming out of nowhere. Jaime tried not to startle; he'd thought the three-eyed-raven had been asleep.

"Jon?" Ric asked. He'd been as quiet as Bran, focused on eating and not so much the conversation.

Jon rubbed his tired eyes. "Aye, it's true. The King and Queen have recognized my parents and their marriage; I've been given Dragonstone."

All three Stark's gasped, not knowing what to say.

"Don't forget Dacey," Jaime said, a little drunk and happy to be part of the Stark family drama, so he did not have to think about the wreckage of his personal life.

"Dacey Mormont?" Arya all but squealed. Everyone in the North knew about the she-bear of Bear Island and evening warrior she was. She had accompanied Sandor and Arya south when they’d gone to visit Sansa for her and Tywin’s coronation.

Jon growled at Jaime, who grinned.

"He's betrothed," Jaime drawled, tipping his goblet at Jon, cocky smile in place. Jaime loved watching Jon squirm.

"Married? Jon, when?" Arya asked, slightly hurt and bewildered that her brother who'd taken the black was now a lord, with his land and castle and a wife.

Jon told them all about Dacey, and of course, Arya's only comment was that she had to be something special since she was the Commander of Sansa's Queensguard. When Jon had enough japing, he announced they'd bunk together in the primary solar. He knew that none of them wanted to be alone, and as they gathered that night, Jaime was more grateful than ever for the Starks and their acceptance of him despite his many transgressions against him.

The next day was as predicted. Brynden Tully's body was washed and laid in the sept for the morning, adorned in his best armour that someone had polished, so the silverfish on his chest gleamed the same pewter colour as his hair. Jon and Jaime helped move his body to the pyre that had been built, Daven and other Lannister knights taking their places without a single order, just a look from Jaime was sufficient. Everyone knew what Brynden Tully had sacrificed and why he had.

If Tyrion had been the first hero to die during the long night, the Blackfish was the second. The Starks were beside Jon and Jaime as Daven lit a flaming arrow, and his body caught fire on his pyre in the middle of the river. They watched until he was gone from sight, each paying their respects.

When it was done, Jon turned to Ser Daven. "We leave at first light for Harrenhal. You will take the two prisoners to King Tywin in the capital." Daven looked between Jon and Jaime and nodded. Then Jon turned to his three cousins; he knew they'd understand the fate that awaited their mother, and as much as they were angry, he knew they'd be hurting.

"It's not the King or the Queen's fault; what happens to your mother," Jon started to say, looking at each of their faces.

Arya sighed and nodded. "We know Jon. It's not like father." It wasn't; Arya knew this. She had been in King's Landing and knew the betrayal that had led to Ned Stark losing his head. Her mother's actions had been entirely self-induced.

"I'll give you each five minutes to speak with her if you'd like," Jon said, feeling the weight of their well-being settle on his shoulders. He knew that they'd be orphans soon, and even though Arya was an adult, and Bran was older, Ric was only twelve, and Jon felt the responsibility of his littlest cousin with neither Robb nor Sansa around.

"Jon, I need to go to the godswood; to the heart tree," Bran said, his voice somehow both demanding and completely without inflection.

Jon tugged on his curls, finding Bran the most difficult one to deal with. "Bran, your mother. When she leaves here, she's going to King's Landing- to the King. For treason, Bran."

Bran's head turned to Jon's. "I know what that means, Jon. Sansa should never have pardoned her when mother held a knife to her throat. She hasn't been right for a long time. I need the heart tree, Jon."

Jon sighed and nodded at Bran and then turned to the others.

"What about you two?" Jon asked, making his voice soft. He hated that his cousins were going through this; hated Catelyn Stark with a powerfulness he hadn't thought possible.

Jon could tell that Ric was trying to be strong, but his little cousin's eyes darted around until Jon kneeled and opened his arms. Ric was overcome and threw himself into Jon's arms, sobs wracking his thin body. "I hate her," he yelled into Jon's neck, and his arms closed around Ric and held him tight.

"I know," was all Jon could say. He looked up to see Arya's angry face staring back at him.

"I hate her as well, Jon. And don't tell me not to."

"I won't, Arya. You've every right to whatever you're feeling."

Jaime had stepped away from the Starks, giving them what little privacy he could. He knew he'd have to face Brienne; he could never live with himself if he didn't, and he took a moment to categorize his thoughts. For now, he just wanted things to be done. With Brienne and Catelyn scheduled to go to King's Landing via the Gold Road, under the watchful eye of Ser Daven, and Jaime and Jon headed back to Harrenhal, Jaime wondered if he'd even see his wife again. He had no doubts that both the King and Queen would want the two traitorous women dealt with swiftly.

In the end, both Arya and Rickon decided to come with Jon and Jaime as they put Bran in the godswood and then made their way down to the dungeons to see the only two prisoners there. Daven had them in cells at opposing ends, so they were unable to even communicate with one another. It was probably a good idea, but entirely pointless Jaime saw almost immediately as both women seemed to be locked within their minds.

Watching the Starks walk towards Lady Catelyn, Jaime decided the time had come to say his goodbyes to Lady Brienne finally. When he approached her cell, he saw she'd been stripped of all her armour. She was wearing on breeches and a tunic. It made her appear smaller somehow, and for a brief moment, a flicker really, Jaime felt for her. At least they hadn't put her in a dress the way the bastard Bolton's had.

Brienne had always been most comfortable wearing armour; whether mental or emotional, the woman cloaked herself it in.

"Lady Brienne," Jaime said quietly as he watched her blue eyes swing towards his.

"Ser Jaime."

There was a bead of silence, neither one knowing what to say, when suddenly Brienne surged to her feet, anger on her face, her entire body tense. She grasped the rungs of the cell. Jaime held her gaze and was surprised to see disappointment there. Not fear, not anger, not hurt. Just… disappointment. If that wasn't indicative of their entire relationship, Jaime didn't know what was. He scrubbed a weary hand over his stubbled face and sighed.

"You're not the man I thought you were, Ser Jaime," Brienne started to say, shocked when Jaime threw his head back and laughed.

"Thank the seven gods I'm not," he said, shaking his head at her.

Her bright blue eyes narrowed.

"You have honour, Ser Jaime. I've seen it in you," she began again, and Jaime held up a hand.

"Brienne, stop."

Her mouth clamped shut, and Jaime's shoulders sagged. When he raised his green eyes to hers, Brienne could see immediately that something had changed in Jaime.

"Since I met you, your moral code has always been present. At first, I thought it utterly ridiculous and quite frankly insane." Jaime paused, both of them thinking about those first few hellish weeks after they'd been released from this very castle. "When it changed, I don't know. After Cersei and Joff died, I thought I had to live up to your standards; that somehow, Brienne of Tarth knew more about morality than I did."

Jaime couldn't miss the way Brienne's shoulder's stiffened under his words. He could tell she wanted to argue, to prove that she did know more about morality than him, but he gave her no chance. "But I've learned so much since then, Brienne. From men like Stannis Baratheon, whom you betrayed. And Jon Targaryen. My father and Sansa. Men aren't wholly good or bad, and things aren't always black and white. Good men do bad things on occasion, and sometimes, against all the odds, bad men do good things."

Brienne sneered. "And you think you're a good man, Jaime?"

Jaime shrugged, philosophically. "Perhaps I'm not. Perhaps I never will be. But maybe… one day. Maybe one day, my good deeds will make up from my bad. I love my family, Brienne. I may have never loved you the way that my father loves Sansa, but I would have been good to you and to any of our children. I would have honoured my vows to you, Brienne."

Brienne's jaw had tightened, and her lips clamped shut, and she shook her head. Jaime knew they were done.

"Goodbye, Brienne of Tarth."

The name Jaime used was deliberate. He'd send a raven to his father this afternoon before they left to fly Rickon and Arya Stark back to the capital, telling the King to be annual his marriage to Brienne. It would be as if it had never happened, and once again, Jaime Lannister would be alone.

Jaime turned, glancing down the cellblock to see raised fists and heated voices come from that end. Jaime had nothing to say to Lady Catelyn and turned to find the stairs to take him back up to the fresh air in Riverrun. He'd only taken a few steps when he heard Brienne's voice. It was unlike any other time he'd heard her speak, quiet, a bit fearful and uncertain.

"What will happen to me, Jaime?" Jaime spun back, and though he didn't take any steps closer, he could see the fear on Brienne's face. "With your father and the Queen?"

Jaime cursed his soft heart. He owed this woman nothing. He'd pleaded with her yesterday to think, to lay down her weapon, to see reason, and she had not. Even now, she offered him no apology for her betrayal to him, and yet…

Jaime shook his head once and turned away from her, but not before saying, "Ask for the silent sisters, and they may spare your life. I'll send a raven."

Then he was gone, almost racing up the stairs and away from yet another mistake in his life.

Since the moment that Jon had learned of Catelyn Stark's kidnapping of his cousins, he'd been in a rage. Jon knew that things had changed between him and Catelyn when he'd first come to King's Landing with Stannis, and she had wept on her knees, apologizing for her treatment of him.

Jon had liked to think, as an adult, as a man who now knew his birth parents, that he'd forgiven her, but he knew that to have been a lie. He'd absolved her of her sins, in Sansa's solar in the Red Keep, because it was what had been expected of him, but there was always a part of him that hated her and would never forgive her for her treatment of him, even as he understood why she had done it.

His feelings towards Catelyn Stark had also been shaped by the countless stories he'd heard since he’d been back around his family. Jon had listened to Robb, informing him that Catelyn had objected to his marriage and made Jeyne feel decidedly unwelcome.

Sansa and Jon had talked extensively about Catelyn's time since she had left Winterfell all those years ago. From Catelyn's kidnapping (it seemed to be a theme with her) of Tyrion, along with her absolute trust in Petry Baelish and her role in starting the war between the Starks and the Lannister's in the first place, had shocked Jon. He still remembered Sansa tearfully clutching his hand, whispering that she blamed her mother for Ned Stark's death as much as she'd blamed Littlefinger, Joffrey and Cersei.

Jon had been outraged when he'd heard about Catelyn's return to King's Landing and that she'd held a knife to Sansa's throat, and even after her daughter's forgiveness, Jon had watched as Catelyn made subtle digs and comments towards Sansa. He'd held his tongue because, as always and no matter what he now knew, he would still be Ned Stark's bastards in her eyes. She might have wept and forgiven him, but Jon knew that had he ever said anything, her venomous Tully eyes would have turned on him in an instant.

So Jon had held his tongue; theirs was a tumultuous relationship at best, and Jon assumed the Starks were in the best position to deal with their mother.

And then she had kidnapped his cousins; siblings, really. Different parents did not make Jon look at them as anything but his brothers and sisters. Beyond the sheer concern he had, he knew in his bones that Bran was needed to defeat the Night King. Jon had done the impossible; he'd convinced a King to gather the most enormous army that Westeros had ever seen to defeat a creature straight from the stories of the past. And in one action, Catelyn had almost undone it all.

As he'd done when he'd gone north of the Wall, Jon had schooled his features into an indecipherable mask; in King's Landing when he'd promised Sansa he'd rescue them, when he'd held Dacey and promised he's survived the upcoming war. Flying North, with Jaime, Jon had said little, and even when they'd landed at Harrenhal and Jon had been hugged by Robb, he'd held back the sheer potent rage he felt at this woman that had treated him like he was less than her precious children his entire life. He'd held his tongue through it all.

But one look at Rickon's face and Jon felt the dragon in his blood roar to life. Catelyn had hurt him; she'd ripped her son away from his older brother and his protector and his direwolf. She'd kept him drugged and bound and locked away, and whispered horrible, awful, untruths about Sansa and Tywin to him. She'd tried to poison Rickon against Robb and Sansa and even Jon.

Jon was tense as they descended into the dungeon and barely even spared Jaime a glance as he walked towards Lady Brienne. Jon’s focus was solely on the woman he'd wished been able to love a motherless boy and his siblings at his side.

When they reached Lady Catelyn, she sat still as a statue on the appointed bench. Someone had provided her with food, water, a blanket and even a chamber pot. Jon remembered the cells at both Winterfell and Castle Black not being nearly as well appointment.

"Mother," Arya said as they stood there, Catelyn all but ignoring them. Jon waited for a moment, hoping this woman would give her children some words of comfort in this last meeting with them, but nothing came from her pinched lips.

Jon growled in frustration, smashing his fist against the bars. "At least have the decency to absolve them of any guilt your foolish endeavours, My Lady," Jon nearly shouted at her.

That finally got a reaction. She turned her head and took them in; three dark-haired Starks waiting for her. Except one was not a Stark but a dragon.

"I hated you from the moment Ned brought you home. You destroyed my marriage, Jon Snow," Lady Catelyn hissed at him, moving swiftly towards them. Up close, Jon could see the madness swirling in her eyes. "Now you've taken them from me again when they would have been safe here. You will get them killed, mark my words," she said and then spat on him.

Jon wiped the spittle from his cheek and caught Arya, reaching out to slap her mother.

"He is more a Stark than you ever were. You've betrayed everything about our house. You started the war with the Lannister's, and you would have stood in the way of ending it. There is peace mother because of Sansa, and you've only ever tried to undermine her and Robb."

Jon eases a big hand down on Arya's quaking shoulders, trying to calm her somehow down. While he was doing that, Ric stepped forward.

"Why do you hate Sansa so much mother?" he asked, cocking his head.

Catelyn dropped to her knees, trying to cup his cheek. "Oh, my son. My precious son. You are the only one who is still loyal to me, who still loves me."

Ric looked confused, and Jon snarled and stepped forward, ready to end this. Before he could, Catelyn opened her mouth and continued.

"Sansa is lost to us, my child. She is in league with the Great Lion, and he will only seek to harm us," Cat said in a rush before Jon sent her a murderous glare.

"Shut your mouth about the Queen, Lady Marbrand. She is a good woman, the best Queen for the seven kingdoms, and you know it as well as I." Jon was seething in rage and pulled Rickon close to him. "Do not heed her words; she speaks only in lies, brother."

Catelyn barked out a harsh laugh.

"Brother? You are no brother to my son. You are an abomination, from a sinful house full of madness and cruelty. How long before the need to burn people consumes you, Jon?"

Momentarily stunned, Jon was unable to say anything in response to that.

"You ruined everything the moment my husband brought you home. You tainted Winterfell."

When Jon looked outraged, Catelyn pressed on. "You think your parents are absolved of their sins, of you, simply because they married?" She barked out a harsh laugh. "How many people died because of you, Jon? How many vows did men, good men, break, to protect you? What kind of woman asks her brother to lie to his wife about her child?"

The harsh words spilled from Lady Catelyn's mouth, and Jon felt his blood heat- shame, regret, and pain-filled him. He finally lashed out.

"What type of mother kidnaps her children, forcing her beloved Uncle to infiltrated his Castle, making good men turn against him?"

For the first time since they'd entered the dungeons, Catelyn's face went still and white. "Uncle?" She shook her head. "No, it can't be. He's at Harrenhal."

Jon shook his head. "He was, but the moment he heard what you had done, he volunteered to come back; to help us. How do you think we entered the castle? It was the Blackfish that helped us gain entry, Lady Catelyn."

"And where is he now? I demand to see him, Jon Snow. You cannot keep him from me."

Despite everything Catelyn Stark had done to him, Jon couldn't help but soften the blow. "He's dead, My Lady. Killed by men loyal to you."

He watched as she swayed, holding on to the bars as her mind rapidly absorbed the information. She said nothing for a time, and Jon was worried that her mind was so fractured there would be nothing more forthcoming from her. He gave a rueful glance to Arya and Rickon, whose eyes were drilled onto their mother until, suddenly, she stood and spoke again, as if she hadn't just heard she'd been responsible for the death of her family member. In her eyes, Jon saw the pure hatred she had from him, and while vile, it was also a relief. There was no more pretense between the two of them.

"When the King takes my head, remember what other Lannister took your father's head, my children. Then ask yourself if your sister is so good. Both your mother and your father; killed by lions. Tell me I wasn't wrong to try and protect you."

Jon stiffened his spine and curled his hands into fists, willing himself not to smash something, anything, for this woman to accuse him of ever allowing someone to hurt his siblings- even Sansa. Jon knew that they’d be safe with the King and Queen.

Arya had heard enough of her mother's vitriol. She had been in King's Landing when her father had died; she had seen the sword swung. She knew the role of her mother and Littlefinger played in his death and she knew that neither Tywin, nor Sansa were responsible.

"Lies!" Arya shouted at her mother, looking between her and Rickon. "Don't listen to her, Ric. She lies about Sansa, and she lies about the King."

Catelyn threw her head back in mad laughter. "So, they've corrupted you as well. You were also so weak and emotional, daughter.”

Arya's eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer to the cell.

"Not lies. The truth. The truth is that Sansa made herself an advantageous marriage because no one came for her mother. You let Jaime Lannister escape instead of forcing Robb to trade Jaime for Sansa. She was alone and defenceless. She did what she had to do. And she chose well. She chose a man that loves her beyond all reason. A powerful man that has defended her and allowed no one to harm her. A man that has given her agency and power. A man that brought northern nobles down to guard her. A man that gave her a family when hers abandoned her."

Jon looked at his little sister in awed silence. He'd never known Arya to come to Sansa's defence, and never so passionately. He let his hand rest on her shoulder, hoping she understood his pride in her. It was something that Ned Stark had preached for as long as they could understand him; the lone wolf died, but the pack survived. It seemed Arya finally understood his words.

Catelyn hissed back, "And what happens when he marries you to a man that beats you, daughter? A cruel man for his own gain?"

Arya shrugged. "He wouldn't. Sansa would not allow that. And if I marry such a man, I'd slit his throat and feed him to Nymeria and send the King a raven."

For once, Catelyn looked positively gobsmacked. Arya continued, "He allowed me to leave King's Landing once, unwed. He'll do so again. He doesn't need me, mother. No matter what happens in this war, when it is done, I'll return North; to Winterfell. That is my place for now, beside Robb. And the King and Queen know it."

"You are making a mistake to place your trust in Sansa, Arya," Catelyn tried in one last desperate attempt.

Arya shook her head. "I'm not, Mother. We are Starks; we are a pack." Arya saw Rickon stand up straighter when she said those words.

"Are you sure, Arry?" He asked, and she nodded.

"I am Ric. That's what father always said. Sansa might be part lion, but she's still a wolf, little brother, and she will protect us." Arya cupped Ric's cheek. "Say goodbye to Mother, Ric," she ordered her little brother softly.

He said nothing for a time, and then he squeezed Arya's hand and turned back to the cell. "Goodbye, mother."

All three turned from the cell holding Catelyn Stark, listening to her keening wail as the full reality of what she had lost came crashing down on her. All of them pushed her from their minds. They knew that once Arya and Ric got to King's Landing, the King and Queen would never allow Ric another chance to be exposed to Lady Stark's madness. They passed by Brienne's cell, and Arya paused and then turned walking up to the Lady knight.

Brienne's devastated blue eyes found Arya's and she opened her mouth to explain, but Arya shook her head. "I admired you. For so long, all I wanted was to be like my brothers. To be trained like they did men. To be the best with a blade; to not have to marry and have children and run a keep."

Arya thought back to how restless she had been. There had never been enough adventures for her, and now there seemed to be too many. She'd learned an impossibly hard lesson at Winterfell with Theon's death being her fault. She was trying with her left hand and arm, and she was getting better every day. But she knew she'd never have the skills she once dreamed of.

"Sansa taught me I don't need to only be skilled with a blade to have power, Lady Brienne. I wish I could say I believed in true knights, but that isn't the case. You're no better than a man like Jaime Lannister- perhaps you are even worse." Brienne looked shocked at such a statement and opened her mouth to protest, but Arya gave her no chance. "At least he admits who he is."

And then they were done, as Jon, Arya and Rickon walked out of the dungeons of Winterfell and into the cold grey day at Riverrun, knowing full well that the King and Queen of Westeros would punish the two women accordingly.

When Jaime had exited the dungeon's, he found himself compelled to see out Bran Stark. He knew the strange Stark boy was in the godswood; by the heart tree. Despite being around each other since Castle Black, they had never been alone.

Jaime had confessed to pushing Bran out of the tower window at Winterfell; in front of Robb and Arya and Sandor. Bran had forgiven him then; had said it was needed, and Jaime, so grateful not to be run through at the time, had accepted it. Now though, Jaime had a chance to speak with him one on one, private and alone, and to ensure that his apology was accepted.

Jaime found Bran wrapped in furs, sitting in a chair in front of the stunted heart tree of Riverrun that appeared to be sad. Jaime couldn't quite tell what Bran was looking at- only that his gaze was distant. From the little that Jaime had been around him, he knew that it was only when Bran's eyes were utterly white that it meant he wasn't here.

"I am sorry for what I did to you. At Winterfell and the tower," Jaime said earnestly, wondering what type of response he might get. He had no doubts that Bran Stark must hate him for what he had done.

Bran turned his head and looked at Jaime, gazing upwards, and Jaime recalled the moment he'd pushed him out that tower window with perfect clarity. Even though they had spoken about this before, there was an added weight now that the two of them were alone.

"You weren't sorry then."

Jaime grimaced. He hadn't been, it was true. He'd done what he needed to keep his and Cersei's secret. But he had changed. When he'd told Sansa, he had been remorseful. He had changed; Jaime knew this, even if other's could not see it, even if his changes weren't enough for people like Brienne.

"You were protecting your family," Bran continued, and Jaime walked closer, coming to stand in front of him.

"I'm not that person anymore," Jaime said, weariness in every word. He might have saved a million people, but he had done such harm to countless others.

"You still would be that person if you hadn't pushed me out of that window. And I would still be Brandon Stark."

Jaime looked confused. He knew that Bran often referred to himself as the three-eyed raven, but this was the first time he'd ever heard the boy say he wasn't Brandon Stark. And what in seven hells did he mean that Jaime would have still been the same person he had been? Did that mean that Bran saw him as something… better? Or just someone different.

"You're not?" Jaime allowed the confusion he was feeling infuse the tone of his words. Jon had often complained that talking to Bran was difficult, and Jaime now knew what he meant. The boy spoke in riddles.

"No, I'm something else now," Bran murmured.

Ahh, the three-eyed-raven, Jaime thought. He'd often heard Bran refer to himself as such.

"You're not angry at me?" Jaime asked, looking around the godswood, wondering if this were some elaborate jape by the cripple.

"I'm not angry at anyone."

Jaime frowned, and Bran continued. "Our fates are linked, Ser Jaime. You are needed in this upcoming battle."

"And afterwards? What are we then?"

"How do you know there is an afterwards?"

Jaime felt a chill run down his spine with those ominous words. He held Bran's gaze as Jon, Arya and Ric came striding into the godswood.

Jon glanced between Jaime and Bran but sensed no unease between them.

"We leave at first light. We will take Arya and Ric to Sansa in the south and then to Harrenhal."

"No."

That was from Bran. Jon spun around and looked at him.

"What do you mean, no?" Jon couldn't help but let the sheer exasperation fill his voice. He'd received a raven from Stannis, and their time was growing short- the Night King marched closer to Harrenhal by the day.

"We need to go to High Heart."

Jon ran a hand through his curls, messing them and blowing out a breath.

"For what possible reason, Bran?"

"For answers."

That was all Bran said, and Jon was just about to open his mouth and tear a strip of his brother when Arya said, "It's about the ghost of High Heart, isn't it."

Three sets of eyes turned to Arya; Bran, Jon and Jaime.

"What is the ghost of High Heart?" Jaime asked, clearly seeing that Jon was at his wit's end with his siblings.

Arya quickly explained that she'd been to High Heart twice with the Brotherhood, and both times, they had received prophecies or dreams from the ghost that inhabited High Heart.

"What is High Heart?" Jon asked, frustration in his voice. He knew his plans to get back to Harrenhal had just changed.

"A sacred place, where once the children of the forest roamed," Bran said.

Arya rolled her eyes, "It's a very tall hill, Jon, here in the Riverlands. There used to be about thirty weirwood trees, but now they are all just stumps. It is said," she continued, “that the Andal King Erreg slaughtered the children of the forest that lived there, their animals and some of the first men that were their protectors. Then he ordered his men to cut down all the weirwood trees. Either way, the smallfolk avoid it because it is haunted."

"And why were you there?"

"We needed information about Beric Dondarrion and went to speak with the ghost. After we found him, we went back, but…" Arya stopped talking and shrugged, suddenly looking away.

"She was afraid of you, sister," Bran said, and Arya all but hissed at him.

"You smelled of death to her," Bran continued, oblivious to Arya's growing agitation.

"Shut your mouth Bran, before I shut it for you," Arya snarled at him. She had been disturbed by what the ghost had said to her for years; that Arya was cruel to come to her hill, and that she smelled of death.

"And who is this ghost you claim you've seen?" Jon said, his voice beyond exasperated. He might be able to warg into a dragon and a direwolf, but ghosts? He was skeptical.

Arya shook her head. "No one knows. Some claim she is a child of the forest. Jenny of Oldstones, wife of Duncan Targaryen, said that. Other's claim she is just a woods witch and that she prophesized that the prince who was promised would come from the line of Aerys and Rhaella Targaryen; it was upon hearing this prophecy that Prince Jaehaerys insisted that Jenny and Duncan marry. Many believe that she survived the destruction of Summerhill and returned to the Riverlands, where she mourns her friend Jenny."

"So, this woods witch, is now a ghost at High Heart?" Jaime asked, voice incredulous. He'd heard the tale of Duncan and Jenny and how he'd given up the Iron Throne to marry her. Jaime also had a soft spot for the story, likening himself to Duncan and how he'd given up Casterly Rock for Cersei. Of course, Duncan and his father died at Summerhill, and the story claimed that Jenny went mad, dancing with her ghosts in the hall of kings.

"Your father often went to Summerhill, Jon," Jaime said, looking at his friend. There was so much tragedy in the Targaryen history that Jaime wondered how Jon might cope with it all.

"The ghost claims she was there; that she survived Summerhill. She said she gorged on grief, for her Jenny," Arya piped up.

Jon was reeling, looking around the small group. "And what the fuck does any of this have to do with winning a war against the Night King?" His family's long and tragic history kept finding a way to bite him in the ass, and it seemed inescapable.

"The Prince who was Promised is a prophesized saviour Jon. A hero to deliver the world from darkness; a person with both ice and fire." All eyes turned to Jon as Bran said this.

There was silence until Jon shook his head. "If we don't find a way to kill the Night King, it won't matter who the fuck this so-called prince is. Can the ghost tell us anything, Bran?"

"But Jon, you are ice and fire," Arya said eagerly, her eyes lighting.

"Shut it, Arya," Jon said, dark brown eyes narrowing dangerously. "I've seen the Night King. He's the focus."

"He's the darkness, Jon. And you need to defeat him," Arya said, insistent. "And yes, the ghost, if she knows anything, can help. Both her dreams she had for the Brotherhood came true."

Jon heaved out a sigh and stalked around the godswood. Sansa was going to kill him if he didn't deliver Ric and Arya back to King's Landing. But he'd been waiting months for Bran to give some indication that he knew how to kill the Night King, and this was the closest they had come. He turned back and looked at his brother.

"Is it necessary?"

Bran nodded. "Yes."

Then Jon glanced at the rest of them. "Not another word- from any of you about this prince that was promised nonsense. We go to High Heart, find this ghost, and then we take Arry and Ric back to Sansa."

Everyone nodded, although Jaime had a small smirk on his face. He fell into step beside Jon as they exited the godswood.

"You know, the Dornish take the title Prince in front of their name. I suppose it's doubly suitable for you now that you are both a prince by birth and a prince by prophecy."

Jon only snarled and stalked away, chased by Jaime's laughed and the depressing feeling that the only thing the prophecy meant was that he would have to die to kill this Night King. He spent the next several hours readying them for this unexpected trip to High Heart.

When Jaime found him later in the great room where they would spend their last night, he poured his goblet of wine and took a seat beside Jon, enjoying the companionable silence.

"I only have one question," Jaime said, after a time. Jon grunted.

"Why not send Arya and Rickon with Ser Daven down the Gold Road? He's headed to King's Landing anyways."

"And do you want to be the one to tell the Queen that I put her two beloved siblings within reach of their kidnappers when I could have brought them to her myself?"

Jaime grunted at that thought. No, Sansa would want her sister and brother with her as soon as possible. Jaime had sent the raven this afternoon, informing the King and Queen about the death of the Blackfish, the capture of Lady Catelyn and Lady Brienne and also asking his father to annul his marriage. They wouldn't be here when a response came; everyone was leaving at first light. They could only hope that this was the answer they needed, the missing puzzle to the Night King. Because if it wasn't, Jaime didn't have the first idea how they might defeat him and who in Westeros would possibly be left to stop him. No, if this so-called ghost witch had no answers, Jaime was almost sure this was the end of humanity as they knew it.

When the five of them approached Rhaegal the next morning, Jaime almost felt like he was friends with the dragon. He'd spent more time on the back of a dragon lately, than on a horse, and even he could see the dragon was eager to leave.

They had decided the Jon would sit at the front, with Ric in his arms, while Arya was behind Jon, and Jaime would hold Bran in place. The Golden Lion was doubly glad he'd spoken with Bran Stark before he was, quite literally, holding him in his arms. Rhaegal allowed them to tie provisions to his back; tents, bedding and some food. No one could say how long this detour to High Heart was to last, but they didn't want to be unprepared should it go on for more than a night or two. Even in the Riverlands, the days were getting colder by the moment.

Ser Daven shook his head at the sight of them all on the dragon's back. "Are you sure, Jaime?" he asked for the third time this morning.

"I am, cousin. See Brienne and Catelyn to King's Landing, and you'll forever earn my father's good graces," Jaime told him and watched his cousin nod and step back. With one last look at Jon, Jaime saw him lean over, stroke Rhaegar's scales and then the dragon took several lumbering steps before launching them into the sky.

Jaime was in a position to see the joy in Arya Stark’s face when they first took to the air, and it reminded Jaime briefly for a moment of the times as a child when he’d dove from the cliffs at the Rock into the sea below; that feeling of pure, unadorned freedom that only children could feel.

Arya caught Jaime’s grin and answered back with one of her own. Riding a dragon was everything she’d ever hoped it would be; terrifying and exhilarating by equal turns, and both she and Ric settled in as Jon steered Rhaegal towards High Heart.

Jon saw it from a distance. Arya had been correct; it indeed was a high hill in the middle of open fields, and from a strategic standpoint, he could understand why it would be used to fortify a defensive position.

They arrived in midafternoon, with a cold mist blowing about them that only seemed to deepen the closer they got. Rhaegal circled the hill, but no matter how much Jon tried to coax the beast to land, he would not, only swooping down to deposit them at the base of the hill, before giving a mournful cry to Jon and then taking back to the skies.

“Hope he comes back,” Jaime said conversationally, looking at their small party along with the supplies. He was a bit miffed that the dragon couldn’t have let them off at the top of the hill, as Jaime’s eyes dragged upwards towards the climb in front of them.

“Aye, he will,” Jon said. “This place, well, it’s not right. His magic and hers, they don’t mix.” With that strange comment, the Starks began to studiously load themselves up with supplies.

Jaime sighed and looked to Bran. He knew his legs would be screaming by the time he carried Bran Stark to the top. Bran actually smirked at him as Jaime got him situated on his back.

“Thank you, Jaime,” Bran said, into Jaime’s ear as he grunted, placing one foot in front of the other as they started to climb.

“I suppose it is only right that I spend some time with you on my back,” Jaime replied and heard Bran’s soft chuckle.

The higher they climbed on the twisty and winding path, the deeper the mist became, so much so that Jaime could almost taste it on his tongue should he wish too, which he did not. There was something decidedly otherworldly about this place and it was not somewhere Jaime wished to linger for any amount of time. He understood why the small folk in the region avoided it.

The more their visibility was impeded, the more Jaime swore he heard things rattling about in the bushes. He was hampered with an inability to move his head, as his entire focus was on not dropping Bran Stark. He thanked the seven gods when Arya finally stopped, planting herself firmly in the pathway and looked around.

“What the fuck is that sound?” she muttered, glaring at Jon who had crashed into her and was berating her for stopping in the middle of the trail. 

“Arya, what are you doing? I’d like to make camp before nightfall,” Jon groused at her and she shushed him with a look until all they heard was howling wind and something moving through the sparse brush the was present on the hillside.

“Dragon, I’m at a loss if you need my sword,” Jaime hissed at Jon, shoulders burning from carrying Bran.

Jon was just about to speak when Arya let out a whoop of joy, followed quickly by Ric’s and then even Jon’s face broke out into a huge grin when three huge direwolves seemingly came out of nowhere to circle their owners. Jaime and Bran stood and watched as both Arya and Ric threw themselves bodily into their wolves, and the giant beasts curled themselves protectively around them.

Nymeria was especially a sight to see; huge and almost as scary as a dragon. Arya cried into her fur, rubbing her face into her wolf’s neck, while Shaggy licked Rickon until he was giggling and writhing around on the hard trail.

Jon and Ghost were more circumspect in their reunion, but it was no less heartfelt.

“Hey boy,” Jon said, carding his fingers deep into Ghost’s snow-white fur. “I’ve missed you.”

When the three of them finally pulled themselves away from their wolves, they resumed their trek. Jaime could tell something had shifted; the Starks were more content with their wolves at their side. They laughed and japed and ran, and the wolves added a sense of both protection and rightness that they were here at High Heart.

The top of the hill came upon them unexpectedly, and Jaime felt the sadness of the place. The hacked off weirwood trees that looked like they had been unceremoniously butchered stood as a silent testament to a history where something bad had taken place here.

“This hill was sacred to the children,” Bran said, voice monotone and expressing what Jaime was feeling.

They made camp off to one side; one medium size tent for five people and three wolves and began to process of starting a fire and their dinner. Surprisingly both Arya and Rickon were quite helpful and adept.

Arya shrugged and gave Jaime a look. “After I escaped King’s Landing when King Joffrey took my father’s head, I was trying to get home North. For a time I was with my friends,” she told them, going quiet as she thought of Hot Pie and Gendry. “There weren’t too many nights we slept at an Inn.”

Ric and Bran shared a similar story; travelling North towards Castle Black after Theon’s betrayal.

None of them knew when to expect this ghost of Arya’s to show up, but it wasn’t the first evening. As predicted, the wolves were enthusiastically welcomed into the tent, and by morning, Jaime was glad for their fur and their body heat. The entire hill had been covered in a light dusting of snow, and Jaime shook from the cold.

After their morning chores had been done, Jaime glanced at both Arya and Ric who looked bored and miserable. Arya had her precious needle sword back at her side, and Robb had a similar one commissioned for Ric months ago when they’d been at Winterfell.

“Alright, let’s see how good you are with your left,” Jaime said, standing and unsheathing his own Lannister sword.

Arya’s eyes widened and then she grinned, all but hopping to her feet. She’d been after the Kingslayer for an age to teach her.

“What was it like? Losing your hand?” she asked him, eagerness and no sense of shame in her voice.

Jaime startled a bit; he was used to people either ignoring the fact completely or somehow trying to gentle their words.

He cocked his head and thought for a moment. “It wasn’t the pain, although that was terrible.” There was no sense in telling her he’d almost lost his entire arm, had it not been for Qyburn. He took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. “My entire life, it was the one thing I was good at. I wasn’t clever like Tyrion or political like Cersei. But I was good with a sword. My father devoted hours to my training and it was all I wanted. To be a knight; the greatest in the Kingdom.”

Arya and Ric listened with rapt attention, sensing they were seeing a side of Jaime Lannister few did. Even Jon and Bran had stopped their low discussion to hear what he had to say.

Jaime was pacing slightly, looking at the lion pommel. “You two understand, what it is like to belong to a House that has such pride.”

Arya snorted. “Not like you lions,” she muttered and Jaime threw her a look.

“Oh, Ned Stark would give my father competition for stubbornness and arrogance. He wore his cloak of superiority well, Arya Stark, and to his detriment, I might add. Ned Stark thought he was better than the rest of us, much like my father thinks he is.”

Arya jumped to her feet, outrage on her face. “Take it back. My father was a good man,” she yelled at Jaime. As she did so, she unthinkingly reached for Needle, withdrawing it smoothly and palming it in her hand.

Jaime smirked at her and nodded at her hand and watched as her eyes widened. “You did that on purpose,” she muttered darkly.

Jaime nodded. “Your body can be retrained,” he told her. “It is the mind that does the most to prevent us from achieving our goals.”

After that, they didn’t say much, other than for Jaime to bark out order after order to her. He was, Arya could admit, a different fighter than when she’d last seen him in King’s Landing at Sansa’s coronation. His skill was apparent and when he’d worn both Arya and Ric down, the latter who was looking at Jaime as if he were his new hero, Jon finally smiled and stepped up.

“Now that you’re done playing, Lion, perhaps you’d like a real opponent,” Jon said, winking at his siblings. Arya chortled in glee. She’d sparred with Jon but not as often as she had liked, and she knew he was good.

Jaime smiled and then almost danced away from the thrusts and parries of Jon’s sword. Longclaw was lighter and faster than traditional steel and lent Jon certain advantages. But Jaime, well, Jaime had trained his entire life. There was a reason he’d been called the greatest swordsman in the seven kingdoms, and Arya, Ric and even Bran watched as he once again schooled Jon.

When both men finally called an end to their training, they were grinning at one another, and Ric couldn’t help but run between them.

“I want to be like you, Jaime when I grow up. I want to be a knight,” he said and his eyes, so full of hope and eagerness almost brought Jaime to his knees as he remembered another boy who had dreams of being a knight. Without even thinking, Jaime cupped his neck and titled his head, briefly meeting Jon’s eyes.

“If we survive this Long Night, Rickon Stark, I’ll make you my squire. You have my word,” Jaime told him, delighted when he let out a whoop of joy.

That pattern followed for two more days, until the evening of the third, when Jon restlessly paced the top of the hill. The weather had gotten progressively worse since they’d arrived; Rhaegal barely came back any more, and Jon was fast losing his patience for this so-called ghost of High Heart.

“One more day, and then we go to the capital. We cannot wait any longer,” Jon told them all that evening around the fire.

“It will be tonight, Jon,” Bran finally said, and everyone tensed at those words. That night no one was sleepy as they waited for Jenny’s ghost to make her appearance. It was midnight when the air chilled further and the wolves stirred, prowling the perimeter, the fire only embers as they sat and waited. Everyone could feel the palpable change in the air.

She was short; a dwarf really, Jaime thought, when she finally came into view. Stooped and with a cane, a face lined with too many years of living and long white hair that almost touched the ground. One would almost think that they could touch her, but she wasn’t quite… there, Jaime realized when he looked closer.

She took a step back from Arya and muttered, “Blood child, stay away you were told. And yet, here you are back.”

Arya’s shoulders stiffened and she only held her tongue with a shake of his head from Jon.

The old woman’s eyes travelled across the group. “Lion, Dragon and Wolf. I dreamt of you all. Cords connecting all your lives; blood and sacrifice.”

No one said a word, not daring to interrupt her rantings. “The dreams of three; three to finish him, three blades, three hearts needed.”

Jon and Jaime both sucked in a breath, and her eyes turned to them. “I dreamt of three that are needed to end the darkness; to bring back the light.”

From there she seemed to fade, melting back into the darkness from where she came, but not before she said, “Begone from this place after tonight. Begone.”

Jon heaved a frustrated breath, wondering if any of it had been worth it. It seemed that they needed the three of them to defeat the Night King but still did not know-how. That night, when they crawled into their tent, Jon let himself, for the first time, think that they might not be able to do it; to kill him. Jon could almost feel him draw closer and while he knew that Stannis and the army gathered at Harrenhal would fight valiantly, in the end, none of it would matter if the Night King himself survived.

Unknown to Jon, Bran knew what needed to be done. The ghost had touched his shoulder when he left and he’d heard her words clear in his mind; “There is enough magic left in these weirwood trees raven. Tonight; wolf, dragon, lion need to soar together.”

When he closed his eyes that evening, it wasn’t in rest, but as the vision overtook him. But unlike other times, when he’d been alone, this time he was able to bring Jaime and Jon with him. He could feel their confusion but had no ability to explain. They were standing, the three of them, whole and unmarked. Bran had use of his legs, and Jaime his sword hand back. The scar on Jon’s face wasn’t there as the two of them looked at Bran.

“What is this, brother?” Jon asked, confusion clear in his voice.

“An answer, Jon.”

In moments figures emerged from the thirty weirwood trees that ringed High Heart. Jaime realized immediately that all the trees were actually heart trees with faces. Clearly they were here prior to the destruction of this place.

“Three-eyed-raven,” the one figure said, clearly the leader of the group. “What do you seek?”

“The Night King is back and he comes for us,” Bran said. “We need to know how to defeat him.”

More and more children spilled from the surrounding trees, circling Jon and Jaime and making them uncomfortable. Still, neither man reached for a sword; they knew they needed to remain still and silent.

“Three houses, three bloodlines, three weapons,” one muttered and Jaime turned to look at them. They seemed to be able to communicate with one another with no words as others nodded.

“He needs to die where he was created,” they finally said.

Jon couldn’t help himself. “You created him. You did this; brought this menace on humanity.” His anger was potent and coursing through his blood.

The children paused and stared at Jon. “The First Men destroyed our homes; our trees. We did only what we had to do.”

When Jaime opened his mouth to protest, a harsh wail sounded through the air, rendering Jaime and Jon to their knees as they clutched their heads in pain.

“Stop!” Bran cried and it ceased.

“Raven, he must be killed where he was created. Three strikes with three different blades, from three different bloodlines. Then he will cease to be. He is linked to us, and we have faded from this world.” She paused, this leader of the children of the forest, and Jon got a sick feeling in his stomach. “As will you, three-eyed-raven. The magic is leaving this place. It leaches from the ground and air.”

“Why has he marked me?” Bran asked and held out his arm, showing the Night King’s mark on his arm.

The children reared back in horror and then pity, and Bran knew. Bran had always known that his fate was tied to that of the Night King. 

“One cannot survive without the other.”

Then they looked at Jon and Jaime and spoke again.

“The sacrifice to make him was great; the sacrifice to end him must be more. Thrice more. Are you willing?”

Jon and Jaime felt something cold and inevitable steal over their hearts and both swallowed hard and nodded, answering together, “Aye, we are.”

Then, as if it had never happened, the woke in the tent, the pale morning light creeping inside as they lay in a tangle of wolf and bedding. They were all quiet for a time, each contemplating what needed to be done in the upcoming days and weeks.

It was a sombre group that readied themselves to leave High Heart. The direwolves, as unexpectedly as they had arrived, had left that morning.

Jaime and Jon had embraced briefly, both seeing the determination and willingness in the other’s eyes.

“I wanted redemption, for so long,” Jaime said, contemplatively. “I suppose saving all of Westeros will grant it to me.”

Jon grunted his agreement. “I knew I’d die fighting him; from the first moment, I learned what was out there. At least I won’t be alone.”

Jaime cocked his head and looked at Jon. “No, you won’t. I’ll be by your side. Yours and Bran’s. This is our fate; our destiny, Jon Targaryen.”

When Jon called Rhaegal back, the dragon, thankfully, landed on the top of the hill, saving them time. Jon was just about to open his mouth, having packed their gear, when Bran shuddered and his voice reached them.

“He has arrived.”

“What?” Jon said, spinning back and looking at Bran, whose eyes were white.

“At Harrenhal. There is no time, Jon. We must return immediately.”

Jon looked helplessly towards Arya and Rickon, who straightened their shoulders.

“It’s ok Jon. We’ll be safe at Harrenhal,” Arya said and Jon shook his head. Everyone knew that was as much a lie as any that had come out of Arya’s mouth, but there was no choice. Jon stalked over to the two of them.

“When we get back, you find yourselves dragonglass weapons and Sandor and then you hide. You barricade yourselves inside a room and you wait. You wait for us to finish this, Arya.” When Jon saw her open her mouth to protest he shook his head. “Your word, sister, or else I won’t be able to do what I must.”

Arya looked in her eyes and she saw the inevitable. She threw her arms around Jon. “I’m not ready for you to be gone,” she sobbed into his chest. Jon held her tightly, drawing Ric in as well, hugging them close and leaning down.

“After we’ve done what is needed, you find Robb or Sansa. They’ll take care of you,” he choked out, tears streaming down his face. “Promise you’ll stay hidden at Harrenhal and then find Sansa.”

“We promise Jon,” they both said, words choked out amidst sobs and tears.

“Good. I love you both,” Jon told them. “We might not be siblings, but you are my family.” They nodded and then straightened, hearing Rhaegal flap his wings in impatience.

The time had come. The Night King had arrived and the Long Night was upon them. They knew how to defeat their greatest enemy; the last puzzle pieces had been unlocked and now Jaime, Jon and Bran knew their fates were tied to his.

As they lifted off from High Heart, Jaime’s only regret was that the mists obscured the view. After all, if he was going to die to save Westeros, it would have been nice to see it one last time. Still, this path of his settled comfortably on him. Jaime didn’t seek death out; but this would be a fitting end for him, and soon, he’d join his siblings and his sons, having done, for the second time in his life, something utterly heroic and honorable. The difference was this time, everyone would know of his sacrifice and know that he had helped save them. Perhaps instead of being a man without honour, Jaime Lannister would finally be known throughout the seven kingdoms as a man that had sacrificed everything for the greater good; that he’d die as a man that had kept his vow to fight for the living, and as a man with his honour restored. It was the best end to his turbulent life, and one Jaime felt was entirely fitting for a man such as him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. 
> 
> Well, I hope that was as emotional for everyone else as it was for me. 
> 
> All I can say is please trust me with these characters. 
> 
> Having said that- the next chapter will be MAJOR characters' deaths. Major ones, people. There is no other way- the final battle is upon us and well, war is war. 
> 
> Thoughts and comments are always welcome.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of the Second Long Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are. Almost half a million words.
> 
> To Starlight who gave me such great advice on the structure of the chapter, so many thanks. 
> 
> I really hope this chapter is well received.
> 
> Stannis is back in a big way in this chapter and I really loved writing him and his POV again.

_ Stannis _

Stannis paced on the walkways on the rampart that overlooked the vast battlefield where this war with the Night King would take place.

"They're late," he muttered to himself as much as to his loyal man, Davos Seaworth, who was watching him, pale eyes worried.

Stannis barely noticed the cold and the snow anymore. It seemed to be dark as much as it was light these days as if this unholy creature leached the very sunlight from the land as he moved ever further south.

Since returning from their ill-fated trip North, Stannis had been relentless in readying the greatest army that Westeros had ever amassed. He'd never seen such a gathering; banners he never thought would wave were now side by side, each man here wholly dedicated to stopping this army of the dead.

And yet. Was it enough?

He looked North and could if he were a fanciful man, imagine the army of the dead marching. They would be relentless, determined and mindless. But Stannis was not a whimsical man, so he pushed that thought from his head and concentrated on more pressing matters.

In his hand, he clutched a raven from Jaime Lannister, sent from Riverrun. He and Jon had done the impossible and recovered Bran Stark. Jaime had written that they would be making their way back to Harrenhal. That raven had arrived six days ago, and each day a vigil stood, scanning the sky for a dragon, a cripple greenseer and two Lords of the realm. So far, they had not been spotted and Stannis grew restless with their failure to arrive.

_What could possibly be more important than returning to the very spot where they were required?_ Stannis thought in absolute frustration.

There was a moment when Stannis had read the raven and felt almost jealous of the closeness that had sprung up between Jaime and Jon. They seemed to have forged a strong friendship in their time in the capital when Stannis had been here, preparing for war. Despite Jon's often melancholy face, the Targaryen lord appeared to make friends quickly, much as his father had, and Stannis wondered what it was about Jaime Lannister that drew people in.

Jaime had done unspeakable things against House Stark, and yet both Robb and Jon had forgiven and even accepted him into their family, while Stannis remained apart and alone from others.

Did it not bother these wolves that Jaime had done the awful things he had? How could they live with themselves, forgiving him for his crimes? Did no one see how his selfish actions had caused so much harm?

No matter how Stannis tried to puzzle it out, the pieces refused to fit and that grated on every single nerve that Stannis had, like a pebble in a boot that rubbed and rubbed until your foot was a raw and bleeding mess. It had been the same when Robert had died and Stannis was the rightful heir to the Kingdom, but people, bannerman, houses loyal to his ancient house, had turned to Renly instead of him. Stannis was not an easy man to like, apparently, while Jaime Lannister, despite his long list of transgressions, was.

Normally such thoughts would never have bothered Stannis, but he was forced to admit that he thought his friendship and his bond with Jon had been special. Different. Stannis had thought, perhaps, that their commonalities would draw them together and that Jon would turn to him for advice and aid. Now, it seemed that Jaime was fulfilling that role.

Stannis had received the raven from the King, who declared that Jon had been named a true Targaryen and had been given Dragonstone. Stannis would not begrudge the former bastard his rightful due, but he hoped to the gods he would never have to step foot on that wretched island ever again. It was clear that Jon, as the Queen's cousin, had the King's ear and blessing. And now, apparently, Jon had the friendship of Jaime Lannister.

Stannis had never been a man that had made friends easily, and he wasn't about to change. Even now, among the lords of the realm, knights with their proud colours declared on their chests, Stannis was alone. He held his war council, and he was respected, but he was apart from many of these men. It did not bother him, except for the fact that he was related to Jon; if distantly, it was still a connection. And Stannis couldn't help but feel that he had missed something with Jon, who was comfortable with Jaime in a way they had never been.

His daughter, Shireen, had sent raven after raven to her father from King's Landing, informing him of events in the capital. Her grandest tale was telling him of Robert's bastard that had saved King Tywin from the mob in Flea Bottom, thus earning respect and debt of the Great Lion himself. This Gendry character had asked to be trained as a knight and to learn to read.

That thought had brought a rare smile to Stannis Baratheon's stern face as he recalled listening to Shireen teach Ser Davos to read. If anyone could teach an illiterate man, it was his daughter. His love and pride for her swelled in his chest as she had exceeded every expectation put on her while living in King’s Landing. Stannis was no fool; he knew his daughter had benefitted greatly from living with the King and Queen. She had been given a proper upbringing and exposure to court life and it would only serve the benefit her if Stannis should fall in this war against the dead.

Tywin had also sent a raven confirming the story and indicating the bastard smith was steadfast and loyal; and that he'd sworn himself to Shireen's protection. Oddly enough, with the Stormlands in ruins from the war of succession that he and Renly had waged, it felt appropriate that his daughter had taken on such a protector.

There was another raven that Stannis had shown only to Ser Davos and then sent to the King, that had arrived only a few days earlier from Storm's End. It seemed his wife had finally succumbed fully to her madness. She had thrown herself on a great pyre she had built on the beach of Ship wrecker's Bay, screaming to a god that Stannis had long stopped believing in. He didn't have it in his heart to tell his daughter she was no without a mother; from all reports, it appeared both the Queen and Lady Genna had filled that role admirably, and he wondered what might happen to her should he die in this upcoming war, leaving her an orphan.

Stannis spent an age composing a raven to her, which he would send at first light, attempting unsuccessfully to give a lifetime's worth of advice to his daughter. Some might find such a message morbid, but Stannis thought it practical. There were no guarantees in war, not even for a man on a dragon and should he die; he would have preparations in place for Shireen.

He'd made Ser Davos promise, on his creaky knees, that he would be by his daughter's side, just as he'd extracted another promise from the King that his daughter would inherit the Baratheon family seat. Stannis had been shocked at how quickly the King and the Queen had responded, vehemently supporting Lady Shireen's claim to Storm's End and their unceasing support of her. Stannis felt a surge of love for Shireen and how the two most powerful people in Westeros had accepted her into their influential family.

That raven had allowed Stannis to push his family, his daughter, from his mind and focus solely on the upcoming battle. He knew that Jon and Jaime were making their way back to Harrenhal and that the traitors were on their way to King's Landing.

Stannis had not envied either man, having to face those two women; least of all Jaime who'd been made a fool of by the large woman. He should have known her character, Stannis thought, when Brienne had supported Renly and not him. Still, who was he to speak? He had broken his vow to his wife and lain with Melisandre, who was more witch than a woman. In his darker moments, there had been more than one time when he'd hoped that his wife might not wake one morning so that he might be free of her. Now he was, and he faced death itself as it marched ever closer. Briefly, and only for a moment, had Stannis wondered what it might be like to meet a woman such as Sansa; to have such unconditional love from a wife and recognized that it was a rare occurrence given the actions of not only his wife but Lady Catelyn and Lady Brienne.

"My Lord, it's freezing," Ser Davos finally said, expelling a cold puff of air into the dark afternoon gloom.

"I hardly feel it anymore," Stannis muttered, more to himself than to his companion. It was true; he'd been in the cold for so long now, that he didn't even remember what it felt like to be truly warm. Stannis could stand for hours, especially in the pale grey day, watching the war preparations. There was something almost soothing about how orderly it all was. Trenches dug, trebuchets built, tar barrels prepared. The sound of men training and the stench of sweat and fear; Stannis had been crafted for war.

Stannis could pinpoint the moment his entire world had changed. It was at Hardhome, a place he'd never thought he'd see, let alone come face to face with his greatest nightmare. Seeing the army of the dead break through the thin wood wall and annihilate living flesh was one thing. But to watch the Night King lift his hands, and with a single gesture reanimate those that had fallen, was the single worst moment of Stannis Baratheon's life, even more so than setting in motion Renly's death. He'd known in that instant that his life had irrevocably changed.

"You might not feel it, My Lord, but I do," Davos muttered. "Perhaps if we were to walk about the preparations, we might warm ourselves." Davos desperately hoped his lord would take his suggestion. At least if they were walking, he'd not feel frozen to this blasted charred rock of a wall walk.

Stannis finally turned his head and noted how cold Davos appeared. He looked out and then closed his eyes for a moment and let the sounds of a castle preparing for war wash over him — men yelling, the smell of tar and under it all, fear.

Stannis moved then, taking pity on his man and knowing that his presence was needed throughout the castle. As they stalked along the wall walk, they came across Kevan Lannister, who had been put in charge of readying the barrels of tar that they would pour on the dead that broke against the massive walls of Harrenhal and then lit on fire.

"The tar barrels?" Stannis asked.

"Stationed every ten feet," Lord Lannister replied.

"Archers?"

"Thousands upon thousands," said Kevan. "The seven kingdoms has never seen an army thus armoured; each man has a dragon glass sword, ready to cut the dead down should they penetrate the central yard, which is an immense space. We can put tens of thousands inside this massive ruin."

Indeed, Harrenhal's walls defied logic, as high has mountain cliffs. A regular army would have an impossible time breaching the walls with ladders or ropes, and no one, for one second, thought that was possible with what they were facing.

"Light the tar barrels as soon as they break the walls, Lord Lannister," was Stannis's last command to the lion.

Stannis thought about Kevan's words as he made his way towards the main floor of the castle. There was no other army quite as this one that had ever been amassed for such a singular purpose. It was an incredible responsibility that had been placed on his shoulders.

When they came to the main gate, Lord Yohn Royce was there, overseeing the preparations. The man was an incredible strategic mind, and Stannis appreciated his stoic presence by his side in more than one war council. When Lord Royce spoke, lords of the realm listened.

"Gates?" Stannis barked out.

"The main gate is so thick that there are no less than a dozen murder holes that they must pass through before they reach the yard on the other side," Lord Royce said, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. "We have men stationed above, with dragon glass tipped arrows and spears, as well as more tar and fire. They'll pile up and not penetrate us there."

"And the other gate?"

"The east one is smaller, tis true, Lord Stannis, but equally defendable and hard to access. We've doubled the moat on the backside of the castle, to drive the Night King towards the Isle of Faces as commanded," Lord Royce replied.

Stannis grunted. There were weak points, areas that no matter how much Lancel Lannister had tried, he'd been unable to repair then in time for this battle. Some of the damage was too great, and three of the five towers were all but useless once one got past the lower two-thirds of them. Still, Harrenhal was the one castle in the entire kingdom that they might be able to say they had the superior position to this Night King.

"If we had a year, we might, all of us, have been able to rebuild this massive ruin back to its former glory." Royce shrugged. "As it stands, we work with what we have. This is decidedly not the Eyrie in the Vale."

Stannis gave the man a look. "If only this abomination had been created there, we could have avoided all this work."

Royce heatedly agreed, missing the sharp, sarcastic wit of Stormland lord.

Stannis and Davos went to exit to meet Lord Tarly on the battlefield at the North end of the castle when Stannis turned back to Lord Royce.

"And the civilians?"

Royce gave the nod. "The evacuation is complete from around Harrenhal. The gates will be shut once we have word about Lord Targaryen and Ser Jaime."

Stannis had nothing to say about that. Everything hinged on them, returning with Bran.

When they strode out on to the enormous field, the scene was staggering. Monstrous weapons of war had been constructed; trebuchets. They stood as silent sentinels before the walls of Harrenhal. Standing at the base of one, gazing upon it almost as one would a child they were particularly fond of was Lord Tarly. His son Dickon and his liege lord, Mace Tyrell, were at his side.

All three turned to speak with their commander.

"The trebuchets are ready, Lord Stannis. As are the projectiles, dipped in tar and ready to be lit."

Stannis grunted his appreciation.

"How many?"

"Three hundred," Lord Tarly replied proudly and somewhat arrogantly as his breath puffed out in the cold evening air.

Even Stannis startled at such a number, trying to count through the growing mist of the night. Then, once again, he glanced upwards. They were massive implements, stationed only so far out of Harrenhal's high walls to allow them to fire. They had been engineered to work using the fewest men possible, everyone knowing that numbers were critical in winning this war. Stannis had commanded from the beginning that they would endeavor to keep as many inside the walls as possible.

"Good work," Stannis finally said and then walked forward several paces as his long legs ate up the distance towards the truly horrific substance that filled the moat.

In front of the vast line of trebuchet's, a massive moat had been dug, deep enough that it would sink more than a few wights. Instead of filling the moat with water, it had been filled with the eerie green wildfire that the King had found beneath the Red Keep.

It had been a secret that Tywin had kept since Jaime had told his sickening story of why he'd killed King Aerys. Once Tywin had heard Jaime's story, he had investigated, finding the great caches of the deadly wildfire all while Qyburn, the disgraced Maester formulated more.

When the wagons of the deadly green liquid had arrived, men reared back in horror, until they remembered what they were facing. These weren't men that would be burnt by wildfire but the unholy dead.

Stannis wanted to stand back from it, remembering when he'd lost his fleet in Blackwater Bay to the trick by the dwarf and his ship with wildfire. The Targaryen's had ruled Westeros when the dragons had gone with this deadly substance, and now, in two significant battles, Stannis saw the Lannister's do the same.

"Never let it be said that the lions won't do whatever necessary to maintain their grasp on power," Stannis muttered to himself.

"Once we draw them in close enough, we'll light in on fire. They'll have to pile up by the thousands and wildfire should burn their dead bodies clean away," Lord Tarly said in a voice that brooked no argument.

"When will you unleash the first projectiles?" Stannis asked him.

"The moment I see you light a line of fire, Lord Baratheon. Give us something to hit, and hit them we will," Tarly all but snarled into the dark night.

"I will," Stannis returned; determination etched on his severe face.

They'd have a few men outside the walls as possible, instead of pulling everyone inside. Anyone who could not fight had been sent fleeing towards King's Landing, and the keep was teaming with men right now, eager and anxious for this battle. The sheer size of Harrenhal was enough to ensure that it could contain the army they had gathered. The castle's great hall had thirty-five hearths and could alone hold an entire army of twenty-thousand men.

The twenty forges had been working continuously to create the dragon glass weapons and the stables emptied of horses to house more men from every part of the seven kingdoms.

Shockingly enough, few skirmishes had broken out; whether it was the presence of the black dragon that kept them in line or the mere fact that there were more great lords gathered here than at any other time in Westeros history.

"And when will you leave, My Lord?" asked Ser Davos, quietly but so that everyone could hear.

"As soon as Jon and Bran return. I'll be in the air. I'll burn as many as I can, as quickly as possible and attempt to break the lines while giving you a target to aim for." Stannis pauses. “And when our men fall, I will burn them as well.”

Everyone knew that was key; to burn the fallen before they could rise again. If they could do that, they might stand a chance. There would be more fire in this war than Westeros had seen in decades, not since the dragon riders had invaded them from Essos three hundred years earlier.

The men stood quiet for a time, gazing out into the dark, wondering how close the enemy was.

"You've done the impossible, Lord Baratheon," Lord Tarly finally said.

Stannis shook his head. "No. I've only done what was required; my duty and nothing more."

Randyll Tarly, one of the most severe men in the realm, was impressed by the moral code and sheer unwavering fortitude that Stannis had displayed. He understood now why the man had been able to hold Storm's End against his liege lord; Stannis Baratheon was not a man that bent for any reason. He had been given an impossible assignment, no matter what he might think, and he’d responded admirably.

"And the other dragon? Jon and Rhaegal? Where are they?" Lord Tarly asked, and Stannis shook his head.

"They are on their way back," was all Stannis said, taking one last look at the preparations around him, before turning and finding his way back into the castle and his room. They had a day or two at most, and none of it would matter if Jon and Jaime were not here with Bran Stark when the Night King arrived.

* * *

_ Robb _

Sandor found Robb smashing his sword against a training dummy that they'd set up for those to practice with the dragon glass swords. Robb had forgone that training. He had Ice; it cut through White Walkers like a hot knife through butter.

"Get your fucking horse, wolf," Sandor snarled at him, practically dragging him to the stables and throwing him on his mount.

Robb went to protest, but one look from Sandor and he snapped his mouth shut. He could see the worry on the big man's face. He loved Arya and Ric as if they were his children, and Robb knew he was only still here because he trusted Jon to retrieve them. Robb thought the big man might have started riding for Riverrun himself had he thought he'd have a hope in hell of helping.

Robb thanked the gods, old and new that Sandor Clegane was by his side. He'd have gone mad without his loyal man. When he'd learned of his mother's betrayal, Robb felt the rage course through his veins, hot and heady. He wanted to smash something, someone- to lash out at everything Catelyn had become and the shame she brought to their house.

How she could even think that Robb would endanger Rickon and Arya was beyond him. It hurt that she still didn't trust him, even though he'd proven it time and again. It had been embarrassing, to face the greatest lords in the realm around a war table and know that the entire fate of humanity was in jeopardy because of his mother. His treacherous, lying mother that constantly made a fool out of him.

Robb was thankful it was Jon that was sent to try and retrieve her because if it had been him, he'd probably have driven a sword directly into her for all she had put him and his siblings through. She was the most selfish person that Robb had ever known, operating solely in a world where her ideas and viewpoint were paramount to anyone else's. It was infuriating.

They rode southeast, along the edge of God's Eye lake, and went into Harrenhal's massive godswood. Robb was grateful for the company as the closer they got to the God's Eye lake, the deeper and thicker the mists. This place was cursed, Robb was sure. Greywind was beside Robb, and as the two men rode their huge war horses, they scattered those common people fleeing south out of the way. Usually, Robb would have felt some level of guilt, but he was too locked his head, a riot of emotions warring for supremacy to worry about projecting the image of the stoic lord of the North. It was times likes these that Robb still felt impossibly young and ill-prepared to be Lord Stark of Winterfell.

"Fucking ghosts are thick in this place," Sandor muttered, low and under his breath. He felt the same tingle along his spine here as he had in the North, only this place was decidedly less friendly than his new home in Winterfell. Both places were so steeped in magic and death it fairly leached from the ground and soaked deep inside a person.

They slowed when they entered the godswood, and Robb recalled other stories from the North.

"Old Nan used to say that there was a creature, covered in white fur, that roamed the mountains in the Frostfangs."

Sandor was silent, to which Robb willingly filled the void.

“She used to tell us that this creature would come down from its mountain, twice a year. Once on the darkest day of the year, when day and night hardly took a break from one another. This creature would sneak into villages and snatch children from their beds, leaving naught behind but bones and white hair."

Robb dared a glance at Sandor, whose mouth was still clamped shut.

"The other time it came, was the seventh full moon of winter."

Robb waited for Sandor to say something. Anything. To help ease some of the worry and anxiety that was churning Robb's guts to nothing.

"Say something," Robb snarled at his friend, wishing he had something to throw at him.

"What the fuck am I supposed to say, wolf? Tales meant to scare children," Sandor muttered.

"Perhaps," Robb said, pleased he'd garnered at least some type of reaction from Sandor. "But so were the stories of the army of the dead."

With that chilling pronouncement, Robb kicked his horse into a canter and surged ahead, stomping through the Harrenhal godswood for the next hour, each man alone with their thoughts.

When they finally stopped, halfway through the godswood, they were on the eastern side of the lake. Both men dismounted and looked out at the Isle of Faces. It was shrouded in mist that was even thicker than the soup that the two men stood in. They were cloaked similarly wearing the direwolf sigil and proper Northern cloaks, but both men still felt the bite of the air.

"Churns my fucking guts just looking at it," Sandor growled, stomping his huge feet to try and stay warm.

Robb couldn't tear his eyes from the island, knowing it was the last stand for humanity.

"How many men can stand and say they know where we will either all be saved, or we all will perish?"

Sandor's giant mouth snapped shut at that thought, as Greywind appeared, slinking out of the forest to bump against Robb's hand. Robb didn't even turn to Sandor when he next spoke.

"What if…"

"Don't."

Robb roared, angry, and turned towards Sandor.

"We have to think about it. What if they don't get him back? What if my mother, my fucking mother, Sandor, what if she does something to Bran?"

Sandor hunched his shoulders and shook his head. "The wolf bitch will fight back," he muttered, and Robb snorted.

"We both know that Arya isn't the fighter she was, Sandor."

Robb paced as Sandor stood still as if trying to return them by sheer force of will alone.

"Say something," Robb finally bellowed at him, hitting his friend in frustration.

Sandor scrubbed a hand down his ruined face, letting Robb's fist bounce off his chest. He knew his friend was hurting; he was embarrassed and humiliated and worried. The fate of the entire world and his mother had fucked them all.

"What do you want, wolf? Want me to tell you that you should have had her locked up the moment she let Jaime Lannister go?" Sandor said, watching Robb's shoulder's slump. "You know as well as I do, you should have. She was a liability even back then."

"Fucking hell," Robb muttered, sinking onto a stump that was frozen and covered in snow. "She hated my wife; argued with me and her the entire time we were together. Ran away to the Vale instead of staying by my side."

Sandor grunted. "The little bird should have done something about her as well; when your mother held a knife to her throat in King's Landing. So too should have the King. I'd fucking hate to be either woman if they are marched back down to King's Landing. The Great Lion won't spare them a single thing given what they've done."

Both Robb and Sandor thought on that for a time. "Sansa won't be able to save either one of them," Robb said softly, for once thinking about the position his sister was in. He didn't envy her, and not for the first time, was Robb glad that wasn't the so-called King in the North. His sister would have to stand by and watch as the King sentenced their mother to death for her treason.

"The Old Lion fucked up," Sandor said, pacing a bit, glancing down at Robb. He might be a dumb dog, but even Robb was schooled his friend would utter suck words in Harrenhal, a place that was teeming with Lannister red and gold. "He loves your sister and likely sparred your mother for her. Now, look where we are. Fools in love," the big man muttered and shook his head in disgust.

Surprisingly, Robb threw his head back and laughed. "One day, Sandor Clegane, some woman is going to turn your eye. And I hope to the gods I'm there to see it," Robb said, grinning.

Sandor snarled at that thought.

Good mood restored, Robb hopped to his feet.

"Jon and Jaime'll get him back. They'll get Ric and Arya to Sansa and then come back with Bran," Robb said confidently, and Sandor shook his head at how his friend could always seem to find the good in a shit situation. Had Robb been there the night the Blackwater burned, Sandor knew he'd probably have thought the explosion pretty. Thinking of that night, also made Sandor think about the deadly river of wildfire that now encircled Harrenhal and the fact that all their defences seemed to center around fire. Sandor hated fire.

As if Robb knew what he was thinking, he paused. "You'll keep your wits, right, Sandor? With all the fire and the burning?"

Sandor grunted, and Robb grabbed him by his quilted doublet. "You'll stay by my side, the entire time, Sandor. That's an order," Robb said, his voice conveying all the respect and comradery he felt for his friend. Sandor looked into Robb's eyes and nodded.

"I'll stay by your side."

Satisfied, Robb nodded, and they mounted their horses, turning back towards Harrenhal.

Days later, Stannis informed Robb that Jaime and Jon had taken back Riverrun, and all his siblings were safe. Robb and Sandor had gotten piss drunk that night, along with Tormund, Bronn, Big Jon Umber and Maege Mormont, cheering and toasting the dragon and the wolf.

When word came that a dragon had been spotted, and it had not three but five riders, Robb's stomach sunk, and he looked to Sandor with growing horror.

"Why is he bringing them back here?" Robb started to ask.

Just as Sandor opened his mouth to reply, they heard the war bells ring. While Jon and Jaime had been spotted approaching from the south, the Night King had been located from the North.

Time had run out; the Night King was here, and so were Arya and Rickon Stark, and neither Sandor nor Robb knew if there were enough men in all of Harrenhal to keep them safe.

"No matter what happens, you guard them, Sandor," Robb cried, running down the endless stairs to meet his family, Sandor, on his heels.

"I will," Sandor replied, cold fear gripping him. They were supposed to be in the capital, safe with Sansa and Tywin and away from the fighting. Something must have happened for Jon to bring them here, and it couldn't be good.

When Robb and Sandor finally exited the east gate, they saw the green-gold dragon thump to the ground, and as reported, the Starklings on his back along with Jaime Lannister's distinctive golden hair. One look at Jon and Jaime's grim faces and Robb knew everything had changed. There was something almost fatalistic in their eyes, and at that moment, Robb felt a fear unlike he had ever known grip him, and he knew.

* * *

_ Jon _

"We need to speak with the war council, now," Jon said, not even taking a moment to embrace Robb, beyond a quick pat on his shoulder. Sandor had Bran in his arms, as Arya and Ric scurried to keep up, Jon and Jaime striding determinedly through Harrenhal.

As they walked through the halls of Harrenhal, Robb couldn't help but say, "Why the fuck are they here, Jon?"

Jon shook his head, his mouth in a thin, forbidding line, and Jon knew he was scarring Robb with the grimness of his facial expressions.

When they entered the massive war room, high in one of Harrenhal's towers, Jon and Stannis locked eyes and Stannis saw immediately that something had gone wrong with the mission to Riverrun.

"What is it? Do you have Bran?"

Jon looked around the room and made eye contact with each person there, before he spoke, voice low and gravelly.

"Yes. We have Bran, and we know how to defeat the Night King," Jon told the room, and delighted gasps rang the room.

That was until they looked closer at Jaime and Jon's faces, and it turned them all silent again. No one dared ask what the cost of such a defeat was. It was clear by one look at the two men standing before them.

Jon saw a variety of reactions flash across their faces.

Kevan looked as if his heart was breaking for his family. Jon well knew that this was King Tywin's only remaining child from his beloved first wife, and that Jon and Jaime did not mean to survive this night.

Sandor looked ill that Arya and Ric were here, in the middle of the war. Jon could only pray the man was up to his task to protect them.

Robb looked numb now that he finally understood that not all in their family would survive this night.

Even Stannis appeared disheartened by the news and the clear fatalistic set to Jon and Jaime’s shoulders. Jon barely spared the man beside him a glance; their bond was sincere and genuine, and Jon knew that Jaime was as committed to their path as he was. Other than Stannis, there wasn't another man in Westeros that Jon would have wanted by his side in this final confrontation.

"We need to get to the Isle of Faces; with extra men if you have some to spare. Everyone will have to have a dragon glass sword," Jon continued, staring directly at Stannis. "We need to draw him there, that is the most critical aspect of this entire war. The Night King can only be killed at the weirwood tree where he was created."

"How?" Stannis asked, not questioning the plan or Jon's orders, but needing the information in case something went wrong.

"Three blades; Valyrian, Steel and Dragon glass, and three bloodlines," Jaime said, having come to his fate quicker and easier than Jon. Jon sent him a small, tight smile.

"Why you three?" Stannis asked, his brilliant mind thinking what other lords he might send. Both Lord Stark and Lord Tarly had Valyrian steel swords, and almost everyone had a regular steel sword.

"It was always us," Bran said. "Jaime, Jon and I. It was always leading to this moment."

"There are more lions and more wolves in this room than just you," Stannis stated, smashing a fist into the great map. He wanted Jon beside him, in the air with his dragon. No one else could ride the dragon and Stannis knew what an advantage these great beasts were.

"But not another greenseer, and dragon. And Ser Jaime and I have been connected since Winterfell; since he made me the three-eyed-raven. It was always meant to be like this," Bran said, and Jon and Jaime each laid a hand on the boy's thin shoulders, making them a unit.

No one had anything else to say to that, and no one dared ask what 'it' was; they knew. Jaime's crimes were no longer the secrets they had been.

The stag lord heaved a sigh and nodded, accepting there were some things about this war he would never understand, despite what he had seen with his own eyes. This whole business with the three-eyed-raven was a little too close to the magic of Melisandre for Stannis's tastes, and he hated to think about her.

"When do you need to go?" His voice was accepting and resigned at the loss of Jon and Rhaegal.

"He is just about here. Time grows short," Bran said again, suddenly verbose after months of hardly saying a word.

"Are you sure?" This question from Benjen Stark. He'd often kept himself hidden away, wrapped in a dark cloak and skulking shadows. He had seen the looks people gave him and steered clear.

Bran nodded. “I am, Uncle.”

"And if this doesn't work? Whatever plan you three have cooked up," Kevan Lannister said, worry making his voice wobble.

"It will, Uncle," Jaime said, a soft smirk on his handsome face and a knowing look in his eyes. He'd accepted his fate as they'd made their way back to Harrenhal, and it felt apropos to him to go out in such a way. Jon saw Jaime give him a small wink and knew precisely what the Kingslayer was doing, giving people hope, assuring them they knew exactly how to defeat this Night King. Without faith, all would be lost, and Jon felt a surge of gratitude for Jaime Lannister and his attitude.

"You three don't mean to return." That was Robb. Jon focused solely on his brother, a person he loved dearly and whom he'd never thought to see again. They'd both lead such different lives with one going North and the other South, and yet, here they were, facing the end of the world together.

Jon jerked his head once. "Aye, brother. We will do what is necessary." The moment must have dragged on longer than Jon realized because soon, Stannis was dismissing everyone from the room save for the Stark and Lannister families. The war horns were still blowing, and the second Long Night had arrived.

When they were alone, Jon turned to Sandor and Robb.

"You need to keep Arya and Ric safe," he started to say before Jon found himself pulled into Robb's arms.

"Try to survive, brother," Robb whispered into his ear. Jon heaved out a small sob and clutched at Robb.

"Keep them safe. I'm so fucking sorry I didn't get them to Sansa in King's Landing," Jon told Robb, who shook his head. Both men knew that the odds of them both surviving were slim.

Jon embraced both Ric and Arya again, hating the tears that tracked down their faces.

"Get some weapons and find a place to hide. Don't come out until Sandor or Robb says it's safe," he told them both again.

They stifled their sobs as Sandor pulled them roughly into his arms.

"Quit sobbing little wolves. This dog'll keep you both safe."

Jon saw the absolute conviction on the big man's face and felt something settle inside his chest. He'd done what he could do; there was nothing left to do but fight. And Jon knew he was good at that.

The Golden Lion had said his goodbyes with his Uncle; he liked what he'd have Lannister red at his back as they fought on the Isle of Faces.

"Tell my father and Sansa that I love them. Myrcella as well, Uncle. Tell them this was my choice."

When Kevan and Jaime stepped back from one another, Jaime met Stannis Baratheon's pale eyes; face set in a grim countenance.

"I'll do whatever is necessary," Jaime told him, remembering the last time he'd been questioned by this man, and he'd watched Tommen fall.

"I believe you, Ser Jaime."

Jon's mouth fairly dropped open at Stannis Baratheon's words and the grudging respect with which they were delivered.

Ser Jaime.

Not Kingslayer.

Not Man without Honor.

Not Oathbreaker.

Ser Jaime.

Jaime gave a curt nod to Stannis and then tapped Jon on the shoulder.

"We have to go," Jaime said, hating the break up the family scene with the Starks.

Jon approached Stannis to say goodbye to a man that had taught him as much as the Lord Commander ever had. For a moment, Jon ached at the friendship that would not deepen between them, given what Jon had to do to ensure the Night King died.

"Thank you. For everything," Jon said, choking on the words. He saw Stannis's eyes widen in surprise, before one of the only smiles that Jon had ever seen creased the man's face.

Stannis didn't say anything but nodded and then asked, "What of the dragon, Jon?"

"He'll take us to the Isle; then I'll set him free. You?"

"I'll be on Drogon, burning those who have fallen and taking as many wights with me as I can."

The two dragon riders, the only ones in the entire world, looked at one another.

"I'm glad it's you," Jon said, voice thick. "There is no better man to lead this army in this fight."

Stannis straightened at those words. He knew them to be accurate, but it was different from having them openly acknowledged. Then to his greater shock, Jon drew him close and embraced him.

"Ride hard," was all he said and then they were gone; the wolf, the dragon and the lion and Stannis was left standing alone, as he always seemed to be.

* * *

_ Stannis_

Stannis glanced around the Great War room at Harrenhal, where the detritus of months of preparations lay. Parchment and maps, gutted candles and spilled ink and the stench of fear and men permeated the room. Here was the proof of what some of the greatest military minds in Westeros had tried to prepare for; only time would tell if they had been successful.

Stannis took a single moment to look around, knowing he would not be warm for some time, and then he left the room without a backward glance. Whatever his fate, he would meet it as he always did, with duty ruling him and a heavyweight of responsibility pressing down upon him.

He stopped briefly at his rooms to don warmer gear, Ser Davos appearing suddenly to help him into his armour. Stannis had altered some of it to make himself more mobile when on the back of Drogon, and they said nothing, comfortable with each other as only two men had been through what they had could be with one another. The only sounds were the clanking of the metal breastplate, secured over the surcoat, wool then mail. They'd done so many times, but never so quickly and with so much at stake.

"I've left a note for Lady Shireen, should I die tonight," Stannis said lowly, with some urgency to his voice. "Promise me you'll stay by her side, Ser Davos. Make sure she is made Lady of Storm's End."

Davos Seaworth met his liege lord's eyes and gripped his face. "I'll never leave her, Your Grace."

Stannis snorted. "Not a King, Davos. Should I somehow survive this war, I want to see Storm's End. It seems like it is all I've ever wanted. For it to be mine, in times of peace. To raise Shireen there and guide her to becoming the next ruler of the Stormlands."

"And see it you shall," Davos said, vehement in his conviction.

"You as well, Davos Seaworth." Then Stannis was gone from his rooms, his long legs allowing him to move quickly, the armour on his body lending familiarity to the evening even though it was anything but.

Stannis observed those scurrying through the halls; some had faces full of fear; others seemed almost eager. Some were crying, while others vomited into corners of the ruined keep. A few met his eyes. He was an impossible sight to miss.

Tall and imposing, these past few months had rendered Stannis's form the best it had been in years. He was muscular and had grown a beard to ward against the cold, and when he saw his reflection, he knew it was liberally peppered with more grey than black. Tonight he had chosen his traditional house sigil, a crowned black stag on a field of gold. He was no longer Lord Stannis Baratheon of Dragonstone, but Lord Baratheon of the Stormlands.

He glanced at one man, hardly twenty if he were a day, as he stood by one of the great hearths in the hall.

The sigil on his chest was not one that Stannis recognized quickly, finally placing it as a minor house in the Reach. Most likely a farmer, Stannis thought as he glanced at his hands.

"What is your job?"

The lad stuttered and said nothing.

"What. Is. Your. Job?" Stannis asked again, enunciating each word.

The man swallowed so hard that Stannis saw his Adam's apple bob. "Keeping the torches lit, My Lord."

Stannis nodded. "Then that is your job. If anything comes through, you've got your dragon glass weapon?"

The farmer nodded and pointed to a short sword strapped to his side.

"Use it and do your job well and with pride and you’ll contribute to this war,” Stannis told him, a rare moment of empathy pushing through as he laid a heavy hand on the lad's skinny shoulders before he moved on.

He felt the tug of Drogon, and as much as Stannis longed to be on the ramparts, he knew it was vital that he was on the back of the dragon. When he finally exited through the south gate, he saw Rhaegal in the air and a company of Lannister men marching towards the Isle of Faces. Stannis knew that he'd need to buy Jon time to get as many men there as possible, and he grunted as he approached the black beast.

Stannis was not a fanciful man, but he appreciated the great beast in front of him. His raw power and sheer presence was a commanding sight, and they'd spent countless hours together. He ran a large hand over the dragon's black scales that shimmied, and Drogon snorted.

"Aye, lad, we'll get there. It's you and me tonight. Our job is to burn these fuckers where they stand. Often and without mercy," Stannis told him and he swore he felt the dragon's pleasure at his words and Stannis rumbled out a rusty laugh. "Bloodthirsty beast, aren't you. Trust me; you'll have your flesh today."

When they were airborne, Stannis realized immediately that visibility was near to nothing. He squinted as best he could, but it was useless. He was all but blind up here.

There was unnatural darkness that seemed inky and dense, and Stannis could barely make out a single, distinctive tower of Harrenhal. It was only having spent so much time on the dragon that allowed him to navigate his way to the North of the castle. The further he flew, the colder it became until Stannis swore he almost flew into a solid wall of ice, the weather turned so cold.

Drogon roared, and the sound would have struck fear into the hearts of a regular army, but as Stannis pushed through the almost white wall of ice and snow, he dove lower and saw the massive force aligned before them. There had to be at least a hundred thousand of them, if not more. They stretched as far as Stannis could see, which, unfortunately, was not nearly as far as he would have liked.

Stannis remembered all too well what happened at Tallhart Lake, and he scanned the horizon for the Night King, but the dark kept him hidden. He knew he couldn't remain this low, not for long without putting himself and Drogon in mortal danger.

Stannis stroked one hand down his dragon's green-black scales and then yelled, "Dracarys."

Drogon opened his massive maw, and the fire spewed forth as Stannis cut a line in the wights, the wings of the enormous dragon creating their own wind as the fire destroyed hundreds of the dead in a single pass. The line went for an age. Stannis had a but a moment when Drogon's fire lit the night sky, and he glanced North and locked eyes with his enemy. The Night King himself stood on a ridge, a flank of lieutenants by his side.

Then Drogon banked, and Stannis lost him. He turned his head back towards Harrenhal, and he was unsure what sense realized the trebuchets had been unleashed. All Stannis knew was that his eyes saw the lit projectiles begin to fly through the air, while his ears heard the distinctive thump of trebuchet after trebuchet firing until a veritable line of burning missiles were hurtling through the night sky towards him.

Stannis dug his heels into Drogon, urging him higher as his heart thumped. The second war for humanity had begun.

* * *

_Robb _

Robb had to force himself to leave his family. Every part of him knew this was the last time he'd see some of them, and he ached with it, in a way he hadn't when he'd watched his father ride away from Winterfell all those years ago with Sansa and Arya. He hadn't known then; anything really. What men would do; how cruel they could be and the lengths they would go to for power. He hadn't known what he would be willing to do for that same taste of power.

Robb felt a tug on his hand and looked down to see Ric staring up at him, and he shook his head from morose thoughts. If Jon and Bran were to die on that Isle, it would be as heroes and Robb would not diminish their sacrifices by failing on his promise to keep the other two Stark's safe.

"Where are your wolves?" he asked, voice demanding. In an instant, it seemed that the noise had risen exponentially, and he almost felt like he was yelling for Ric and Arya to hear him.

"In our room, Robb," Arya said, her dark eyes glittering. She might have ruined her right arm, but her thirst to defend herself, to fight, was back and stronger than ever.

"Are their rooms sufficient?" Robb asked, turning to Sandor.

The Hound grunted and nodded.

"No windows and small, but they are closer to the Southern ramparts than I'd like," Sandor said.

The war horns kept bellowing, and everyone knew they were out of time. The sounded in Robb's head like a perpetual drum, forcing his heart to race and his palms to dampen with sweat. He was sure he smelled rank and fearful, but he attempted to school his face into a mask of confidence. It wouldn't do to be seen as craven in this fight, not when others faced even higher odds of survival.

Robb and Sandor both knew that they would be stationed along chemin de ronde- the protective walkway atop the ramparts closest to the south-facing side of the castle. It was hoped that the dead would break against the North wall, where fire and destruction would reign down on them. Everyone knew that the back part of the massive keep, the south entrance was the most vulnerable, but the army of the dead would need to penetrate the moat of wildfire.

"Take them to their room and lock them in," Robb ordered. He needed to find the Northern troops; to rally them and show he was there to fight by their side.

As he was leaving, Robb felt something tugging on his arm, and he was ashamed to say he hadn't even considered what this would do to Ric. His little brother was pulling on his hand, tears and snot covering his face.

"Robb, don't leave me!" Ric was screaming, barely heard above the din that had penetrated every crevice of the keep. The dead had to be marching, along with the army inside. The castle walls practically shook with movement.

"Ric, let go. I have to leave," Robb said, trying to shake him off. Ric clung like a vine, refusing to be parted from Robb's side.

"Everyone leaves Robb. Not you too." Robb wanted to be sick, thinking about everything that Ric had been through in his young life, but there was just no time. He had to go. He looked up, desperate for someone to do something.

Thankfully, Arya was suddenly there, pulling Ric to her side, while Sandor seemed to gather himself as well, cradling the youngest Stark in his massive arms.

"Ric stop," Robb heard Arya saying to him, trying to soothe him. "We'll be safe if we listen to Sandor, and afterwards, we'll go to the Capital. Sansa will feed us so many sweets; our teeth will rot from our head."

Robb shot a grateful look to his sister.

"Robb," Arya called as he turned to leave and flung herself into his arms. Robb took the precocious moment to hug his little sister, hard. They had become impossibly close since the Hound had brought her back to him.

"Stay safe and listen to Sandor, Arry." She nodded. Robb swallowed hard, voice rough. "If something happens to me, keep Ric safe and find Sansa after the war. You are the sister of the Queen, Arya and a true wolf of the North. Never allow anyone to make you feel less."

“Come back,” Arya choked out.

Then Robb was gone, forcing himself away from his family and down the stairs, to find his loyal bannermen, the wildlings and the last of the Night's Watch. He had to try to find the words to rally than to the cause even though he knew the war had already started.

Unlike any traditional war that Robb had been part of, men here had been intermixed. No one was worried about alliances and allegiances tonight. If you were alive, you were on one side, and if you were the reanimated dead, you were on the other. It was as simple and as brutal as that.

Like Stannis before him, Robb came across more than one man who was emptying either his stomach or his bowels, and the stench of human fear, vomit and excrement hung heavy in the castle walls. When Robb reached the great hall, he saw controlled chaos as Lord Royce, and Lord Tyrell attempted to quell the masses.

Quickly spotting Greatjon Umber, Robb allowed the huge man to clap him on the back.

"Lord Stark," came the man's booming voice.

Robb had but a moment to grin. "With me," he said, and they pushed their way towards Royce and Tyrell.

When they reached them, Robb dragged Greatjon up on the table with him, so he towered over those in the hall, and motioned for him to grab his horn and bellow, which the man did, willingly.

The cacophony of human voices silenced almost immediately as every eye turned towards Robb Stark. He hadn't thought it through, because he was at a loss for words when thankfully, Royce's voice carried through the hall.

"Men, you have trained for this moment. Unsheathe hell on this army; fight for those you love and never stop for they won't." A great cheer met Lord Royce's voice, and Robb let out his whoop; excitement and fear coursing through his blood.

"Go to your posts and fight, men of Westeros," Robb called, unsheathing Ice and thrusting it into the air. Greatjon blew on his horn, and a stampede of men left the hall to take up their posts.

"Find Kevan," Lord Royce said to Robb and Greatjon. "Mace will stay with me to man the east and south gates; they are our weakest spots."

"Good luck, Lord Royce," Robb said, clasping hands with the man.

"May the old gods and the new bless your sword, Lord Stark," Royce responded and then both men turned to take up their positions.

Unlike when he'd descended the stairs, as Robb climbed, he was surrounded by those from the North. Crewyns and Dustins, along with Glovers and Hornwoods and Ryswells. Maege Mormont was suddenly there, winking at him. When Robb started to protest, she shook her head.

"A Mormont guards the Queen, what makes you think we'll leave you alone, Lord Stark?"

Robb was dumbfounded at their loyalty. Greatjon clapped him on the back. "You'll need more than your family's greatsword to see you through this night, Stark. You need the North at your side."

Never was that more apparent than the giant wolf that was also there. Greywind has rarely left Robb’s side since he’d sent Jeyne and little Ned south.

A great lump had formed in Robb's throat, so much so that he could only nod. For a moment, he had hope; bright and shining. And then he stepped onto the Northern wall walk and into hell on earth. He spotted Kevan Lannister, whose eyes were locked on the fields in front of him.

When Robb stepped up and stood beside him, he saw what had so captivated his friend. Stannis had burned a line of wights, and the trebuchets fired projectile after projectile. Though they hit the dead with each volley, it was as an endless sea of dead.

Robb and Kevan had heard the stories of Hardhome, but they hadn't been there. They had believed Jon and Jaime when they'd spoken of this army. Hell, Robb had emptied the North on the word of his cousin. But you couldn't know until you saw it; until you felt the horror of an army of the dead whose only goal was to see you and every living person dead like they were.

Robb swallowed down the bitter bile that had risen, hot and burning in the back of his throat.

"There has to be a hundred thousand," Kevan murmured to Robb, never breaking his gaze. "Sheer numbers dictate that they'll breach the moat, despite the wildfire."

Robb's heart sunk. He knew immediately that Kevan was correct. The dragon, the moat and the trebuchets might slow this army, but it would not stop them. The castle would be reached, and the walls tested.

"The stranger is here on this night," Kevan muttered and then shook his head, turning to look around him.

"Rally the men, Lord Stark. Get the archers ready. We'll fight until we have no more men, and hope that Jaime and Jon can finish this." Then Kevan Lannister turned and stalked away from Robb Stark, calling out orders as he went.

Robb took one more moment to look at the scene before him, trepidation and dread filling him. It had always been an impossible task; he'd known that. But it was different to see it. Now he knew. The very fate of humanity was now in the fight for its life, and Robb Stark wasn't sure that they would win.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he schooled his features and turned, ready to do whatever was necessary. He understood, for the first time, why Jon and Stannis had worn haunted looks when they spoke of the Night King. He and his army were ripped straight from the stories of old, and Robb could only pray that someone survived to tell this tale.

With one last glance at the army of the dead, Robb turned his back on it, and then cleared his throat and began to walk in the opposite direction of Kevan Lannister, barking out orders and trying not to see the fear in the eyes of the men whom he told to ready their arrows. This was their fate, and they'd meet it together.

* * *

_ Jon _

Jon's priority was to get Bran, Jaime and himself to the Isle of Faces, along with as many Lannister knights as possible. Once again, Bran was on Jaime’s back and they only stopped when Bran tapped on Jaime’s shoulder and muttered they needed a dagger from the forge.

“Dragon glass,” was all that Bran said.

When there, both Jon and Jaime also grabbed extra dragon glass swords, having no idea what they might be facing. Jon didn’t know how many lieutenants the Night King might bring with him to the Isle of Faces. Jon only hoped that they had enough men to even have a chance to kill the Night King.

When they exited the keep through the south gate, Jon glanced around. Full night had come and Jon could smell the burning of torches, lifting some of the inky dark of the night. Thankfully, Rhaegal was waiting, and Jon smiled. He wondered what would happen to Rhaegal when he set him free tonight. The dragon, after all, had found him in Castle Black. Jon didn’t even know if he would leave, they had become so connected.

Jon took a single moment to be alone with the dragon, startling slightly when he felt Ghost bump against him.

“Wolf and dragon,” Jon murmured, one hand his direwolf and one on his dragon. Never had it been more apparent that he was both. Jon knew that Ghost would find his way to them on the Isle of Faces; his wolf would be by his side until the end.

“Find me, Ghost. When he freezes the ice and crosses over,” Jon said, leaning down to whisper into Ghost’s ear and got a soft woof in his ear before the direwolf melted into the night.

Before Jon could rise to his feet, Rhaegal bumped him and Jon let out a laugh, easing a bit of tension from his shoulders. Jon stood there stroking his dragon, his mind oddly calm at the thought of what was to come. Jon had experienced this sensation before; it seemed each time there were impossible odds, Jon’s mind cleared until the only the need to prevail remained.

Every sword fight he had, every battle he’d been in, every time death had come from him, his mind emptied until instinct simply took over. He had a moment to think about all the times he’d cheated death; every man that had wanted his blood and his head. Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed when Jaime arrived with a host of Lannister knights.

Jaime couldn’t help but shake his head at the sight that Jaime Lannister made; full swagger on display as he approached.

Jaime clamped a hand on Jon’s shoulder and smirked. “Ready to die?”

Jon let out a tiny laugh, knowing what Jaime was doing. “Aye. Ready.”

“Good, Dragon Lord. So am I.” Jaime winked and then turned to bark out orders to the Lannister men.

It took almost no time to situate Bran back on Rhaegal’s back, and then they helped as many Lannister men on the dragon as Rhaegal would tolerate.

Jon saw the fear in their eyes, being on the dragon and he couldn’t help but let a slight smirk out.

“He won’t eat you,” he told the men, receiving more than one disbelieving look. When Jon sensed Rhaegal was restless, he climbed to his spot, helping Jaime on and then whispered softly to the dragon who soared easily over the lake, before landing through soupy mist and fog in a clearing that seemed to be dead center of the island.

Even before his feet touched the ground, Jon knew. He knew this was where the Night King had been created; an ordinary man, changed and twisted by the powerful magic of the children of the forest to be their weapon against the first men.

For a brief moment, the mists cleared, and bright moonlight illuminated a single heart tree on the far side of the clearing, ringed by several others. These were ancient trees, belonging to a time before even the first men stepped foot on Westeros.

“I thought the heart tree in Winterfell’s godwood was old, but this…” his voice trailed off, full of awe.

The heart tree before them was massive; something that had been alive for thousands upon thousands of years, its face twisted in a perpetual grimace and the leaves a deep blood red that appeared almost black. It was bleached so white that even when the mists finally rolled back, the tree became a beacon in the darkness and impossible to miss.

This island was the very origin of Westeros, a single spit of land that stood in testament to all that had come before those here today.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Bran asked, gazing at Jaime and Jon.

Neither man had the words, and they both nodded. A thunderous roar broke Jon’s fixation on the tree, and he glanced back towards the castle, unable to make anything out because they were ringed by forest.

“Go back and get the other’s,” Jaime said. “I’ll remain behind and begin to get men into place.” Jon nodded only once and then moved.

“Jaime, bring me to the tree,” Jon heard Bran order the Golden Lion before he was once again in the air. In the end, it took four trips to get the hundred Lannister knights to the clearing in the middle of the island, each trip the night growing colder and darker as if what little light had been left was had been sucked from the area.

Jon had tried valiantly to see what was happening at the North end of the castle, but the fog made it impossible.

“The moment you left, they sealed all the gates,” one man told him.

Another said, “We heard a giant roar, and the night sky seemed to light,” and Jon knew that Drogon had been unleashed by Stannis.

“The trebuchets have been firing nonstop since the second group left,” a grizzled veteran told Jon on their final trip. The was a small part of Jon that wanted nothing more than to drop this final group of men and join Stannis in the air. He could feel the need in Rhaegal as well; for death and destruction that they could meet out together. But there was a plan, and Jon reminded himself to stick with it.

When he landed with Rhaegal for the final time, he let the Lannister men scurry away from his dragon and find Jaime for their positions and gave himself a moment with this creature he had bonded with. Stroking his scales, he opened his mind and allowed his thoughts the freedom to meld with the green-gold dragon.

“You’re free now,” was all Jon said, finally, stepping back. That soft keening sound that Jon had grown accustomed to, filled the small space between them and Jon allowed himself one last touch before he stepped back, first one, then two steps until he’d given Rhaegal space.

The dragon swung his massive head north, back towards the castle, and Jon nodded. “Aye go be with your brother. I’m with mine.” Then with three lumbering steps, Rhaegal threw himself into the night sky, disappearing in mist and snow and flying towards the battle that raged back at the ruined castle.

Jon almost jumped out of his skin when he felt Jaime’s golden hand settle on his shoulder. Jon appreciated that Jaime said nothing, allowing Jon to pull his ragged emotions around him like a cloak, until Jon turned and cleared his throat and found Bran, sitting at the base of the heart tree. With quick strides, Jon approached him and crouched low.

“How will he know where to find us?” Jon asked, worry lacing each and every word.

Bran turned his eyes towards Jon, and they were milky white. “He knows exactly where I am. Always. He will be here Jon.”

Jon swallowed down the stinging barb that was on the tip of his tongue, knowing he’d get nothing more from Bran; not now and maybe never. Instead, he turned to Jaime as they leaned against the wide tree.

“And now we wait for death itself,” Jaime quipped and shot Jon a grin. “Grim place to die if you ask me.”

Jon grunted. “And how would you have liked to go?”

Jaime cocked his head and thought about it. “In the arms of the woman I love,” he said quietly after a time.

Silence. Until.

“Aye, me as well.”

More silence.

“But I suppose a good second choice would be saving all of humanity, beside my friend,” Jaime said and Jon smiled softly.

“Aye, tis a good second choice.”

They let the night settle around them, none of them having anything more to say. They all knew what they would have to do when the time came, and all they could do was wait for death itself to show up, and hope that they had the skill and the strength to stop him in his very tracks or else all would be lost.

Jon was just thinking about everything in his life that had led to this moment when Bran’s voice startled him from his musings. His words sent a shiver down Jon's spine. 

“He’s here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 will be the conclusion to the Long Night. 
> 
> As always, comments welcome. 
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts. 
> 
> I'm really going to try to push to get the final part of this written and posted.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the Second Long Night
> 
> Warning- Major Character Deaths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to have this chapter up quicker. And then I wanted to never have this chapter up. My strength has never been writing actions scenes. 
> 
> So before we go any further- so many thanks to Starlight whose support has been boundless for this chapter. There really are not enough thanks in the world for you.
> 
> As well, LC, you and I have walked through so many scenarios- thank you for your willingness to dive down some crazy rabbit holes with me! 
> 
> Now onto the chapter:
> 
> While there was a lot about Season 8, I didn’t like, and parts about Episode 3 I didn’t like (find me on tumblr or comment here and we can chat), overall, in the show, the stuff with the White Walkers and the Night King was some of the best (in my opinion) for sheer terror and action scenes (Hardhome). I can’t compete with just words with some of it- and in the end, I didn’t really try. 
> 
> That being said- I am a big fan of one particular scene from World War Z- when the zombies invade Jerusalem (if you haven’t seen it- you tube it- worth it). I wanted that feeling for this battle. 
> 
> I mostly find zombies boring because no personality- but the idea of them moving fast and deadly as a COLLECTIVE enemy was one that stuck with me. 
> 
> Also we (you) only get three POVs this whole chapter- Stannis, Robb, Jaime. So there will be some things that will not be known until Part 3. But I promise you there is no cliff-hanger at the end of this. 
> 
> One last note- a part of me wanted to see if a united Westeros COULD defeat the Night King and what that might look like. 
> 
> Ok…. Enough stalling. Here is it. Almost half a million words and my take on the Second Long Night.
> 
> Enjoy
> 
> T

_ Stannis _

For the first time in his entire life, Stannis found his mind empty of anything besides the sheer driving desire to kill the dead that marched towards Harrenhal despite the fire that continued to reign down on them.

His focus was so singular that he absently found himself stroking Drogon's black scales, and had anyone been there to witness it, they would have heard him muttering over and over again, "Come on boy, once more." Man and dragon had not been so bonded in over three hundred years.

Where once the night sky had been pitch black, now was bathed in a hellish red hue. The smell of tar and soot filled the air, along with the unmistakable sound of smacking flesh. Even though this was a dead army, they still sounded the same as real men when bones shattered.

Stannis took the dragon for pass after pass, obliterating lines of wights as fast as they could repopulate, but even he could hardly stem the tide.

"How in seven fucking hells did he amassed such an army?" Stannis asked himself in stupefaction. Then he remembered that this Night King had eight thousand years to build his force, while the living had a handful of months.

Truly theirs was the stunning accomplishment. It was a testament to the King and Queen of Westeros that they’d been able to bring the different regions together to fight as one against their common enemy. Especially given the fact that the war of the five Kings had barely ended.

Instinctively Drogon seemed to dodge through the projectiles being hurtled by the trebuchets, weaving in and out of them.

Stannis briefly wondered if a dragon could run out of the fire; was it like an archer that had no more arrows in his quiver? They just had no idea what these beasts were capable of. More than anything, Stannis wished for more time with Drogon, to find out all his secrets.

When Stannis allowed himself to slip inside the dragon's mind, he could see that Drogon focused solely on destruction and as much of it as possible. The dragon was enjoying himself. And he had an endless supply of targets.

It must have been the tenth or eleventh pass along the line when Stannis finally heard the familiar screech of Rhaegal and felt the surge of pure pleasure through Drogon and into himself. Glancing over his right shoulder, Stannis saw the green-gold dragon flap his wings to try to keep pace with the enormous black beast, and he let out a very un-Stannis like a roar. Two dragons were sure to be more effective than one. Then a thought almost froze Stannis's blood as he turned his head to look at Rhaegal.

"Can he even breath fire without a rider?" Stannis hadn't even realized he'd spoken out loud, but as if Rhaegal heard him, he dove low and roared out a blast of fire, obliterating another group of wights that pushed ever closer towards the glowing moat of wildfire.

The sight of Rhaegal also unleashing his fury had Stannis almost gleeful in anticipation of what he could do with two dragons at his disposal.

The glowing red in the night also brought a new worry; that something, either dragon or trebuchet, would catch the moat on fire before the dead were in position. Between the two dragons and the constantly firing trebuchets, a single spark was all that was needed to ignite the wildfire moat. Stannis hoped to hell the archers held the fire until the most opportune time.

The moat wasn't just a defensive feature; Stannis had envisioned it being an offensive one first.

"Seven fucking hells," Stannis muttered, digging his heels into Drogon's side and forcing the dragon higher into the night sky and away from the battle below. He prayed that Rhaegal followed them.

As much damage as they might do, Stannis had realized that two dragons could not fell the army of the dead by dragon fire alone. He needed to give the dead army time to approach the moat, and then, with the dragons, light it up. This also meant that the men on the trebuchets would be in much greater danger, but there was nothing Stannis could do. There were always casualties in war.

When Stannis pushed through the clouds that had gathered, higher into the night sky, he heard the steady beat of the second set of dragon wings and thanked the gods that Jon's dragon was with him. More than anything, Stannis wished that Jon was with him, on the back of his dragon. Together, Stannis knew they could do considerable damage, and a riderless dragon had to be more vulnerable.

"Time. We need to give them time," Stannis shouted to the two dragons. It was insane to think that they might understand him, but nothing about this night made any sense.

Stannis took the time away from the battle, to think about the Night King himself. So far, he'd acted as any military commander would. He'd taken the high ground, surrounded himself with his lieutenants and then waited while his infantry tried to gain ground- ground that Stannis was willing to give up.

Stannis knew that all this meant that the Night King was more than just a dead body, and for the first time, he began to worry about what else he might try. This was not some mindless monster they were facing.

Stannis's only hope at this point was that those in the castle would know what he was doing and that they would not think he'd abandoned them or that something hit the dragons. He needed them to wait; and that, Stannis knew, was hard for most men. For the first time ever, Stannis thanked the gods that a seasoned military mind like Kevan Lannister was manning the North rampart.

For now, Stannis remained aloft and hidden from view, prepared to strike when the timing was perfect. He'd get one chance, and he wasn't a man to miss his mark. His entire life, Stannis had been known as a man who _did his duty_, and tonight would be no different. He would not falter; not now when the very fate of the world rested on his shoulders.

* * *

_ Robb _

"What is he doing?" Robb cried in frustration as he watched Stannis lead both his dragon and Jon's into the clouds and then all but disappear. The army of the dead must have sensed an opportunity, as Robb saw them advance at an inhuman pace, almost running over one another to surge towards the line of trebuchets and the moat of eerie green liquid.

It was clear that the army of the dead sensed the huge numbers of men inside, and something had spurred them onwards.

"Giving us a chance," came Kevan Lannister's voice suddenly beside Robb.

Robb had been stationed at the south wall. But when Rhaegal had broken through the mists, without Jon, and headed towards the North fields, Robb had been unable to stop himself from running along the wall-walks to see the battle first hand. Of course, lost on Robb was the fact that he would have snarled at any man under his command that broke ranks.

When he got to the Northside of the castle, Robb watched in glee as both dragons and man reigned fire and destruction down on the army of the dead. He had cheered alongside the men when they watched the dead fall and burn.

That's why, after a dozen passes and thousands of killed wights, Robb did not understand why Stannis suddenly left.

"What do you mean?" Robb asked, turning to face Kevan.

Kevan pointed to the moat.

"He's doing damage, yes. Both him and that other dragon. But not enough. Not as much as having a good portion of the army close to the moat and lighting it on fire would do."

"It's a risk."

Kevan gave a rare smile on this hellish night. "It's warfare, Young Wolf. It's all risks. You should know this better than anyone, given what you did to the Lannister army."

Robb couldn't help but grin at that memory, and for a mere moment, he thought back to a time when he believed his greatest enemy House Lannister. Now, look at them- the wolves of Winterfell more tied to the lions than they had ever been in their eight thousand-year history. There was no more proof of that than the fact that there was a Northern wolf Queen on the Iron Throne.

Robb wanted to believe that his father would be proud of him; of them. Of all his children that had all survived their trials and tribulations to end up here, fighting for the living. And perhaps in a way, he would. But Robb knew that Ned Stark would never have made the choices Robb or Sansa did. Ned Stark could never have unbent enough to enter into a pact with the Great Lion, and he could never have forgiven the lions for their crimes against his house- especially Jaime's.

_No_, Robb thought, h_ad Ned Stark lived, things would have been very different indeed. And not necessarily better_. It was a harsh thought, but tonight seemed like a night for such thoughts given that they all faced almost certain death.

A sudden cry from the dead brought Robb's attention back to the misery in front of him. He could see the war machines continuing to fire, manned by men from the Reach. They had to know their lives were all but forfeit being so close to the fighting. Yet, they stood to a man, doing their duty. Of course, with Lord Randyll Tarly barking out orders, riding up and down the line, not a man dared to break from their post.

As the army of the dead approached, Robb realized they had a sound about them. It wasn't a sound that a regular army made; no theirs was something unique to them. They sounded frantic and desperate as if they existed solely to bring as many to their side as possible, which, Robb realized, was the hard truth of the matter. Robb gazed at them as they raced across the open field, directly towards the green moat. They were made of missing limbs, had rotted off faces and open skulls, and nothing seemed to slow them. They were hideous and revolting and yet, compelling in a way that Robb failed to understand at that moment.

"Nothing about them is right. These beings, they defy human nature," Kevan said quietly. "What is dead should remain dead. This whole thing is unnatural, and against all the laws of man."

Robb had nothing to add to that. This army of the dead was not just a northern problem; this Night King creature had been created in the south, mere steps from where they stood. And yet, this dead army was most likely composed of nothing but wildlings and northern men and women that had succumbed to the Night King. There was a part of Robb, one he didn't want to admit to anyone that was pleased that it wasn't just the North that had to face this menace alone. This was a problem that belonged to the collective of Westeros, and it was only appropriate that men from all houses should face it together.

Both men stood still at the rampart, lion and wolf, barely registering the night that was growing colder by the moment as they watched the dead press forward, their pace relentless.

"They're going to go right into the wildfire," Kevan muttered, shocked at watching it all unfold even though they had hoped this was what they would do. Kevan took a moment to look around and saw the fear on the faces up and down the line.

"Hold your fire," he bellowed and suddenly grasped Robb. "Make sure those arrows stay notched, Lord Stark. Go! Now." Kevan all but pushed him away.

Robb swallowed hard and nodded and then turned and ran as fast as he could, Greywind at his side.

"Hold your fire! Hold your fire!!! Stannis is coming back. Let them get closer."

Robb could practically smell the fear emanating from the men's pores as he hollered into the night, praying that they listened to him. He had only a moment to glance over his shoulder to see where the dead were when he rounded a corner, and they were out of sight. It would be close; Robb could tell that some of the men wanted to unleash their fury on them, but they needed to wait. If one flaming arrow landed in the moat of wildfire before the army arrived, they'd lose a considerable advantage.

"Hold your fire," Robb continued to bellow, his voice hoarse and his lungs burning as he moved as quickly as possible down the line. "Stannis is coming with the dragons."

"Where the fuck is 'e?" someone cried.

"They're close, these dead fuckers!"

"I can see them!"

Robb grabbed one man and smashed him against the wall.

"You'll hold your fire. That's an order."

"You're not my Lord," the ugly man sneered, breath rotten and a thin sheen of sweat coating his face. "Who are you to give me orders?"

Just then, Greywind was there and snarled low and long, and Robb smelt the warm piss of the man as his eyes went fearful at the sight of his wolf and he lost control of his bladder.

"Lord Stark of Winterfell and his direwolf. That's who gives these orders. Orders you'll obey, or I'll have him rip your fucking throat out."

The threat received, the man could only nod. Robb pushed him away, disgusted at being questioned and stalked down the line, hoping that Stannis knew the right moment to make his move and praying it was the right call. If he didn’t come back soon, Robb feared they’d have a mutiny on their hands.

Then Robb turned another corner and realized he was at the south end of the Castle. After he'd made his way down the line, he glanced up and saw Sandor standing there.

"What's happening?" the big man barked out and quickly, Robb told him about the plan that Stannis had hatched.

"Crazy fucker," Sandor grumbled, but there was a note of awe in his voice when he said it.

Almost everyone at Harrenhal had been impressed by Stannis Baratheon at one point or another and Sandor had been no exception.

Sandor knew better than most what wildfire could do- and being that close to it, Sandor knew it would be a miracle if Stannis weren't caught up in it himself. The spine the man must have to do something so daring was inspiring.

Sandor remembered another night with wildfire and Stannis Baratheon leading his army on the capital. He would have won that night had it not been for the Great Lion himself bringing his army back to King's Landing and the deal with House Tyrell.

"Ric and Arya?" Robb asked, worry in his voice, bringing Sandor's attention back to him.

"Locked in their room, direwolves at their sides. Both of them have a small dagger as well as a dragon glass sword," Sandor said, his pride in his two charges evident in her voice.

"Good. Stay with them. It's about to get very warm out here, Sandor. As long as Stannis hits the moats, we should be able to keep them at bay."

Sandor hated fire and hated wildfire even more, but the army of the dead scared the hell out of him. He said nothing, only nodded and clamped Robb on the back.

"See you after the war, Lord Stark."

Sandor gave Robb a smirk.

"Arse," Robb japed back, shaking his head. Then he turned serious. "Keep them safe. No matter what, Sandor. They are your priority."

Nothing else needed to be said, and both men turned and went back to their posts, leaving Robb in charge of the south side of the Castle and Sandor inside, guarding the door where the Stark siblings sat, waiting for death and praying for those they loved to live.

* * *

_ Jaime _

Jaime wouldn't say that he was bored, as he ordered Lannister men about the clearing on the Isle of Faces, but the working was a bit mind-numbing. He barely registered Jon ferrying men from the castle, only paying attention when more Lannister men were suddenly there and looking for instruction.

They were easy to give; they needed a ring of archers, as well as infantry. Men worked hard and fast, hacking down whatever trees they could to build crude and rudimentary barriers that they would light on fire. It wasn't much, but it might slow some of them.

It was comfortable to be around other men wearing the golden lion with red cloaks and giving them orders; this had been Jaime's entire life. Men and warfare so this responsibility fell comfortably on his shoulders and he concentrated on the tasks that needed to be done.

Jaime barely glanced at Bran Stark, whom they'd positioned against the huge white heart tree. If asked, there was no way Jaime would ever be able to explain what Bran Stark had become adequately. All Jaime knew was that somehow their fates had been tied together since that fateful day in the tower.

As they worked, Jaime thought about what he had seen and learned at High Heart. Jaime was more than prepared to give his life tonight; to right an old wrong and to save all of humanity. If his life's blood was needed, Jaime Lannister was more than willing to give it.

It wasn't that Jaime wanted to die; more that he understood that sometimes to defeat the greatest threats, a sacrifice had to be made. Jaime was at peace being that sacrifice.

Jaime felt sorry for Jon, more than himself when he thought about the sacrifice the ghost and the children of the forest had said they would have to make.

For Jaime, that his life might be required to save everyone else's was apropos. But somehow in the past month that they'd become close, Jaime had come to understand that the former bastard had barely lived. Taking the black could hardly be considered living in Jaime's mind.

Hell Jon was in love, and his woman loved him back. He'd finally learned who his parents were, shucked the awful title of a bastard and now had his ancestral lands and castle. If not for this enemy they faced, Jaime would say that Jon's life was the best it had ever been. It seemed particularly cruel that Jon might also have to die here, on this wretched island when he had so much of his life in front of him and was finally happy.

"Put it there," Jaime called out absently as another crude wooden installation was built and erected in front of the heart tree, forming a semi-circle that at least gave them some cover to defend Bran.

"Yes, My Lord," came the answer, and the men scurried to comply. There was barely any grumbling until a high screech rent the night, and the unmistakable sound of dragon fire ripped through the night.

"Fucking hell, I'll never get used to hearing those beasts," one of the men muttered. He was from House Lydden.

"No, I don't suppose anyone ever would," Jaime said conversationally. "Convenient, though."

"Beast that never should be alive," another muttered. He was Banefort.

"No, I suppose not. But then we'd most likely all be dead before we even had a chance to defeat our enemy, and your wives and children would be nothing more but walking dead." Jaime gave his customary smirk along with the stinging barb.

That shut everyone up about dragons and their usefulness. It wasn't that Jaime didn't understand their fear; hardly a person here hadn't been affected by the Targaryen's and their dragons at some point in their family history. But what they faced, what was coming for them all was far scarier than any dragon. Jaime knew this first hand.

Jaime continued to haul wood, working alongside the men, until one of them coughed and then glanced at Bran.

"Sire, what is he?"

Jaime turned to the person who'd spoken.

This one was so young, Jaime wondered if he'd even seen his twentieth nameday. A Swyft.

"He's the last great greenseer alive. He is the three-eyed-raven," Jaime replied. He met the young man's eyes. "You'll guard him as if he were the Great Lion himself. We need to keep Bran Stark alive."

As Jaime spoke, a crowd had gathered.

"Is it true, My Lord? That the Great Lion is in love with his northern wife?"

Jaime heard the doubt and slight disgust in the voice, and he turned quickly, pinning the man from House Farman with a hard look.

"The Queen," Jaime emphasized, "Is a remarkable woman. And yes, it is true. She and the King love one another. She is everything to my father and has given House Lannister not one, but two heirs. Anyone in the Kingdom, including those from the West that speak against her, speak against House Lannister."

The man gave a jerky nod and then opened his mouth to speak again when Jaime held up a hand.

"Hold your breath; we are here to do one thing. To protect Bran Stark. Those are your orders, and it as if they came from the King himself. Do your duty, and I will ensure that your deeds recorded in the Hall of Heroes in Casterly Rock. My father will know that it was House Lannister that stood against this unnatural force; that House Lannister did not break or bend or forfeit our word. The Queen, the Great Lion's beloved wife, will know that lions protected the wolf," Jaime roared to his bannermen and was rewarded with a great cheer and renewed vigour in their efforts.

By the time Jon arrived with the last Lannister forces, they had erected a decent barrier, and Jaime watched as his friend had said his goodbyes to the dragon. Jaime knew that there was a deep connection between Jon and his two living house sigils. Jaime couldn't even imagine what it was like to send the dragon out into the night — riderless.

Jaime laid his golden hand on Jon's shoulder, and he swore Jon almost jumped out of his skin. Jaime said nothing and watched as Jon pulled his ragged emotions around him and then search for Bran, finding him by the heart tree. In a few short steps, Jon was there, crouching down, speaking low with Bran and shaking his head when his brother gave yet another cryptic answer.

Straightening, Jon took a moment to look around the clearing, finally focusing on what had the Lannister forces had prepared.

"Impressive," was all Jon said. It helped drive away some of the devastation that Jaime saw in his eyes to focus on their preparations. Jon clearly did not want to discuss his dragon or his brother, so Jaime let it be.

When they'd done all they could, Jaime positioned the archers. Luckily, there was decent coverage in the forest of trees beyond the heart tree. More than one lion climbed to find a perch that was an excellent spot to pick off as many of the army of the dead as possible — the rest of the Lannister forces aligned inside the semi-circle of crude wooden implements.

With nothing left to do, Jon and Jaime leaned against the broad base of the heart tree.

Jaime tried to lighten the mood; he could see the very weight of the entire fate of the world, pressing down on Jon's slim shoulders.

"And now we wait for death itself," Jaime quipped, shooting Jon a grin. "Grim place to die if you ask me."

As predicted, Jon let out a grunt, but Jaime swore he saw a slight quirk of his lips.

"And how would you have liked to go?" Jon asked after a moment of silence.

Jaime thought about it, as he often had. Jaime had faced death too many times not to. He wondered what Jon might say if he gave him the truth. Then Jaime decided it was a night for truths, considering what they were facing.

"In the arms of the woman I love."

Jaime didn't add who that woman was. That was a secret for only himself.

Silence met Jaime's words, and he knew more than one man heard him, and he thought that perhaps more than one man here tonight would agree with him.

"Aye me as well," Jon finally said, and Jaime smiled at him, waiting a moment before responding.

"But I suppose a good second choice would be saving all of humanity, beside my friend."

Jon gave him a soft quirk of his lips. "Aye, it is a good second choice."

They were quiet for an age, letting the night settle around them. They could hear the constant, distinctive thump of the trebuchets firing again and again.

After a time, it seemed like Stannis and Drogon all but disappeared from the sky. The night grew colder. Jaime had to stamp his feet to keep warm.

He forced his thoughts from his cousin Daven and if he'd made it to King's Landing yet with Jaime's wife. Only Jaime supposed she was no longer his- wife that was. He'd given his approval for his father to annul his marriage and Jaime knew that his father would have done that almost immediately. There was no way that Tywin Lannister would want Brienne of Tarth to be associated with his house for any longer than necessary.

Jaime didn't want his last thoughts to be on Brienne or her betrayal so he let himself think about Cersei for a time. Despite how wrong they had been, how much she had used him, how cruel she had been, Jaime still missed her. She was his twin, and for a long time, Jaime had thought himself incapable of loving anyone but her.

Jaime thought of Joffrey, wondering what had gone so wrong with their first-born child. He didn't know if it had been Robert's cruelty and indifference, Cersei's pandering, or the lack of decent role model, but Jaime's heart broke, thinking of how nasty a man Joffrey had been.

The most painful person to think about was Tommen. Jaime prayed to the seven gods that of everything he might face tonight, Tommen would not be one of the wights. Jaime thought that might be too much, even for a man such as him.

Jaime thought of them all; Tyrion and Myrcella, his father and Sansa, Genna, Kevan and the princes, along with Tyrion's daughter, Joanna. He thought of how much his family had changed; and how much they had lost. Jaime was glad his father had Sansa; it would devastate the Old Lion to lose his last child from his first wife.

"There he is!" Someone cried, and all eyes went back to the sky as Stannis suddenly reappeared with Drogon and Rhaegal, and it dragged Jaime from the thoughts of his family.

The Golden Lion couldn't help the grin that broke out on his face, despite his dislike of Stannis and the sheer terror dragons usually stirred- there was something about having them on your side that was inspiring.

Having a man like Stannis with a weapon such as a dragon at his disposal felt even better. The man had seen more than his fair share of war. Jaime knew that Stannis would not let the power of the dragons go to his head; and there were few men in the Kingdom that could be counted on in that regard. The idea of a dragon such a Drogon being in the hands of somebody unstable was enough to chill anyone’s blood.

They saw Stannis for but a moment, until he disappeared from view, and Jon and Jaime shared a smile; they both knew that their plan was working. Now all they had to do was wait.

* * *

_ Stannis _

Stannis couldn't say how long he remained hidden from view; above the clouds and out of sight from everything below. It was beyond cold where he was, and clear, which only leant further evidence that this Night King was an unholy creature that brought his own storm.

Here, above the clouds, the night was bright and the stars were in the millions.

It gave Stannis a moment to think, to ponder his life, and while some men may look to their past, for Stannis, his thoughts pointed towards the future. Should he survive this night, should they triumphant, he'd return home. His real home. His true home. Storm's End. He could hardly imagine what it might be like to live there again, in peace, and with his daughter. To have the ear and the respect of the King, something that despite their shared blood, he'd never had from Robert. How different it might be to be welcomed and respected at the small council table as Tywin had.

He was still the Master of Ships, a position on the small council that he enjoyed. If offered, he'd be Tywin Lannister's hand, but he had to wonder if the Great Lion would let anyone that close to him that wasn't part of his family. Beyond that, being hand would mean staying in King's Landing indefinitely, and that was something Stannis decidedly did not want. Not immediately. He was sick of Harrenhal and the Riverlands, the North and Dragonstone and King's Landing. He wanted Storm's End. If that made him selfish, so be it; he'd been dutiful his entire life.

When he felt his cheeks numb and his hands all but freeze, he prodded Drogon, stroking a hand down the scales that were also almost ice cold. Too late, Stannis looked and saw that both dragons' wings were virtually wholly iced up. Stannis thought back to the pain of starvation and inevitable death that he had endured while holding Storm's End, and yet here, now, older and wiser, he had let his mind wander.

"Seven fucking hells," he berated himself, cursing that he'd been so inattentive.

"Come on," he said out loud and spurred the dragon lower, pushing all thoughts of his home away and focusing on the task at hand. He had to hope that the army of dead was in position; it was too cold to hold the dragons beyond the clouds any longer.

They broke through the clouds to come upon hell on earth, or at least one version of it. As predicted, the dead army surged towards the castle and right towards the green moat that ringed it. Stannis glanced North, trying to locate where the Night King was, but despite the trebuchets' distinctive thumps, firing again and again and lighting the night sky, the snow that swirled made it almost impossible to see naught more than shapes. Stannis had no better idea where the Night King was now than he had at the beginning of the fight. That worried Stannis greatly but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it now.

Stannis knew his timing had to be near perfect as he dove with Drogon obliterating a line of wights furthest from the moat, glancing south to see the dead push ever forward, careening mindlessly into the green liquid that ringed the massive castle. When Stannis glanced up, he could almost make out the shapes standing on the ramparts. He knew from his pre-war walkabout that Lord Kevan Lannister had archers ready, most likely notched and waiting for him.

Kevan would not risk igniting the moat before maximum damage could be inflicted, and even the massive war machines now started to slow. Stannis could see the men on the ground, some scurrying back to the safety that the castle represented.

The lower Stannis got, the more passes he made, the louder the dead became, until their relentless scratching and screeching filled his ears, even beyond the roar of the dragons. It was low and guttural and was the sound of death itself.

_They were relentless; like a plague swarming the land_, Stannis thought.

A sudden roar drew Stannis's attention away from the moat, and he looked in shocked horror at the sight cresting the slight hill in the distance. Every conceivable animal from the North had been recruited. Reanimated horses, wolves, and bears now roared and stormed towards them.

"Seven fucking hells," Stannis breathed, stunned.

Then the ground almost shook as giants, at least ten, lumbered onto the field and into view. And behind them, more dead. Endless, relentless dead.

_How would they defeat them all?_ Stannis thought to himself.

Even if Jon and Jaime and Bran somehow managed to kill the Night King, thousands upon thousands of their men would most likely die. Giants would be no match for Harrenhal's east gate, and the south side was even weaker. There were points in the wall that were still charred and crumbling, and if close enough, one could almost punch through with nothing more than your hand. Stannis could hardly imagine what a dead wight giant might do.

A sudden swerve by Drogon brought Stannis's attention back to the present and his immediate situation. Stannis realized that a long spear had been thrown towards the dragon, similar to the one that had taken down Tyrion and Viserys, and he looked frantically around, finally spotting a group of three White Walkers a short distance away. They locked eyes and three arms raised again and then released.

"Higher!" Stannis screamed, digging his heels into Drogon's side, thankful when the dragon responded in kind. Unfortunately, Rhaegal took a moment longer to climb, and he banked a moment too late, the spear catching a piece of his wing and opening a tear in it.

"Fuck," Stannis yelled, pounding his fist into Drogon, wondering if there was a chance the green-gold dragon might remain airborne. Thankfully, as they flew higher, Rhaegal adjusted, and when close to Drogon, let out a soft chuffing sound.

Stannis choked up. He'd always had a soft spot for animals, one that Robert had ruthlessly mocked when they'd been children. Seeing Rhaegal with a broken wing reminded Stannis of his goshawk, Proudwing, and how he'd nursed him back to health when he'd found him injured. For a moment, Proudwing and Rhaegal were the same, until an unholy roar by Drogon brought Stannis back to the present.

"Go low and burn them all," Stannis roared, to Drogon and leaned down, flattening himself as much as possible along the dragon's spine as they dove, ever lower, air rushing over him as the came closer and closer to the moat and the dead that all but swam in the wildfire.

Stannis Baratheon knew the history of House Targaryen, and he'd finally found a proper use for dragon fire. To burn what was already dead and send them back to the ground as the ashes they should have been. It was apropos that dragons had destroyed Harrenhal, and now dragons would save humanity, here. Stannis knew exactly whose words he roared as they dove towards the earth, and he howled in triumph that the dragons were finally used for something good.

When they were in range, Drogon unleashed, not even needing the command, naturally able to pick up on the desire from the mind of Stannis Baratheon. Dragon and rider were almost one at that moment.

The Storm Lord watched as the moat instantly ignited.

He pulled Drogon up high to avoid the blowback from the wildfire and turned him south to soar above the castle, where they saw that the entire moat caught and burned, the wails of the dead filling the night air with their unholy sounds. It was a strike that killed thousands, and Stannis had a grim smile on his face as he watched the wildfire burn them to nothing.

It would take something far more significant than more dead to extinguish such a blaze; only sand was known to put out a river of wildfire, and as the dead added more fuel to the moat, the fire would do its job. Their plan, executed perfectly, would give them a massive advantage in this war.

Stannis was already thinking about his next task, driving more of the dead army towards the moat from the rear. If he could find the end of the line, he and the dragons could make a real …

A scream from Drogon that sounded as if it were ripped from the very bowels of hell itself was the first thing that alerted Stannis to the fact that the dragon had been hit.

The second was how they were suddenly lurching in the air, spinning wildly.

All thoughts of strategy fled from Stannis' mind as he caught movement from his left, trying desperately to hold on to the dragon that was bucking and screaming in pain.

Stannis locked eyes with the Night King as he stood there, watching.

Stannis knew in that instant this was the end for both of them.

The only thing that Stannis could think, as they started to spiral towards the ground, was how the hell did the Night King get to the southeast side of the castle? Where had he come from?

As they fell through the night sky, Stannis had one more thought; that the Night King's hit had done more than just taken down a dragon.

As they spun towards the ground, Stannis couldn't help but think it had all be planned this way by the Night King, because when they hit, it would be against one of Harrenhal's massive walls. 

The Night King wouldn’t need ladders or ropes or war machines to break Harrenhal's walls. All he had needed was one spear and a dragon, and the castle would be cracked open like an egg, allowing the dead to flood inside. None of the castle’s defenses would matter when they ripped a huge whole in the south side of the keep.

Then all thoughts fled as Stannis Baratheon and Drogon crashed into the south side of Harrenhal, and everything went dark.

* * *

_ Robb _

As loud as the army of the dead was, the dragons were even louder. Robb supposed there had been a time when those in Westeros how cowered in fear when they heard them, but now, well- they were the sound of hope. Robb glanced towards the Northside of the castle before a large hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Fucking dragons. Never thought I'd see a day I wanted them on my side," Greatjon Umber said, looking as Robb was at the night sky where Stannis streaked down on the back of the massive black beast. It was a sight that few would forget; those that survived the long night would have it seared into their collective consciousness.

"When he and Jon landed them on Bear Island, we welcomed them," Maege Mormont answered.

"I've heard that the she-bears like dragons," Robb said with a sly smile, a moment of levity in the war.

Maege's eyes widened before she threw her head back and howled, clapping her hands together.

"Oh aye, my Dacey's snagged herself a fine man. A Lord and a dragon," Maege crowed. "Bet she likes to ride the dragon," and winked, sending both Robb and Greatjon into another howl of laughter.

Others looked at them strangely, but Robb knew in these moments when death marched so close, humour could ease the interminable wait.

So far, the south and east side of the castle hadn't seen the army of the dead, nor the Night King or his White Walkers. Things were disconcertingly quiet on this side, and every so often, Robb would let his gaze wander out towards where he knew the Isle of Faces was and think of Jon and Bran and Jaime there. Mist and snow made it impossible to see anything beyond the torches that lit the outside of the castle walls.

Robb knew that Royce still operated the main gate, while Mace was at the south one, and Tormund and Edd Tollett had been put in charge of the East one. The former Night's Watchmen had reassured them all that he'd had this experience before, telling them all about how he and Jon had held Castle Black with a hundred men against thousands of Wildlings. Of course, that's when Tormund had interrupted, thumping Edd on the back and claiming the crow needed him, and he'd be there as well.

"I've seen the dead, more than you fuckers," the wildling had proclaimed, and no one was crazy enough to argue with the ginger man. That had settled that argument.

Now everyone's attention on the dragon; the big black one with Stannis on its back. Robb had no idea how either he or Jon did it. It made him almost sick to think about being so high and in such proximity to that kind of power.

When Drogon opened his massive jaw and spewed forth fire and flame, Robb knew the hit had been perfect. Faster than the eye could even see, the moat in the back exploded into a tremendous green fury of fire. It gave the impression of safety to those inside and on the walls of Harrenhal. Though the dead had not approached from the south yet, they would need to spend thousands of their army to cross the moat.

Robb, along with tens of thousands of men, roared their approval when Stannis flew the black dragon over the Castle. The feeling of accomplishment and hope was palpable. Stannis Baratheon had given them a chance to win this war.

The night was now lit with the green glow of wildfire, coupled with the torches and flames, and Robb wondered how long it might be until they saw some of these dead. He scanned the dark landscape. Would the dead even know to come to the...

The scream of the dragon drew Robb's attention to the sky again, and he watched in utter horror as both man and dragon fell through the air.

"No!" Robb hollered as they crashed into the south gate, obliterating it and anyone there.

Robb knew instantly that Mace Tyrell had to be dead. The dragon lay in a painful twist at the bottom, and Stannis was nowhere to be seen. Briefly, Robb raised his eyes and saw the Night King on a small hill, his loyal White Walkers at his side. Then he watched as the King of the dead began to walk, away from the castle and the dragon he'd just killed and towards the Isle of Faces.

A shuddering sound and a great rumble of noise was the first thing to alert Robb to the fact that Drogon had done more damage than just opening up a breach in the south gate.

"The walls are about to collapse," Greatjon Umber called. He spun wildly and clasped Robb on the shoulder. "Go! Find Kevan and tell him what has happened. They'll be here, and we need all the men at this side of the castle," he told a stunned Robb Stark.

"Go!" he said again, pushing his liege lord and unsheathing his dragon glass sword.

Robb started to back away, slowly at first as men surged forward. How had it all swung so dramatically? From a moment of hope to one of total ruin. The high walls of Harrenhal were breeched, and while the moat of wildfire still burned, there were more than enough of them to get through it. The trench was designed to slow them down, not stop them completely. They had been relying on the impenetrable nature of Harrenhal's walls to do most of the work. And now that was… gone.

Shaking himself, Robb turned and ran, hearing the world descending into chaos around him. He heard Greatjon ordering archers to maintain their position, and then he thought he might have heard Maege order men descend the stairs for reinforcements, but then he was around a corner and racing to find Kevan Lannister.

When Robb finally made it to the North rampart, Kevan's face was ashen.

"What happened?" he bellowed, clutching at Robb.

"The Night King," Robb said, bending over and retching, the combination of fear and hard running bringing up what little he had in his stomach. He swiped his mouth clean and stood. "The Night King has brought down Stannis Baratheon and Drogon. They crashed into the south gate and wall."

"Seven fucking hells," Kevan murmured, eyes widening at the implications. Hand still clutching at Robb, he turned Robb so he could see that field. "They throw themselves into the moat; all they need is one area with enough, and they'll breach that defence."

Robb squinted, trying to make out what was happening, and then with growing horror reeled back. "Are those giants?"

Kevan nodded, saying nothing. "Giants. Wolves. Moose. Elk. Horses. Bears. Anything that was living is not. And they all march on us, Stark."

Robb wanted to be sick; fuck, he wanted this to be a dream. No, a nightmare. This couldn't be real. How was this real? How did a bear with half a jaw throw itself into a river of wildfire? How did a wight giant lumber on a field of battle in the middle of the Riverlands? Surely they had to be some jape.

There was a buzzing in Robb's head, and he heard nothing for a time, unable to tear himself away from the sight of reanimated animals that were howling and snarling for their flesh. He wanted to be sick again, but nothing was left to come up. The cold didn't even penetrate the fog he found himself in, until a sharp voice, brought him out of his stupor.

"Do we need to reassign men, Young Stark?" Kevan was asking, shaking him now.

Robb scrubbed a hand down his face and tried to think. "They'll come against this wall; they aren't that smart to redirect all their forces to the breach at the back of the castle. But… once they are through the moat, then it won't take them long to find it. We can make it a choke point, perhaps. If some of the walls hold."

"Good, that's good." Kevan paused and looked around. "Take half the archers from the Northside with you. Keep them high, and then find those in the great hall and the courtyard; get them to the south. That is where this fight will be won or lost. I'll find you when we've done what we can here."

Robb swallowed hard and nodded, repeating what Kevan said. "Find the men and get them to the south gate."

"Yes."

Robb turned and sprinted away, finding the first entranceway to the stairs that would lead him down to Harrenhal's great hall. They'd left Lancel Lannister there, as well as Lord Glover, Lord Tallhart and some of the Vale lords as well. Robb knew that they would be going mad waiting for information, and so he hurried, as fast as was possible.

When he finally burst into the hall, it was shockingly silent. The sight of the Northern lord with his great direwolf at his side seemed to rouse the crowd, and Robb found himself hauled up onto the front dais where he shared what had happened. Robb was surprised at how steady his voice was in the face of such catastrophic events, and was thankful when the lords that had been in charge of these groups started organizing men and shoving them towards the back of the castle.

Robb took a moment to catch his breath and then his blood turned to ice as he thought about Arya and Rickon. He hadn't even found Sandor to confirm that they were still safe; he knew their rooms had to be close to where Drogon had crashed. Had they been crushed in the rubble? Had that portion of the castle fallen?

Sick with worry, Robb started to push through the men, Greywind snarling and opening a path for him as he burst through into a courtyard that connected to another set of hallways and then finally into the backside of the castle. All the areas Robb stalked through were teeming with men, swords ready. They were looking around at one another as if they were worried a wight was to pop out at any moment.

Robb kept pushing, the sheer amount of people here making it almost impossible to move. He knew they'd need every single man when the dead finally came, but now they were impeding him. When he finally made his way to the end, it was as if some invisible line had been drawn.

"Why the fuck have you stopped?" he snarled at them, before someone, nodded his head. Robb turned and then stopped dead in his tracks.

Drogon's massive body lay at an awkward angle, having crashed into the south gate, along with a wall and the base of another tower. Around the dragon, huge amounts of brick and rubble littered the ground.

Robb hesitated to look up, fearing what he might find. Instead, he focused on the enormous spear in the dragon's side and the closed eyes, the great beast drawing not a single breath. Even knowing what the dragons had done for them; Robb wouldn’t dare approach one without its rider. But that didn’t matter with Drogon now- he was dead.

Overhead, for the first time, Robb realized that Rhaegal still circled, keening softly and letting lose a great burst of fire every so often.

"Fuckin' hell, never thought I'd see the day that a single spear could take down a dragon," someone mutter.

"Poor beast," said another. And then all their words were drowned out as Robb tried desperately to think what they would do now. The loss was more than just the dragon; it was Stannis Baratheon himself. Robb hadn't realized until that exact moment, just how much he had been counting on the Storm Lord to survive this war, to be the man to lead them against this army of the dead.

Now he and his dragon lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom of Harrenhal's massive southern wall and tower. All eyes had turned to Robb, waiting for their orders, waiting for leadership and direction, and the only thing Robb could think of was his sister and his brother and if they were still alive. He shook his head, mute and devastated and turned helplessly in a circle, looking for answers where there were none.

* * *

_ Jaime _

Jaime couldn't help but glance at Jon, and he saw the longing there, as Rhaegal kept pace with his brother, and they watched the dragons in the sky. They were such massive beasts that they were impossible to miss.

"Do it," Jon was whispering, as if he could will his words into Rhaegal from this distance. There was no fire for the longest time and then…

Everyone on the Isle of Faces knew the moment the wildfire lit; a massive explosion sounded in the night along with a green glow.

Cheers erupted in the godswood on the Isle of Faces. Never did Jaime Lannister ever think he'd see the day when men in red and gold with proud lions stitched on their cloaks would cheer from dragons, but cheer they did, loud and long.

"Surely that blow won't easily be recovered from," someone yelled, and others heartily agreed.

Jaime was grinning until one look at Bran's face wiped any joy from his. The Golden Lion looked to Jon, whose eyes hadn't left the dragons. And then…

Jaime sucked in a pained breath as they the spear pierce Drogon's side and the dragon fall; Stannis looked impossibly small on his back, and they all heard the sickening sound of the beast dying as he crashed into the castle, and brought all their hopes down with him.

* * *

_ Robb _

The damage to the castle itself was more extensive than Robb had initially thought. The entire south gate was gone; one tower was down, and the massive curtain wall had a huge gaping hole in it. There was nothing besides the river of wildfire to prevent the dead from entering the castle.

"Hold your lines," Robb ordered, forcing his feet forward. He would not look to see if Drogon had killed his brother and sister when he'd fallen. He could do nothing about it right now if he had. Now he had to find Stannis. Robb spun back and looked at the men assembled, sighing in relief when Greatjon, Lord Tallhart and Lord Glover pushed to the front.

"Keep the men back, and eyes trained on the hole in the wall. The army of the dead will come," Robb commanded them. They all nodded and then Robb whistled softly to Greywind. He let his hand card through the wolf's fur and whispered, "Find him."

Greywind whined and then loped towards the dragon, sniffling as Robb hurried to catch up. He figured they had a few minutes at best to get Stannis out and to safety if, by some miracle, he had survived before the dead started to pour through the opening. Robb had seen the speed with which they moved; they would be here at any moment.

When Robb got to Drogon, he gave his thanks to the beast before he unceremoniously used the spear to climb up the dragon, trying to look over his massive body to see if Stannis were perhaps pinned on the other side. Greywind whined, his nose in the air as the direwolf looked to the opening in the wall, and Robb knew he was almost out of time.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, feeling the hopelessness of the situation wash over him before a small, infinitesimal groan gave him hope. "Stannis?"

Another groan, this one with a bit more sound reached his ears, and Robb scrambled up the dragon, faster to see the distinctive yellow and black sigil of House Baratheon. He'd seen it on Renly, and it had angered Robb then; now, he let out a yell of pure joy as he moved the bricks and found Stannis somehow alive, pressed against the spine of the dragon. It was clear that his arm was broken, the bone practically sticking straight through, along with a nasty gash on his head. But as Robb reached him, the Storm Lord's eyes opened and met Robb's.

"Am I dead?"

Robb shook his head. "Not yet, but you did a pretty good job of trying to kill yourself."

Then Robb turned his head and bellowed for men to come and take Stannis inside the keep. They were there in an instant, men who also wore the proud Stag symbol. Leading them was Ser Davos Seaworth, who was cursing at his lord.

"Fucking hells, My Lord, you look like you've been taken down by a dragon," Davos was muttering, barking out orders to the men from the Stormlands. They moved quickly, as word spread through the crowd that somehow, against all the odds, Stannis Baratheon had survived.

"We've got him, My Lord," they told Robb, having fashioned a litter for Stannis as they got him away from Drogon and down the dragon. Stannis groaned, the pain threatening to drag him back to unconsciousness when he called for Robb.

"Stark," he said weakly.

Robb grabbed his right hand and squeezed. "Baratheon."

"They'll come through the opening," Stannis started to say when Robb interrupted him.

"We'll stop them. We have men waiting, My Lord."

Stannis's light grey eyes met Robb's. "Burn the dragon."

Robb's eyes went wide, and he started to shake his head, when Stannis, voice still commanding, said again, "Burn the dragon Robb Stark. The last thing you need is for him to reanimate that beast. He did his job; and paid the price. Do not let him become one of them."

Robb met Stannis's eyes. "It'll be done."

Then Stannis was gone; hurried away in a makeshift litter, into the castle, led by Ser Davos, who was calling out orders and demanding a Maester for his friend and leader.

When Robb stepped down, the Northern lords were by his side, and they ringed him.

"How the fuck are we supposed to burn a dragon?" they asked, and he glanced at them all.

"Arrows. Flaming arrows. Do it, now," Robb commanded them, watching as Greywind paced.

Jon had told Robb how Ghost had saved him from a White Walker and a wight, and Robb could feel a premonition run down his spine.

When he looked up, he froze.

The White Walker stepped through the opening just as the arrows lit the dragon on fire, giving the scene a particularly horrifying stench of burning flesh along with light from the fire now consuming the dragon’s body. 

For a brief moment, Robb had the crazy thought that it was only him; that somehow, only one had made it through, but then, the unmistakable sound of the dead filled the opening and Robb knew that the battle had finally arrived.

Robb unsheathed Ice, feeling the familiar weight in his hand of the Valyrian steel sword. Eight thousand years of Stark history ran through this blade and Robb would wield it proudly as Lord Stark of Winterfell until his arms tired or he was struck down.

Everything else faded as they war reduced to task in front of him.

"For humanity," Robb cried, thrusting his sword in the air, and then charged, straight towards the first White Walker.

"For the North," came Greatjon Umber's cry beside him and the man was right on Robb's heels.

Those were followed by, "The Reach, The Vale, The West, The Stormlands, The Riverlands!" as all of Westeros surged forward in an assortment of houses. It didn't matter; right now, they were the living, and those pouring through the wall were the dead.

Robb thrust and parried, surprised that some of the wights had weapons in their hands, while others appeared to only care about ripping and tearing at flesh with half-formed jaws and skeletal fingers.

The White Walker, though, he was more than just the reanimated dead. His glowing blue eyes saw things; he examined the fighting, and he had a massive spear tipping with ice in his hand, along with armour of his body. Robb watched as he moved quickly, faster than Robb thought possible and speared man after man, quick and efficient. He didn't slow or stop, nor did he seem to tire. He just kept killing men that threw themselves towards him, easily the deadliest creature in this space that was quickly becoming overrun with wights.

As Robb hacked his way forward, the path cleared, and their eyes locked. There was no fear there, Robb realized. No doubt about his task or mission and that chilled Robb to his bones. Then he moved so fast, Robb could hardly keep up, and it was only instinct that prevented the first blow from being deadly, with Ice stopping the spear in the White Walker's hand.

A look of confusion passed over the dead beings' face before he pushed back against Robb. Robb stumbled, went to his knees and reacted with only a second to spare, bringing Ice up over his head to stop the next deadly blow.

"On your feet, Robb!"

Without even looking, Robb knew that his Uncle Benjen had appeared, and he pushed back at the White Walker, thrusting his dragon glass blade towards him, while Robb staggered back to his feet.

"Uncle Benjen, back," Robb called, but it was a moment too late. Robb watched as the spear pierced his Uncle, and Benjen grunted in pain, and then doubled over, falling to the ground.

With a roar, Robb pushed forward, hacking and swinging; there was no finesse, only rage. Robb cut and parried and then, with one swing, landed a blow, Ice's massive blade shattering the White Walker into a million shards of brittle ice.

Robb heaved a great breath and took a moment to look around. The growling that he'd heard, which he thought was the sound of men fighting, to his horror turned out to be wight wolves and bears, snarling and attacking. Everywhere Robb looked, men and women were fighting back against the army of the dead, barely holding their own.

A sudden snarl had Robb whirling, and watching as Greywind lept, ripping the throat out of a wight and then spitting of the decaying flesh before the direwolf pivoted and sunk his fangs into another one. Robb swung Ice in a high arch and destroyed half a dozen wights, turning again and again until his arm felt like it might come loose from the socket, it ached so much.

There was a moment when Robb was not surrounded, and he found himself being grabbed by a man, realizing only at the last moment that he was living and not dead.

"For fuck sakes, I almost took your head," Robb snarled. The man had but a moment to look chagrined.

"Lord Royce sends word that the main gates are under attack from Wight giants. They won't hold, and he has pulled all men back. Lord Lannister is on the ramparts, but they won't hold for long, despite the arrows and the tar and the fire. They'll break down the walls soon, Lord Stark."

Robb wanted to curse, to rail and cry, but he could see the fear in the man's eyes. He couldn’t show his own emotions; not now. Right now he was a Lord and in charge of this portion of the castle’s defenses.

"Tell Lord Royce we'll continue to fight. He can fall back with as many men as he has. Bring them here; this is where we'll make our last stand."

The young man from the Vale nodded and then sprinted off.

"Wait!" Robb cried, and he turned back.

"What of the dragon? My brother's dragon? Where is he?"

For a brief moment, the Vale knight smiled. "Burning the fucking dead, My Lord. He's gone mad, but for us, it seems; he's full of fury, unleashing fire on the Northside of the castle."

Robb grinned and then watched as the young man sprinted off.

Robb spun around, trying to spot a familiar face in the crowd. He needn't have worried; there was more than one, and what he saw almost dropped him to his knees.

Pod and Bronn were fighting, back to back and side by side, but they were surrounded. It wouldn't have mattered had they had ten more men beside them; Robb watched as they were overcome, fighting bravely, but no match for the new White Walker that had arrived. Even Bronn's superior skills didn’t matter, as the White Walker drove his spear deep inside Bronn's belly, skewering him alive.

Tormund was yelling and swinging a massive axe of dragon glass he had specially crafted and was holding his own, but at his feet, men from the Night's Watch lay dead, including Edd.

Robb let out a mournful bellow, and the White Walker, another just like his brother before him, pinned Robb with his eerie blue eyes. Robb snarled out a yell, and swung wildly, chopping down wight after wight.

He was fueled by grief and rage, until he clashed once again with one of the Night King's lieutenants. This time, Robb made quick work of him, able to anticipate his moves and was rewarded with the shower of ice when his Valyrian steel sword cut through him quickly.

Bellowing out his triumph, Robb barely had time to celebrate when a snarl and then a howl of pain made him spin, and he saw a giant wight polar bear with Great job Umber in his jaws.

"No!" Robb cried, and then a rain of flaming arrows ignited the beast and drove him back, but not before the damage had been done and Robb’s friend lay dead on the ground.

Robb spun, wondering what was next and if they would ever stem this tide, as dead after dead continued to throw themselves at the men gathered.

"Keep fighting," Robb cried, finding himself surrounded by Tallharts and Crewyns, grateful for the familiar sigils.

A rumbling from deep inside the castle and then what sounded like the earth itself caving in altered Robb to the fact that the main gate, along with one of Harrenhal's massive front walls, must have finally fallen to the giants that the Night King had brought with him.

"This castle is unstable. It isn't safe for anyone to be inside," Tormund muttered, somehow by Robb's side. Both Wildling and the Lord of Winterfell turned. They watched as yet another tower toppled to the ground, taking half the north side of the castle with it.

Robb's blood ran cold at the sight as one of the largest castles in Westeros crumbled. He wondered if Arya and Rickon were even still alive. He hadn't seen Sandor since before Stannis had lit the moat on fire; he knew they'd been near the south tower.

A cry rent the air, and they looked up to see Rhaegal still flying overhead, unleashing his fire whenever he felt like it. Robb wondered for a moment how many men might have been lost to the dragon's fire, but realized that it was entirely out of his control.

"This is fucking madness," Tormund snarled, hacking at yet another wight that threw itself at them.

"It is, but we have no choice. We have to keep going until Jon and Jaime can kill him," Robb said, breathing hard.

They fought side by side; until they were weary and tiring when the sound of snarling alerted Robb to the fact that Greywind was no longer the only direwolf in the battle. That made Robb’s blood run cold.

He spun and saw Sandor, backed against a corner, Arya and Ric behind him as Nymeria and Shaggydog tore apart anything that came near them.

Arya had her dragon glass sword in her left hand, while Ric held his in his right. Robb's heart soared at seeing them alive, although he had to wonder at Sandor's choice to bring them here.

As if answering his question, the earth shook, and another tower fell, with more brick and stone smashing into those below.

"This whole fucking place is a ruin waiting to collapse on itself," Maege Mormont snapped, eyes darting up to some of the few ramparts that still stood.

It seemed that the wight giants were tearing through the castle at an unholy pace, and Robb knew that it had been unsafe for Arya and Ric to remain inside. Which also begged the question of where Stannis was. Was he safe where they had taken him? Had he survived the death of Drogon only to fall victim to a crumbling castle?

Robb was just about to open his mouth and ask when he saw a group of wights converge on his family; Sandor and the direwolves the only thing that stood between them and certain death.

"No!" he cried and tried to move, only to be tugged back by something holding onto his ankle. Robb looked down and saw the torso and arms of a wight clutching at him. He hacked him off and turned back in time to see Sandor cut down, overwhelmed by the dead and swarmed by wights.

As if they too knew what was at stake, Maege and Tormund yelled and ran towards the Hound, who had fallen to his knees, a spear sticking from his side, before he toppled over. Robb felt his heart crack, and grief, so fierce and potent rushed over him, watching his trusted friend fall before his eyes.

Robb wanted to be sick, to drop to his knees and weep at such a loss, but there was no time. His family was in mortal danger, and he needed to defend them. Robb knew he could not let Sandor's sacrifice be in vain.

Tormund swung his axe, clearing away the dead, but they kept swarming, coming over and over again as Robb ran for all he was worth to his siblings. When he finally reached them, he cut through the wights surrounding them and whistled for the wolves to align themselves with him. Robb had Maege, Tormund and three direwolves to keep his brother and sister safe from the army of the dead.

"Stay behind us, at all times," he called over his shoulder. "Be alert."

For a brief moment, he wished he could offer them something more; words of comfort. Robb could see the tears tracking down Arya's face, and Ric was clutching at one of Sandor's large hands, howling almost as if he were a wild animal at the death of his fiercest protector.

"Eyes forward, wolf," Tormund barked at him, and Robb snarled back.

“They are.” Robb was panting, he was so tired; covered in grime and gore.

"That one looks mean," was all Tormund said as yet another White Walker locked onto Robb and Tormund.

"For fuck sakes Jon, we're dying here," Robb muttered under his breath. He could see that their numbers were dwindling; the only thing that had kept this from being a total annihilation was the fact that the Night King hadn't reappeared and reanimated all those that had fallen.

"He's coming. He's a mean fucker," Tormund was saying, almost salivating at taking a shot at the big White Walker that was now looking to them.

This White Walker was enormous, and his face wasn't quite like the others. The grooves were deeper, and he seemed taller and broader than the ones before.

"Protect them, Tormund," Robb said quietly, the ginger wilding meeting his eyes. "They are what's important."

Tormund nodded.

Robb, exhausted, stepped forward to meet this latest challenge. Whatever surge of energy or adrenaline that had been fueling him had long fled. His arm felt like weights, and it was almost impossible to lift Ice.

But he would, Robb knew. He'd swing the Stark family sword until he was no more; until he was cut down as well, and he would pray that someone would take Ice from his dead hands and continue. Robb had vowed to fight for the living and he'd do so until he had nothing left.

Robb blocked out the cries of Arya, and Ric, along with the shit-talking of Tormund and focused all his attention on the last White Walker he could see.

For some reason, and Robb couldn't say why he knew this, this creature in front of him was older. Unlike the two before him, he was willing to be patient, to bide his time and wait for Robb to make a move. Worse, he didn't seem to tire, because he didn't have to draw breath; not like Robb did.

They traded blow for blow, thrust for thrust until Robb slipped and spun and found himself down on one knee. A snarl from Greywind altered Robb that his direwolf was near, but even the great beast couldn't prevent the killing blow.

As Robb lay there dying, time seemed to still. Faces of those he loved, flashed through his mind; Jeyne, Ned, Sandor, Sansa, Jon, Ric, Bran, Arya… and hundreds of others. He tried to lift Ice, but he realized his sword arm had all but been severed from his shoulder and grunted as the pain suddenly slammed into him.

His eyes looked around, and they locked on Arya's. It pained Robb that she would see him die like this. He'd hoped to spare her this latest loss. Not just her brother, but Sandor as well. Maybe even Bran and Jon.

Then the White Walker drove his spear right through Robb Stark's heart, and the Young Wolf was no more.

* * *

_ Jaime _

Watching Stannis and Drogon fall to the earth seemed to suck all the air out of the night. Jaime wanted to be ill; he knew that was how Tyrion had died on the back of his dragon, but seeing it play out in front of him was sickening.

Jaime wondered how they could kill something so powerful.

_How did you stop a creature that could, with one well-aimed strike, take down a fucking dragon?_ Jaime thought. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but all that came out of his mouth was a funny little coughing sound.

Jaime turned to look at Jon and saw that Jon's eyes never left the green-gold dragon, whose haunting cries filled the night.

"Fly away," Jon was whispering to himself, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "Fly. Leave."

His words became louder until Jaime shook him out of his trance. Jaime glanced around, looking back towards the heart tree.

"Jon! Look at Bran," Jaime said, turning Jon.

Sitting against the base of the heart tree, Bran's eyes had gone milky white.

When he opened his mouth all he said was, "He's here."

Jaime glanced around frantically anticipating he’d see the Night King himself crest the small hill where they found themselves, but there was nothing. Running back to the heart tree, Jaime grasped Bran Stark and shook him.

"What do you mean, he's here? Where?"

Bran shook his head, and Jaime cursed in frustration, looking around.

"Stay in position; fire at anything that moves. Be alert and light the barriers."

Jaime barked out orders as he walked up and down the line; they were three men deep, and while it was something, Jaime was fearful it wouldn't be enough. It was such a delicate balance; to allow the Night King to get close enough to Bran but at the same time, still can kill him.

Had they locked Bran away, the death toll would most likely have been that much higher, and it would have been useless. Jaime, Jon and Bran knew he had to be killed here; at this heart tree where he had been created.

"It's not enough," Jon was muttering until Jaime shook him and cupped his face in his hands until Jon's frantic gaze still and his brown eyes met Jaime's bright green ones. Jaime waited a moment longer until he was sure he had Jon's full attention.

"It's all we've got. Here. Now. This is all we've got, Jon. Three bloodlines, three swords, three strikes." Jaime's voice was steady and sure. There was no cockiness, no false reassurances and no silly promise that they would somehow survive this. There was only the truth. Jon shuddered out a breath, and then a sigh and then almost shook himself, straightening his shoulders.

"Aye. It's all we've got."

Then a chill, unlike anything Jaime had ever felt washed over his entire body. Even through the cloth, his metal hand was so cold, it almost burned the flesh of his wrist and forearm. Breath turned to ice before it disappeared in the night air.

Jon gave Jaime a look. "No matter what happens, he dies here. Whatever we have to do."

Jaime nodded back. "He dies here tonight."

Neither man added they fully expected to die as well.

A growl alerted Jaime to the fact that Ghost was suddenly back, standing by Jon’s side and snarling at the dead who approached.

“Steady boy.”

Jaime had one last moment to think that his entire life he'd been trained for this moment; all the fighting, and the sparring all the heartache and all the poor choices. Here and now was where everyone would know that Jaime Lannister's vow to the living would be fulfilled

The heard the dead before they saw them. As predicted, the Night King had brought reinforcements. It was smart, Jaime thought, as he saw them race towards him. Wear them out with the wights, and they'd be too worn down to fight the White Walkers and the Night King himself.

"Steady," Jaime called, both to archers and those that would light the crude wooden barrier. He wanted everyone just slightly closer…

"Steady," Jaime hollered again, knowing that those in the trees would have itchy fingers and be wanting to let their arrows fly.

"Kingslayer," Jon growled, clutching at Longclaw.

"Almost there," Jaime muttered, keeping his eyes trained on the dead. When they seemed almost about to overrun then, Jaime jerked down his hand.

"Now!" he bellowed, and a volley of arrows hit the first line of wights, stopping them. When the wood ignited in flame, still more wights fell, as the archers in the trees unleashed volley after volley of arrows, obliterating hundreds of wights.

Those that crashed through were met with dragon glass swords, as the company of Lannister men struck them down. Beyond the sheer practicality of being able to drive the dead into the burning wooden barriers, Jaime was pleased with the light that they gave him.

Jaime lost himself in the familiar rhythm of battle; turning, thrusting, dodging. Jaime fairly danced over the hard, snowy ground, at one point- had he been able to see himself, Jaime would have seen a slight smile on his face. Some might have mistaken it for arrogance, or even cockiness, perhaps indifference. It was none of those things; it was merely that Jaime felt most like himself when he had a sword in his hand. Even his left.

Despite the archers and the crude line of wooden installations, the dead kept coming. Jaime felt the sweat roll down his face, and back, making things beneath his armour slick and soupy. That was how he knew they'd been at this for an age; that and the countless dead Lannister men that lay scattered in the snow, blood and cloaks turning the pristine white ground crimson.

Jaime had lost track of Jon until he heard a cry. Finishing the wight he'd been engaged with, Jaime looked up and stopped. The Night King himself had finally emerged and was striding purposefully towards Jon, who had retreated to take up a position by Bran.

For a moment, Jaime didn't understand what was happening. There were several White Walkers with him, but they were standing back. Their blue eyes were almost glowing as they stood behind their King, watching as he stalked ever closer to Jon and Bran.

Just as Jaime was about to run towards them, knowing that was where he needed to be, sharp pain in his lower leg dropped him to his knees.

"Fucking hells," Jaime cursed, turning.

He looked up and saw one of the White Walkers looming over him, ready to thrust his long ice spear into his flesh again. Jaime rolled and pushed himself to his feet, gritting his teeth through the pain.

As he rose, Jaime brought his dragon glass sword up to pierce through what should have been the dead man's belly. The White Walker shattered into a million shards of ice, and Jaime swayed as he tried to stand, hating that his entire leg felt like it might buckle at any moment.

"Sire!" someone cried as Jaime drew in a deep breath, trying to get his bearings.

Jaime looked over to see another White Walker spear the young man that Jaime had spoken with earlier.

"Fuck," Jaime cursed.

He looked around the clearing again; from his count, there were at least five more White Walkers, three of which were with the Night King, while the others were decimating the Lannister forces. As much as Jaime ached to help his bannermen, men, he has known his entire life, Jaime knew he had to get to Jon and Bran.

Then his eyes went to the heart tree and saw that Jon was battling the Night King one on one, and he knew the moment had come.

As Jaime limped towards them, he emptied his brain of all thoughts. Not Myrcella, or his father, or even Sansa or Cersei. He did what he had always done, made himself a weapon for what he had to accomplish.

Jaime had done if when he had been in Aerys' Kingsguard and witnessed a King do horrible things to his wife and hands, and anyone he thought was his enemy. He'd done it when he'd been captured and chained to a pole by Robb Stark. He'd even done it when he'd been delirious on horseback after he'd lost his hand. It was a skill he'd honed for years, the ability to allow nothing to distract him from his mission.

Jaime watched as Jon tried to keep the Night King at bay, twirling and thrusting and staying just a step ahead. The Night King was on the defensive, and Jaime wanted to cheer Jon, but held his breath, knowing he was too far away to be heard.

Jaime was still a fair distance away when everything seemed to slow. Jon slipped and was down on one knee. Jon still held Longclaw in his sword hand, but he'd given up the offensive position to him. In horror, Jaime saw the Night King reach down and grasp Jon around the neck, dragging him to his feet and then lifting him in the air, as Jon's legs kicked helplessly.

Jaime tried to hurry, blocking out the pain in his leg, focusing only on the mission, but still, he wasn't close enough. A White Walker calmly handed the Night King a spear, and Jaime watched in growing horror as the Night King and White Walker worked in tandem to pin Bran Stark to the heart tree.

Jaime started shouting, digging down to reserves he didn't know he had and began to run.

Jaime arrived just as he watched the Night King, still holding Jon with one hand, pull back to spear Bran Stark. To Jaime's knowledge, this unholy creature still hadn't said a word.

Jaime met Jon's eyes, and knew that he was moments away from passing out. He looked from Jon to Bran.

Bran Stark. The three-eyed-raven. The boy he'd thrown from the window. Bran's eyes met Jaime, and Bran nodded his head infinitesimally.

"It's time, Jaime. You know what you have to do."

Jaime wanted to be sick. He was in the perfect position to drive his sword into the back of the Night King and pin him to the heart tree.

The only problem was that Jaime's strike would also hit Bran Stark.

"Jaime, this has always been my fate," Bran said again.

Jaime knew there was no time. He saw the Night King start to turn his face, and his lieutenant started to walk towards Jaime.

Jaime had done this before; killed one man to save half a million. He'd lived with the shame and dishonour that one act had brought upon him for his entire life. Now he was being asked to do it again.

Jaime met Bran's eyes and saw the truth there.

"I'm sorry," Jaime cried as he took his dragon glass sword and drove it through the Night King and into Bran Stark, pinning them both to the heart tree.

Three things happened simultaneously.

The Night King dropped Jon, who lay on the ground clutching at his throat and gasping for air.

Bran Stark produced a single dagger and thrust it into the Night King with the last of his strength.

And the Night King turned his head to look at Jaime- he was not vanquished.

"Jon!" Jaime cried. "Do it now."

Jon was gasping for air while shaking his head.

"JON! NOW!" Jaime screamed at him. It would all be for naught if Jon couldn't do it. They needed Valyrian steel as well.

Jaime had dropped to his knees, the pain in his leg overwhelming him.

The White Walker stalked towards Jaime, as the Night King began to move, trying to pull the dragon glass sword from his midsection.

"Jon, now," Bran said, and met his cousin's eyes. Jon bellowed out a yell of pure horror at what he was being asked to do.

Jon and Bran’s eyes met again.

"It's alright, Jon. This is always how it was meant to be."

With a sob and cry, Jon took Longclaw and drove it into the Night King and Bran Stark, so that both were pinned to the heart tree.

Three bloodlines, three houses and three blades.

The moment Jon's sword stopped, sunk to the hilt in both the Night King and Bran, the Night King shattered, and the night was suddenly silent, as everything dead either shattered or dropped to the ground, still and unmoving.

With the Night King gone, the only one left was Bran; pinned like a butterfly to the heart tree with both Jaime's dragon glass sword and Jon's Valyrian steel sword in him.

"Help me," Jon cried to Jaime, who all but crawled over and drug himself up, to unpin Bran.

Somehow, his eyes blinked as they pulled the swords from him, and he collapsed into Jon's arms. Both Jon and Bran crumpled to the base of the tree, Bran's blood staining the white ground crimson. Jaime was beside them, and Bran's eyes went between them.

"I'm Bran again," he said and gave Jon a small smile.

Jon sobbed, clutching Bran to him as he rocked him.

"We'll get you aid, Bran. Just hang on."

Bran gave his head a shake. "You did what you had to do. Both of you. I'm proud of you."

Then he let out a horrible gurgling sound, and Jaime knew. The light faded from his eyes, and he was gone.

Then the only sound in the godswood on the Isle of Faces was that of two men, who were as close as brothers, sobbing.

They had done their duty; the Night King was dead. Humanity was saved, but the price had been high.

They now grieved over the sacrifice of Bran Stark, the three-eyed-raven. 

And even though Jon and Jaime had saved humanity, their sorrow echoed through the night.

Their victory was bittersweet, paid for in blood that was not their own, and each man felt the hollowness in their success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. 
> 
> We got through the Second Long Night. 
> 
> Next up we will find out who survived and who didn’t. Some fates were not known at the end of this chapter. 
> 
> Writing Robb Stark’s death made me cry- especially because he was so different in this story and I really grew to love him and he never got to see Sansa again. 
> 
> There are more deaths that we haven’t seen- those will be next chapter and honestly, I think the emotional gut-punch next chapter might be worse than this one because now the living have to come to terms with who survived and who didn’t.
> 
> As always, comments and kind criticism welcome.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 of the Second Long Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to the previous chapter was humbling. Thank you. 
> 
> I wanted the Long Night to be three parts- but I couldn't get to where I wanted with this chapter and it was already over 11k words. I also didn't want a huge delay between chapters.
> 
> I know how invested people are in these characters and this story, so I wanted to get to this.
> 
> I'll be honest- writing parts of this chapter were brutal and emotional. 
> 
> I really hope that this comes across. And there are ups and downs so it's not all sadness. Because that's not what grief is. Grief is a roller coaster- and yes, you can laugh even in the face of what feels like insurmountable grief. In my own experience, many of us have delayed responses to grief, so if a character maybe isn't as 'sad' as we think they should be right now, trust me and stick with it. 
> 
> Without more delay, enjoy it.
> 
> T

_King's Landing _

The sharp knock on the door to the bedroom to the King and Queen would typically not cause alarm. There were often people needing the King or Queen at odd hours, especially since this war had started.

But given the hour at which it came, just before dawn, and with the knowledge that the Night King had arrived at Harrenhal, both Tywin and Sansa knew that something significant must have happened to wake them at this hour. Sansa's eyes widened in fear, and she clutched at her husband.

"Tywin, could it be word about the Long Night?" Sansa asked fearfully.

"Shhh, little wolf, I'll find out what is going on," Tywin said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He was both anxious and eagerly waiting for news from Harrenhal.

As Tywin rose from their bed and pulled on his robe, he couldn't help but think back to the hell they'd been through these past few weeks. It had been an interminable wait for a man who was not known for his patience nor his willingness to stand idly by and let others fight his battles.

Neither the King nor Queen had been sleeping well. Not since the disappearance of the Stark children and the departure of Jon and Jaime to try and find them. Things had not improved when word came that the Night King had arrived at Harrenhal.

It was only Sansa and his children that kept Tywin in the Capital; he would have much preferred to be on the battlefield than pacing his castle in King's Landing waiting to hear about the outcome of the war. Tywin swore there were nights that all Sansa did was toss and turn. He knew because he lay awake beside her, his mind unable to stop worrying.

First, they had waited anxiously to hear about Jaime and Jon's mission to Riverrun. They had received word that it had been successful in saving Sansa's siblings. Of course, that raven had brought mixed emotions since it also included news about the death of Brynden Tully.

Sansa was inconsolable over the loss of her Uncle and mourned him in the godswood. Tywin had stood by her as she prayed to the old gods for his soul.

She was joyful that Arya and Rickon had been safely rescued, and Sansa had expected Jon to arrive with her siblings in King's Landing within days of receiving the raven. 

That raven had also brought the utter devastation at learning about the full extent of the betrayal of Catelyn along Lady Brienne. Catelyn's madness had been clearly articulated in the raven. Sansa has known that her mother was truly lost to her when she had read Jaime’s words.

Tywin had snarled and snapped, cursing the woman from the Sapphire Isle for making a fool of his son and his noble house. Thankfully Jaime had accepted the annulment of his marriage and Tywin had processed the paperwork immediately, sending it to the Citadel to be noted in the official records. As of now, Jaime Lannister no longer had a wife.

"I'm sorry," Sansa said, finding him in his solar one evening. She had been waiting for him to come to their bedroom, missing him when he hadn't appeared. She felt the weight of her involvement with Jaime and Brienne and was worried he blamed her.

Tywin's hand clenched in a fist, over and over again, and Sansa sighed, sinking into a chair opposite him, across from his enormous desk.

Sansa was wringing her hands when Tywin finally pulled himself from his thoughts to focus on his wife. Immediately he saw that she was pale and worried. Standing straightaway, he strode out from his desk to kneel in front of her.

"Love, what is it? What has you so worried?" In the course of their marriage, Tywin had learned to gentle his tone with his immediate family and, most especially, his beloved wife. Sansa knew that he worked hard at being soft with her, finally allowing another to see the real heart of the Great Lion.

It still made something in his chest ache when he saw his wife cry as she did now.

"Do you hate me? For encouraging Brienne's affections for Jaime?"

Stunned, Tywin rocked back on his heels, before reaching up to cup Sansa's cheek.

"Gods no, Sansa. Never."

Her blue eyes met his.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Yes, my Queen. They were adults. They made their own decisions."

"But my mother, Tywin. What she did…"

Sansa swallowed hard, and Tywin reached for her hand, squeezing it hard.

He made sure Sansa's gaze was locked on his before he spoke again. "They must be dealt with, Sansa." His tone was unyielding, even if the words were delivered quietly.

She nodded. "I know."

"Jaime has asked that Brienne be offered the silent sisters as an alternative punishment," Tywin started to say, his back molars clenching at the very thought. The humiliation she'd brought to house Lannister would not be rectified with such an option.

"We can't do that, Tywin," Sansa said sadly, shaking her head. "What they did, there is only one option. Both of our houses demand it."

Pride surged through Tywin at her fortitude. He pressed his lips to hers. "I love you, beyond words, wife. Beyond this life and into the next, I shall always love you." She nodded, sniffling slightly. "I will offer them poison the same we did to Olenna," the King told her.

"Tywin," Sansa said, choking out the word. She knew this was his one concession and only because of what he felt for her.

"Come on. We need to sleep," Tywin said, pulling her to her feet. Just as she rose, Sansa let out a gasp, as a sharp kick dug into her ribs.

Tywin's eyebrows arched, and she gave him a wondrous smile and brought his hand to her extended stomach. "Your child is active, my Lord."

"She's going to be strong," Tywin said, still believing that Sansa was giving him a daughter. Sansa would have thought he'd be eager for another son, but it seemed his heart was set on a girl.

Sansa snorted. "Of course she's going to be strong. She's both wolf and lion," Sansa said, and Tywin chuckled.

"Finally conceded, I'm correct, love?"

Sansa stuck out her tongue, laughing as Tywin tugged her closer.

"I know you are worried; I am too. But you must take care of yourself, Sansa. For the baby," Tywin told her. "Let me carry this burden, little lion."

Sansa sighed in Tywin's arms, inhaling the familiar scent of sandalwood and parchment that was Tywin.

"I'll try."

Tywin grunted at that, and finally got his wife into bed and to sleep.

Sansa spent the next few days, focusing on her sibling's arrival at King's Landing and not what she might do when Ser Daven arrived in Kings Landing with her mother and Brienne. Shireen and Myrcella were always by her side, having been recruited by Tywin to give the Queen support during these trying times. Both their families were in absolute turmoil right now.

Sansa busied herself with preparing for the arrival of Arya and Rickon. She was excited to see her littlest brother and wanted nothing more than to make him feel welcome here in King's Landing. Arya and her and exchanged enough ravens after the debacle at Winterfell with the Greyjoys, that Sansa thought she was as close to her sister as she had ever been.

When Sansa had asked if Tywin had any designs on marrying Arya, her husband had snorted.

"As if I'd even try," he'd muttered. Still, Sansa caught the small smile on his face whenever her name was mentioned, and she had to believe that he was looking forward to seeing her more than he let on.

When Jon hadn't appeared within the allotted time frame, she had been in such a state that Tywin threatened to pour sweet sleep down her throat so she would at least rest. She paced steadily and spent countless hours looking North, standing in the cold, trying to spot a dragon that wasn't coming.

She finally relented to stop her vigil, but just barely, and only because Genna browbeat her into relaxing, given the fact that she was over eight months pregnant.

"That babe will come too soon, Your Grace, if you insist on not sleeping or resting," Genna told her, pulling no punches with her words. Genna wagged a finger at Sansa one evening at dinner. "You know as well as I do that babes born too early are more likely to die than those that stay in the womb until it is their time."

Sansa sighed and looked guilty, and Tywin silently thanked his sister for her overbearing ways. It seemed she was the only person that could talk any sense into Sansa these days.

When the raven from Jaime finally arrived from Harrenhal, Tywin was thankful that Sansa was already seated in the family solar, surrounded by their family; Shireen, Myrcella, Genna, Dacey, Addam, Jerrod, Jeyne and Gendry. Of course, the children were with them; Tysan, Jason, Joanna and little Ned.

Tywin read the raven, twice, and swallowed hard. The room had gone silent the moment the steward entered and handed the King the parchment.

When his green eyes finally met Sansa's, he saw her face pale, but she gave him a slight nod.

"What word do you have, My King?"

Tywin had never been prouder of her than he was at that moment. More than half her family was in the path of this monster, and still, she was ever the Queen – strong, resilient and fierce. Tywin had eyes only for her, even though they were in a room full of people.

"Jaime and Jon went to High Heart at the demand of your brother, Sansa. There they received a vision on how to stop the Night King. Because of this delay, Jaime writes that they were unable to bring Arya and Rickon to King's Landing."

"Where are they, Tywin?" Sansa's voice barely quivered, but she was squeezing Jeyne's hand so hard, Sansa's good sister feared the Queen might break it.

"They have all returned to Harrenhal. Jaime writes that the Night King and his army have arrived at the Castle and that the Second Long night is imminent."

Gasps and stunned faces met the King's announcement. When the words finally penetrated, there were soft cries, and worry as well. Some hugged one another, while others paced and a few sat silently in their contemplation. There wasn't a person in the room that didn't have someone vital to them at Harrenhal.

For Myrcella, it was Jaime.

For Gendry, it was Arya.

For Shireen, it was Stannis.

For Genna, it was Kevan and Jaime.

For Dacey, it was Jon, and her mother, Maege, whom she'd received word had made it to Harrenhal.

For Jeyne, it was Robb. But also Arya and Rickon and Sandor. These people were her family and Jeyne loved them all.

For Tywin, it was his son- the one he'd always loved the most until Tysan and Jason had been born. There was his brother, Kevan, the man who had always stood by Tywin's side and supported him. But as well, loyal cousins and bannerman, that Tywin knew they would die by the dozen. There was Jon Targaryen, whom Tywin had come to like and admire, as well as Stannis Baratheon, who had proven on more than one occasion to have been the correct choice to lead this united army. Then there was Sansa's family, especially Arya Stark, whom Tywin held a deep affection for.

For Sansa, it was almost her entire family; Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, and Jon. Along with Jaime and Kevan, two lions she had grown particularly close with. Then there was Sandor, her dearest protector. Lord Royce and Lord Stannis, both men whom she'd come to respect. There were Jon's dragon and the direwolves. And so many Northern houses filled with men and women who had been loyal to the Starks for generations.

Right now, Harrenhal held her entire world except for those in the room with her. And they were all in mortal danger. She felt like she might be sick, and she clutched at her stomach as it rolled in protest, the pain coming quick and fast.

"Tywin," she cried, almost breathless, and he was by her side in an instant, worry clouding his green eyes.

"My love, what is it?"

"I think the baby comes," she said, her voice rising slightly. She didn't want to give birth tonight of all nights, not when they just received word that so many she loved were in danger. Surely the gods wouldn't be so cruel as to make her birth new life just as death stalked ever closer.

"Sansa, are you certain?"

She clutched at Tywin's hand and nodded. "Get the midwife," she said on a pained groan, just as her water broke.

Things moved quickly then. Genna realized almost immediately what was happening. She ordered Myrcella and Shireen to stay with the children, while she sent Jerrod to fetch the midwife. This time, Sansa gladly welcomed Genna and Jeyne into the birthing room adjacent to their bedchambers. The women helped strip her from her heavy gown, removing her jewelry and pressing cool clothes to her neck and back as she panted and laboured through the pain.

When both the midwife and the Maester arrived, they confirmed what Sansa already knew; her next child was not content to wait and would enter this world tonight.

As with the twins, Tywin was by her side the entire time, once again situating himself behind Sansa when it came time to push. She drew from his strength, marvelling at his continued support. Jeyne, Dacey and Genna were there to help the midwife, and as the snow and wind howled outside, Sansa pushed the newest Lannister lion into the world.

Much to everyone's delight, including Tywin, who would brag for years that he'd always known it was a girl, the first princess to House Lannister had been born.

Sansa was crying in joy and relief as the midwife placed the squalling baby on Sansa's bare chest.

"Tywin, she's perfect," Sansa sobbed, overwhelmed at how tiny she was. She had a shock of bright red hair, and Tywin was captivated by her as she rooted around, finally finding Sansa's breast and latching on to suckle.

She was a month early and yet, seemed strong and healthy. Once Sansa had been cleaned and moved back to their main chambers, the others slipped quietly from the room, giving the King and Queen time with their newest child.

"Her name, my love?" Tywin asked after a time, holding them both in his arms. His wife had willingly let him hold them both. Sansa's strength and fortitude never failed almost to bring him to his knees. She had given him everything, including another healthy child. And this time, a beloved daughter that looked just like her mother.

"Serena," Sansa answered, never taking her eyes from her daughter. "She was born on the eve of the second long night, while snow fell in the capital. She is as much of the North as she is of the West, Tywin. She should have a northern name."

"Princess Serena," Tywin said reverently, a long finger tracing delicately down her small cheek. Tywin pressed a kiss to Sansa's forehead. "My wife, you are everything to me," he told her and Sansa turned to smile at him. “Gods how much l love you, Sansa.”

Sansa smiled at him, so in love with him and their daughter. It still stunned her to realize how much she loved this man that held her in his arms; how close they were. Tywin Lannister has proven to be everything Sansa had ever wanted in a husband.

"I have to believe her coming tonight is a good omen Tywin. The gods would not give her to us, only to have us fail," Sansa said, her voice ringing with conviction, strong and sure.

Unwilling to shatter the spell that had been woven around them and not one to argue when he heard that tone in his wife’s voice, Tywin simply nodded his head in agreement. Then the King and Queen were quiet for a time, gazing in wonder and fascination at their daughter.

Serena's birth proved to be a blessing; for three days, the Red Keep and especially those close to the King and Queen were focused only on the newest member of the royal family. They were able to push aside the all-consuming dread and worry about what was happening in the Riverlands and focus on the new life that had been born.

Tywin had barely left his wife’s side for those three days. His chest was as puffed out as when Sansa had given him his sons, and the Queen shook her head at the strut her husband had these days.

Each night, back from the constant demands on him as King, Tywin tucked himself against Sansa, spending hours holding Serena while Sansa slept. Sansa had woken one night to find Serena snuggled against Tywin’s chest, a look of bliss on her tiny face at being held so closely by her father’s strong arms.

Now, as Tywin approached the door to the bedchamber, he couldn't help but look back at his wife, who had their daughter cradled to her chest. Their princess had woken with the knock and Sansa had her settled, nursing her. Serena was only days old, and already, Tywin knew he would kill anyone who sought to harm her. His love for her was all-consuming; for her and her two brothers.

The moment he opened this door, Tywin would know whether he needed to take his family and flee to Essos, or if somehow, those at Harrenhal had been successful. And if they had been successful, what the price had been.

Then his wife smiled at him, and Tywin knew that whatever news awaited them, they would face it together. He was never alone in this life, not with Sansa as his wife, not anymore. For a man who had spent considerable time alone, he’d come to rely on his wife in ways he could never have previously conceived. 

Tywin couldn't help himself. He stalked back over to them, kneeling on the bed and carding his hand through her hair as he fused his lips to hers in a searing kiss. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers.

"Whatever it is, Tywin, we will deal with it together. I am yours, and you are mine, Tywin. That is our vow to one another." Her voice shook with emotion, the depth of her feelings for him so deep.

"I am yours, Sansa. More than my duty to the realm, more than even my loyalty to my house, or our children and our subjects, I am forever and always yours, wife."

They took a moment, heads pressed together, taking strength from each other, recognizing how rare feelings such as these were between two monarchs. They knew that they were lucky- that their marriage had resulted in love and not just a political alliance.

When the King finally pulled himself from his wife and daughter, he took a single deep breath and righted his shoulders.

Jerrod stood on the other side, Dacey behind him. His loyal man handed him the raven; Tywin saw immediately that it was sealed with the symbol of House Arryn from the Vale.

Royce, Tywin thought, thanking Jerrod and Dacey.

"I'll inform you of the contents once I have discussed it with the Queen," was all Tywin said, and both nodded at him, knowing their place.

Tywin closed the door and squared his shoulders, before walking swiftly back to Sansa and Serena. When he was in bed with them again, he opened the wax and with Sansa in his arms, read the raven, out loud to his wife.

_Your Grace,_

_The living have emerged victorious. The Night King himself and his army of the dead have been vanquished. The losses, however, are monumental. At this time, a full accounting is still being undertaken. _

_I can say for certainty that Jaime of House Lannister, as well as Jon of House Targaryen, are amongst the survivors, although both Robb and Bran of House Stark are deceased. _

_Please inform the Queen that her siblings, Arya and Rickon Stark, also survived the Long Night. _

_Beyond that, for me to comment with certainty who else is alive or dead would be mere speculation. We work diligently to get you the information as quickly as possible. _

_Your loyal subject,_

_Yohn Bronze Royce_

As the Queen listened to her husband read the raven, she never knew she could feel both joy and devastation at the same time. Her heart was overwhelmed at the news that some of those she loved best were alive. Jon, Arya, Ric, and Jaime had all come through. That thought was immediately followed by the heartache that Robb and Bran were dead.

"Oh, gods, Tywin," Sansa said, feeling the maelstrom of emotion overtake her, clutching at him.

"Shhhhh love, I’m here," Tywin said, cradling her and Serena close to his body, stroking a hand down her back as she sobbed for the deaths of her two brothers.

"Both of them, gone," she cried, choking on the words. Her next thought was Jeyne. The impact of Robb’s death started to penetrate the thick fog of grief.

"What will I tell Jeyne? And little Ned? He is without a father, Tywin," Sansa cried. She wondered how many other women would get such news throughout the Kingdom.

"He is Sansa. But he has the Queen for his aunt and the northern lords will rally around him. Jon lives, along with Jaime and Rickon. He will not be without support, my love."

"Kevan?" Sansa asked suddenly, eyes wide. Kevan Lannister was one of her dearest friends, a man who had been kind to her from the moment he met her and had welcomed her into House Lannister. And Sansa knew how much Tywin loved his brother.

Tywin shook his head and said nothing. Even without confirmation, Tywin knew he had not made it. Had he lived, Kevan would have sent word- he always had in the past.

There were others; Stannis, Mace, Randyll, Sandor and countless lords from the West, North and crownlands that they would need confirmation if they lived. Tywin knew immediately that he needed to be at Harrenhal. Perhaps his place had been here in Kings Landing during the battle, but now, they needed him there. The Kingdom needed him there.

"What are you thinking?" Sansa asked, eyes suddenly narrowed.

Tywin allowed a small chuckle to escape; he could hide nothing from her.

"You're going," she said suddenly, and Tywin had the grace to try to look surprised that she'd read him like a book.

"Well, I am as well,” Sansa said.

Tywin scoffed. "You've just given birth woman. If you think I'll allow you to travel to the scene of so much death and destruction, you're more sleep-deprived than I thought." Tywin rarely used such a haughty tone with his wife and Sansa was having none of it.

Too late did the King of the seven kingdoms remember the temper of his wife. He'd rarely had it directed at him, but when it was unleashed, it was a sight to behold.

"If you think to keep me here, think again, husband. I will follow you whether you allow it or not. Do not test me, or the loyalty of the people to their Queen."

Her blue eyes blazed and Tywin thought she looked glorious even though her ire was up and directed at him. Tywin knew immediately he needed to try a different angle.

"Sansa, please. What of Serena? And Tysan and Jason? Do you mean to pack them off to Harrenhal?"

Sansa heaved out an angered breath.

"Women in the North give birth to babes and go back to their regular duties all the time, Tywin. I will not lounge around the Red Keep while the people under our care need the show of strength that only seeing the King and Queen provides."

Tywin opened his mouth to protest but was given no chance.

"Beyond that, this is my family that needs me. Rickon has been through hell. Jaime and Jon must be devastated at what they have been through, and gods only knows what Arya's state of mind is if both Sandor and Robb are dead. I will bring the nannies, along with the children, and we will accompany you to Harrenhal. The matter is settled, Tywin."

Sansa's chin jutted out at an angle, and Tywin swore if their daughter hadn't been nursing, his wife would have her arms crossed over her chest. Her blue eyes flashed, daring him to defy her. He looked into them and saw the worry, fear and heartbreak, and he was helpless to say no to her demand. Besides, there was a part of him that hated having her and the children out of his care and protection. At least with his family with him, he'd be able to keep them safe.

"Alright, my fierce little wolf. I'll inform Jerrod and Dacey. We will leave Genna and Addam in charge as we go to sort out this mess."

Sansa's face lost all its defiance as she slumped back against the pillows.

"But," Tywin added, arching an elegant eyebrow at her that made her smile, "I'm bringing both the midwife and the Maester, and you WILL listen to them, Sansa. You will not do a single thing to ready for this journey other than sit in this bed and give orders." Tywin pressed his lips to hers. "That is non-negotiable, Sansa."

She let out an aggrieved sigh, but in the end, agreed.

"Now I need to give Dacey the news that her soon to be husband has survived. How would you like me to inform Jeyne?"

The devastation of Robb's death crashed back over Sansa, and her eyes filled with tears. "Bring her here, if you would. With little Ned and perhaps Dacey as well. We'll tell her together."

Tywin nodded and then dressed before opening the door to the solar. Dacey and Jerrod stood immediately, and Sansa's head of her guard looked at the King. Impressively, she held her tongue, asking no questions and Tywin gave her a slight smile.

"Your betrothed has survived the Long Night, My Lady," Tywin told Dacey Mormont, and watched as joy, then pure relief lit her features.

"Oh, Your Grace, thank you."

She made no move to hug or otherwise touch Tywin, but he could tell she was grateful. Tywin allowed himself one brief smile and moment of happiness. He found he liked Sansa's cousin and was pleased that he had not died. Then his face turned serious as he informed Dacey and Jerrod of the deaths they knew about and the others that had survived. Jerrod was pleased to learn that Jaime had made it through.

"We need to speak with Jeyne Stark immediately. Dacey, you will fetch her and bring her back here." Tywin paused and let out a sigh. "I've decided to go to Harrenhal. Lord Royce writes that the clean-up is extensive; the losses massive. The King is needed."

"And the Queen?" Dacey asked, a grin dancing over her lips.

"The Queen has decided to accompany me, along with the two princes and the princess," Tywin said, ruefully. He saw Jerrod open his mouth to protest, and Tywin gave his loyal man a look. "Do you think I did not try to talk her out of this? Perhaps you would like to go toe to toe with my stubborn northern wife, Ser Jerrod? Tell me, in knowing and guarding Sansa in two years, is there any part of you that thinks you might be able to dissuade her from a notion once it has taken up residence in her brain?"

Jerrod had the presence of mind to give a little shake of his head, along with a smile. "No, Your Grace. The Queen is tenacious."

"Stubborn as a fucking bull is more like it," Tywin muttered, scrubbing a hand over his tired eyes. Both Dacey and Jerrod shared a secret grin. Even when the King was complaining about his wife, the love he had for her was apparent. They both knew that Tywin Lannister loved Sansa more than anything in this entire world and that he was often proud of how persistent and strong Sansa was.

"The royal carriages are to be prepared, along with the Maester and midwife. Gather the servants to help us pack. We leave in two days for Harrenhal."

With that order, Tywin and Sansa's head guards left the room, eager to get started on their tasks. Right before they left, Tywin called out, "Oh, and you will both be coming with us. Find Genna and Addam; they will be in charge while Sansa and I are away from King's Landing."

Tywin saw the grin on Dacey's face and knew he'd made the right call. The she-bear from the North would move heaven and earth to get to her beloved, all while keeping his wife safe. Tywin didn't like bringing Sansa and his newborn daughter to the aftermath of the battle, but he hated the idea of them being alone in King's Landing even more. Right or wrong, the King and Queen of Westeros would ride for Harrenhal and begin the arduous process of rebuilding Westeros from the ruin of the second long night.

* * *

_ Isle of Faces _

Jon and Jaime sat side by side, silently, as they watched the dawn creep over the horizon. Ghost hadn't left their side; Bran's body cradled between the two of them.

They hadn't said a word. Neither one had the capacity to comfort the other, beyond merely being in the same space together. Jaime knew they'd have to speak eventually. They would have to tell their story of how they defeated the Night King. And even as Jaime's heart broke as he realized that all his bannerman had died on the Isle of Faces, it was easier that what happened here would only be known by them.

They stayed seated against the heart tree until the sun broke the horizon and climbed, warming the earth below. It was the first warmth that Jaime had felt in months that wasn't manufactured by fire or flame, and he closed his eyes and let the sun's heat wash over him. He was, after all, a man of the West and he had always hated the cold.

Jaime didn't know what to feel as he closed his eyes and let the sun warm him. He hadn't expected to survive the long night. He had come to the Isle of Faces fully prepared to die, for his life to be the sacrifice that was needed to end the menace that stalked them all. He hadn't counted on it being Bran's life that would be required.

Jaime knew it wouldn't take long for someone, assuming someone had survived, to send a party to search for them here on the Isle. He was just about to open his mouth, to finally speak with Jon when a pitiful cry rent the calm air, and Jon's dragon suddenly appeared, flying almost drunkenly towards them.

Jon went to stand and then looked down, realizing he still had Bran's body cradled in his lap. He gently laid his brother against the heart tree and stood, as Rhaegal finally touched down, stumbling and then all but collapsing at Jon and Jaime's feet in front of the heart tree.

The dragon had been through hell, that much was easy to see. One of his wings was torn to shreds, and there were fresh gouges in his scales and along his side. Rhaegal let out a soft chuffing sound, and Jon rushed towards him, all but throwing himself against the beast.

"Easy, you're back," Jon said, stroking his scales. "What a fine night you had. So strong and brave," Jon crooned to him as the tears tracked down his face.

Jaime stood back, Ghost at his side, knowing that somehow he was watching the last dragon in the known world die before his very eyes.

Jon's eyes had filled with tears, and he was openly crying as he petted the beast, telling him over and over again that he'd done his duty well; that he'd been brave and that his brothers were waiting for him.

Rhaegal's golden eyes flicked open once more, and he made a pitiful sound, and Jon gave a small sob.

“Perhaps wherever it is you are going, Bran will be there as well. I think he liked riding on the back of a dragon. He said he'd flown as a crow enough times, but we both know there's nothing quite like a dragon." Rhaegal huffed out a breath at that statement, and then Jon rested his forehead against the dragon's face. "You're free." With one great last sigh, the green-gold dragon closed his eyes for the final time and was still.

Jaime was barely able to catch Jon as he dropped to his knees, all-consuming grief destroying what little strength he had left. Jaime held his friend as he sobbed, incoherent at another loss.

When Jon finally composed himself, he pushed himself away from Jaime and sat back against the heart tree.

"He stays here. He's not a spectacle. When we've got things settled, we will burn him tonight; we'll see him off correctly, and no one will ever come to this Isle again. This is his final resting spot, and I won't have it desecrated, not after the sacrifice of both Bran and Rhaegal.”

Jaime nodded at Jon.

"We will, Jon. We'll do all those things. I'm sure my father and Sansa will erect a monument to the both of them, to all we've lost. This second Long Night will not be forgotten, Jon. It's all we can do, as the living is to remember the dead." Jaime made sure his voice was reassuring and soothing.

Jon opened his mouth to ask how Jaime Lannister could possibly understand what he was going through, and then snapped it shut when he thought about who Jaime had lost.

Jon pushed himself to his feet and paced a bit before he spun back to Jaime. "How do you do it? How do you go on? Watching your son and your brother die? How does the pain not cripple you? Make you weak?"

Jaime sighed and looked around; the ground littered with red. Cloaks and blood and more dead lions that Jaime had seen in an age.

"I go on because of the people I love. I knew what needed to be done and what I was willing to sacrifice so that they might live." Jaime shrugged. "If you're asking what happens now, I'm the wrong man, Jon. I have no idea. My wife betrayed me; my two sons are dead. The woman I loved most of my life and who was my other half is dead. My brother is dead. I have no idea who else died back at the castle. I don't know how we live in the face of such devastation, only that… we do." Jaime paused. "Because perhaps if we don't, then it makes their sacrifices somehow less. And that isn't something that sits well with me."

Jon's brown eyes had been glued to Jaime as he spoke, and he nodded slowly. "Aye. Their sacrifices do mean something."

Jon glanced back towards the castle. They both could see that three of the five towers were gone. They had no idea what other devastation had been done and how many were dead there.

"We go on for the living, Jon," Jaime said softly, as both men settled back in to wait for someone to come and get them from this island.

"For the living," Jon answered.

It was a day and a half later when finally, Jaime and Jon spotted the Vale knights crest the small hill where the center of the godswood was. They had worked endlessly to pile the bodies of the dead Lannister soldiers neatly, and Jaime had taken meticulous note of who was killed before they burned them.

They had also burned the dragon as Jon had demanded, so only his bones now remained.

When Royce came upon them, he took in the scene with a stoic face, but even his mouth dropped open when he saw Bran Stark's dead body against that of the heart tree.

"What happened?" he asked when his eyes swung back to Jaime and Jon.

"Bran Stark sacrificed himself to kill the Night King. He is the hero of the Long Night and why humanity is saved," Jaime replied smoothly.

All Jon did was grunt his acceptance of Jaime's version of the events. They had decided that they would only tell Tywin and Sansa the true story of what had happened on the Isle of Faces.

"And the dragon?" Even burnt, no one could miss the bones of the Rhaegal that lay in a pile at the base of the heart tree.

"Gone. Also sacrificed himself so that humanity might be saved," Jon reply tersely. Royce looked like he wanted to say more, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"What news do you have of the survivors in the Castle?" Jaime asked, eager to hear word of who survived.

Royce swallowed hard, and both Jon and Jaime got a sinking feeling in their stomachs. Royce held up a hand.

"First, I sent a raven to the King and Queen two days ago and told them of our victory. We didn't know details, but the moment the Night King was killed, everything that was already dead… well, stopped."

He gave a big sigh and scrubbed at tired eyes. "We're still tallying the dead."

Royce looked at Jon. "Arya and Rickon survived."

"And Robb?"

Royce shook his head. "I'm sorry. The story I've heard is that he took out several White Walkers. He died protecting your family, Lord Jon."

Jon swallowed down a pained cry and gave a short, curt nod.

"The King and Queen? They know, though. That we won?" Jaime asked, eager for news from King's Landing.

"They do." A smile broke out on Lord Royce's face. "The King sends word that they make their way to Harrenhal. The Queen has given birth to a daughter, a princess named Serena."

Jaime's mouth dropped open. "And my father lets her leave the Red Keep to come here?"

Royce chuckled then and produced the raven. "I wouldn't exactly say he had much choice. His words seem to indicate the Queen is stubborn when it comes to getting her way."

Jon and Jaime took the raven and read it, and for the first time in an age, Jaime threw his head back and laughed.

"Gods, what that man got himself into when he married her. After years of being in control of everything, finally, someone who tamed him. She's the best thing that ever happened to my father. Who would have thought that Sansa Stark would rule the Great Lion so thoroughly."

No one could miss the apparent affection Jaime Lannister held for Sansa; it was evident in his voice and his tone.

Even Jon allowed a small grin to crease his grim features when he thought about Sansa and her fearsome husband. He had seen how Tywin Lannister deferred to his cousin, and he knew that if Sansa wanted something, she would get it. The man was helpless to say no to her. Even, it seemed, to keep her safe in the Capital while he rode North. Somehow Sansa had taken one of the scariest men in the entire Kingdom and turned him into putty in her hands.

For some reason, the idea that Tywin and Sansa were making their way to Harrenhal brought a measure of peace to both Jon and Jaime. The moment Tywin arrived, Jaime knew his father would take control of the situation. Jaime knew by the look on Lord Royce's face that the damage to the castle had been extensive and the losses tremendous. It would take years to rebuild Westeros, given the sacrifices made by some regions. The loss of Robb Stark alone was devastating, and Jaime hoped that Arya was ready to step in and rule the North as regent in place of her nephew until he came of age. Jaime knew there would be other regions that were in an equally dire state.

Royce and his men then departed the godswoods, giving Jaime and Jon a moment to collect themselves.

Jaime laid a hand on Jon's shoulder. "We remember. All of them and their sacrifices, brother."

Jon glanced at Jaime and gave a slight smile. "Brother?"

Jaime shrugged. "Our family trees are so twisted and fucked up, why not?"

Jon threw his head back and laughed. "Alright. Brother."

Then both men said a silent thank you to all those who had died, who had fought bravely and valiantly by their side, before turning and following Lord Royce out of the godswood and to the edge of the Isle of Faces, preparing themselves for the hell that awaited at Harrenhal.

* * *

_ Harrenhal_

Jon, Jaime and Ghost were all silent as they were rowed back to the mainland by the Vale knights. As if the Night King had never existed, the sun shone brightly down on the ruined castle in the Riverlands. In the light of day, it was apparent that hell on earth had happened here, and gazing at the ruin, Jaime wondered how anyone had survived at all.

"What the fuck happened?" Jaime asked out loud.

Royce grunted. "The Night King brought down Drogon with a single spear," he told them. Both Jon and Jaime had seen that. What they hadn't known was the damage that Drogon had done when he'd fallen.

"I was manning the main gate; they drove the Wight giants right up to me," Royce told Jon and Jaime.

"Giants? Like Wun Wun?" Jon asked.

Royce nodded. "Ten of them or so. We were no match for them. At the same time, when Stannis and Drogon fell, they took out a tower, the south gate and a good portion of the curtain wall in the back." Royce shook his head. "The dead flooded in, led by White Walkers and with all manner of dead beast snapping and snarling. That's where your brother was Jon. On the south side of the castle. By all accounts, what he did holding them off..," Royce said, shaking his head. "He's a legend, Jon. He single-handedly destroyed White Walker after White Walker with Ice, and only fell at the last moment."

Jon felt pride for Robb well up in his chest, along with the sting of fresh tears in his eyes.

Royce sighed. "There were too many. We lost thousands there. Then once the giants got through the main gates, they went to work on the remaining towers and walls." Royce glanced at Jaime. "Your Uncle was on the North rampart. We haven't found him yet, but we've been pulling survivors out of the rubble for the past two days. There is still hope, Jaime."

Jaime felt his stomach drop at the thought that his Uncle might be dead.

"Stannis? I assume he died when the dragon fell," Jon asked.

Royce shook his head. "Stubborn fucker lived. Broken arm, concussed and a huge gash on his leg. He might never swing a sword like he used to but he’s alive. Robb found him and his men got him to safety before the dead arrived. Thank the seven gods they didn't take him too far into the castle; else he'd have died when different parts of it collapsed." Royce gave a grim chucked. "No Stannis Baratheon is alive and a miserable man to be around. Ordering people about from his sickbed when he can. I won't lie; he can be a pain in the arse, and we often douse him with sweet sleep to shut him up."

Jon couldn't help but smile at that thought. So he wouldn't be alone after all. No matter how slim, his one relative on his father's side still lived.

"We'll need your help when we get back. I know you two have been through your own hell, but fuck, the mess," Royce said darkly, his eyes taking on a faraway look.

"What about Dorne?" Jaime asked.

Royce shook his head. "They didn't arrive in time. This was a war paid for in blood by the six kingdoms, and when King Tywin arrives, he will hear that from my very lips," Royce snarled.

Jaime did not envy the southern Kingdom when Tywin found out they had not fought in this war.

As the boats got closer to the shore, Jon couldn't help but stare in wonder at the sight that awaited him. Ric and Arya stood there, with Tormund behind them and the three direwolves sitting nicely.

"The fucking wilding made it?" Jaime asked, incredulously.

Royce only rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

They were almost to shore when Jon leapt from the boat. There would be time to bring Bran's body ashore. Right now, he needed his family.

"Jon!" Arya cried, both her and Ric running to meet him, so that they swarmed each other, falling into the soft mud on the shore, arms and legs tangled in one another.

"You're alive, Jon," Ric said, sobbing, as snot and tears rolled down his face. He was clinging like a vine to Jon.

"Shhh, Ric, I am. I'm back, and I'm not going anywhere," Jon told them again and again.

"Jon," came Arya's soft voice. "Where's Bran?"

Jon met Arya's eyes, eyes that were so much like his. Stark eyes, he realized. His eyes, he thanked the gods, were from his mother.

Arya must have seen something there because she let out a keening wail and buried herself deeper in Jon's arms.

"He saved us all, Arry. His sacrifice is what killed the Night King," Jon said, repeating what Jaime had told Royce.

"But why him?"

"I don't know. None of us do."

Arya swallowed hard and looked into Jon's eyes. "You heard about Robb?"

Jon felt his throat tighten. He nodded once.

"He was a hero Jon. He died defending us. He never stopped, not until the very end."

"He and Bran; true Starks then. Dying to defend the pack," Jon choked out, and all three sobbed at that thought.

"I heard Sansa is coming," Jon said after a moment, having realized that everyone but Jaime and Tormund had left, giving them space and time.

"She is?" Ric asked, still settled in Jon's arms.

"She is. You'll be happy to see her again," Jon told him. Ric's eyes darted away, and Jon frowned.

"What's wrong, Ric? She's your sister and the Queen."

Ric bit his bottom lip and at that moment, reminded Jon so much of Sansa that he ached to see her again. Somehow, Jon knew, Sansa being here would make things better.

"I don't remember her, Jon. What if she doesn't remember me?" Ric said quietly, and Jon's heart broke for him. “What if she doesn’t love me? Or want me?”

"Trust me, she remembers you. And she loves you, Ric. She will be going out of her mind to get to you. She was preparing the castle in King's Landing for you when we had to bring you back here. She's changed, yes. She's older, and she has three babies of her own now," Jon was saying.

"Three?" Arya fairly yelled in his ear.

"Seven fucking hells, Arya, that's my hearing," Jon grumbled, but secretly glad that he'd successfully distracted them from grimmer topics.

Jon smiled.

"Yes, three. Her and the King ride for Harrenhal. Apparently, she just gave birth. A daughter named Serena," Jon continued in a rush before Arya could ask.

A wide grin split Arya's face. "Fucking hells, she gave the first princess of the realm a Northern name. Well done, sister," Arya said, full approval in her tone. Then she let out a chuckle. "Oh, I bet the Old Lion just loved that."

It was then that Jaime's laugh reached their ears. "You know how much my father loves his wife."

Arya grinned. "The Old Lion likes me as well, Kingslayer. Make no mistake about that."

Jaime shook his head at her. Arya Stark was so unlike Sansa, but even Jaime couldn’t deny how much affection his father had for her. Somehow the Old Lion had been taken in by these wolves.

All three had pulled themselves to their feet, their direwolves having long ago stalked off to hunt and bond again. The pack seemed happiest when they were all together, and they all knew that Greywind would mourn the death of Robb.

Arya sighed when she looked back at the castle. "I guess I had better go and check on Sandor. He's a miserable bastard these days," she said conversationally, looking back to where Rickon had sidled up to Jaime.

"The Hound survived?" Jaime asked suddenly.

Arya nodded and then grinned. "Yeah. We thought we had lost him. He'd got us out of the castle just before it collapsed, but we ran right into the battle. He and our wolves fought, but he was overrun, and one of the White Walkers speared him in the side. We all thought he was dead. That's when Tormund and Maege Mormont came over, and Robb had to battle…" Arya's voice trailed off, her eyes filling with tears.

"Robb came over to defend us, Jon. If we hadn't been here, he'd still be alive," Ric finished softly. Both Jaime and Jon could hear the guilt in Ric’s voice. 

Jaime knelt and looked the young boy in the eyes. So much hurt, Jaime thought. Sansa's youngest brother had been through hell.

"Your brother died doing what he was sworn to do; protecting his family. And as Lord of Winterfell, his job was to protect everyone in the North. It's not your fault."

Ric looked into Jaime's green eyes. "Can I still be your squire?" Ric asked quietly.

Jaime swallowed hard, emotion threatening to leak from his eyes. He had no idea what use he would be, no idea what his purpose might be or where he'd end up. His life was a complete mess. But he'd made a promise to Rickon Stark, and he wasn't about to break it.

"Yes, you can. No matter what happens, we'll talk with Queen Sansa and make sure she knows."

Ric threw his arms around Jaime and hugged him tight, and for a moment, Jaime could swear it was Tommen who was here, hugging him. Jaime wrapped his arms around the Stark boy and hugged him back.

"It's all going to be ok now. You will stay with us. With Sansa and me and my father," Jaime told him, and Ric clung tighter. Jaime had no idea if his father would welcome yet another child into the Red Keep and his home, but given everything that he'd been through, and how much Tywin loved, Sansa, Jaime felt it was a safe bet that the King would accept Rickon coming to King's Landing.

"Oh, I cannot wait to see Tywin Lannister accepting Ric in King's Landing with Shaggy," Arya said, grinning like a maniac. Even Jaime smiled at that thought.

Pure exhaustion overtook Jon as he rose, and looked up to the castle. Started, he saw some faces he recognized from the North and realized that they were there to get Bran. Nodding once at them, Jon turned to Arya, needing to distract her.

"Where is everyone staying?"

"Tents mostly. The castle is a death trap," Arya said, walking beside Jon. "Come on. I'll show you where Ric and I are staying, and then we can go and see Sandor."

Before Jon could take three steps, he found himself picked up and swung around.

"Little crow, we thought you were dead," the Wildling cried, happiness bursting from him. He placed Jon back on his feet and clapped a heavy hand on his shoulders, face suddenly serious. "I kept them safe, when the Young Wolf fell, Crow. I kept my word. Will the King keep his? Are the Wildlings free?"

Jon had no idea what Sansa or Tywin's plans were for the Wildlings, but he couldn't imagine that anyone wanted them to remain in the south. Jon stopped, almost stumbling. What would happen to the Night's Watch? Would the King even keep it? There had to be no need for it; not now that the reason the Wall had been built in the first place, was dead. What was there to keep out? Besides the Wildlings?

Shaking himself from those thoughts, Jon clapped Tormund back and hugged the Wilding. "Thank you, Tormund. There will never be enough words for what you did. I will speak with the King."

Tormund nodded, then leaned in. "The dragon didn't make it?"

Jon shook his head, choked up with emotion when he thought of Rhaegal's death. "No. He didn't."

"Ahhh fuck," Tormund said.

As they walked, they approached a large tent, and Arya pushed aside the front flap. "This one's for the injured," she said in a sotto voice to Jon. Ric still hadn't left Jaime's side. "I'll warn you now; he's a miserable shit."

"Wolf bitch, I can fucking hear you. It was my guts that were hit, not my fucking ears," Sandor growled.

The large man was propped up against a makeshift bed, a mound of pillows supporting his form. He'd been stripped down, so his massive, hairy chest was on display, along with a big white bandage across his midsection.

When he saw Jon, Jaime and Tormund step into the tent; he rolled his eyes. "Oh, for fucks sakes, what are they doing here?" he snarled, waving a large hand in their direction.

Jaime was grinning. "Hound! You live!"

"Kingslayer," Sandor spat, shaking his head. "Of course, the King's golden son would survive."

Jaime let his golden hand rest on Sandor's shoulder. "I live to torment you, friend."

Sandor snorted and shook his head, but even Arya could see that he had a bit more joy in his eyes seeing Jaime and Jon.

"If you're not so fucking miserable, I'll get you extra food," Arya said to him, sitting on the side of his bed.

Sandor rolled his eyes at her.

"Why's the little wolf hanging off the Kingslayer?"

"I'm Jaime's squire," Ric announced proudly, and everyone turned to Jaime, who had the grace to look a bit chagrined.

"He asked, and well, I mean, what was I supposed to say?"

Jon just shook his head, thinking that Sansa would be pleased that Jaime and Rickon had bonded.

"Where is Stannis?" Jon asked Arya, and she jerked her head to the back of the tent.

"Back there. He's in a lot of pain, and even in even worse shape than Sandor."

Jon nodded and then shot a glance at Jaime. Jaime disentangled himself from Rickon and left both Starks with Sandor and Tormund while they went to see if Stannis Baratheon was awake.

As they got closer, both men winced at the sight of the Storm Lord. He looked like he'd been through a war. Two black eyes, numerous contusions on his face, along with an arm that was cast and wrapped. He groaned lowly, even though his eyes were closed, and both men knew he must be in a tremendous amount of pain.

"Got your fill?" came Stannis's raspy voice, startling both Jaime and Jon from their musings.

Jon stepped forward and swallowed hard. "It's good you live," Jon said.

Stannis grunted. "I have no idea what gods thought fit to save me. By all laws of nature, I should be as dead as that dragon."

"Lady Shireen would have been devastated," Jon said and saw that Stannis gave a small, pained smile.

"Now she has to deal with her stern and overbearing father," Stannis tried to jape.

"Not much different from the King," Jaime said, trademark smirk on his face.

For once in his life, Stannis smiled at something Jaime said. "No, I guess not."

"It's good to see you, Lord Stannis," Jon said again, dipping his head in respect. "What you did, the chance you gave us…" Jon choked up.

"I did my duty, Lord Jon. The same as you did, and I assume Jaime did as well. Nothing more or less. That is what men like us do, Jon. Our duty."

Jon nodded again at his friend before he and Jaime took their leave. Arya and Ric were waiting for them. "Space is limited, but you two can stay with us. We had no idea what we'd find at the Isle of Face. Royce was an absolute bear about me not going," she grumbled, while Jon sent a silent prayer of thanks.

"Tomorrow, there will be time to show you everything. They'll need you two. So many lords are just gone."

Jon nodded. "And Robb's body?"

Arya's shoulders slumped. "We've been building pyres for the past two days. He was one of the first to be laid on one. I imagine Bran will join him."

Jon pulled Arya in close. "We'll always remember them. Their sacrifices; their heroism."

"I know."

That was all Arya said, gesturing to Jon and Jaime to take the other two beds in the tent, while she and Ric shared another. Arya knew from experience that Ric had nightmares, and she was sure tonight would be no different. She only hoped that Jaime and Jon were prepared to help her deal with him. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically drained. For the first time since this entire mess started, she allowed herself to drift off to sleep, thinking that maybe, finally, her family would have a chance at peace.

* * *

The next five days were brutal. True to her word, Arya had brought Jon and Jaime to the open field where they had started to build pyres for the dead bodies. Robb and Bran had both been cleaned and dressed in Northern tunics, a direwolf sigil on their chest and their Northern cloaks around their shoulders.

Jon broke down completely upon seeing Robb's body, almost crawling beside him on the pyre. Both Ric and Arya stood respectfully back, allowing him his grief. They'd done the same. Once the dead had all stopped, they'd clung to Robb's dead body for hours, only letting him go when Tormund had all but dragged them away.

When it came time to visit with Bran, it was Arya and Ric, who were inconsolable. Even though Bran had been something different for so long, he was still Bran. He was a Stark.

"I want their bones brought home to Winterfell," Arya stated at one point, her voice loud and sure. "They'll lay there with father's bones. We'll have statues built for them. It's only right that little Ned knows his father died a hero."

"Tis a grand idea, Arya," Jon said, nodding his agreement. He wondered if that was where his little sister was headed once this mess was made. Was she ready to take her place at Winterfell? She could rule as regent for Ned until he came of age; she was, after all, the next eldest Stark as Sansa's role of Queen precluded her from doing so. Jon said nothing though, preferring to wait until Tywin and Sansa arrived to sort out sticky business such as who would rule what region now.

While Jon spent hours with the Northern lords, and Arya, as well as with Sandor and Stannis, Jaime dedicated himself to helping with the recovery effort. They still had not found the bodies of Mace Tyrell, Kevan Lannister or Randyll Tarly.

Jaime found himself working alongside Dickon Tarly, Randyll's heir and second son often. Jaime found him to be mostly a decent young man; he was diligent and hardworking and fucking massive. The man worked tirelessly, and with the leadership from the Reach devastated, he'd taken up the mantle of Lord admirably. Jaime's respect for him grew by the day.

Ric trailed after Jaime like a shadow; Jaime thought he might be annoyed, but found himself enjoying the boy's company. His direwolf was always there; the big black beast was particularly protective of Ric. Jaime flipped the wolf some of his lunch one afternoon, and since then, Shaggy hadn't left Jaime's side either. Jaime always had a soft spot for animals, so it was no hardship to bond with both wolf and boy.

Every time they pulled another body from the wreckage, Jaime raced to check if it was his uncle. He knew more than ever that his father would want Kevan's body returned to the Rock; to be given its proper place in the Hall of Heroes.

After nearly a week of searching, they still hadn't recovered it, and Jaime's frustrations grew. He'd been able to push down the emotion he was feeling, knowing that without seeing it with his eyes, he could fool himself into pretending that perhaps Kevan was still alive.

That all changed, a week after Jaime and Jon arrived back at the castle, and nine days after the battle with the Night King. Kevan Lannister was found along with several lords from the West, near the base of the North wall that had collapsed when the giants came barreling through the castle.

Jaime dropped to his knees; a keening wail let loose from his mouth. Ric knew immediately that something was wrong; Ser Jaime had never acted like this before. He turned to Shaggy and whispered, "Find Ghost."

Ric wouldn't leave Jaime, not when he had tears streaming down his face as he clutched at the dead man's hand. Within minutes, Jon and Arya were there, and they skidded to a stop when they saw Kevan Lannister's body.

"Fuck," Jon whispered. He knew Jaime had been holding out hope that his beloved uncle had survived. Saying nothing, Arya and Jon, along with Ric and the wolves, began to help clear the rubble from around Kevan. They worked tirelessly until they could pull his body from the wreckage of Harrenhal's high northern curtain wall.

Silently, Jon, Dickon, Royce and Jaime lifted Kevan's body, bringing it to the staging area where it would be washed.

"He's not to be put on a pyre. He was the King's brother; he'll be returned to the West," Jaime said, speaking for the first time in hours.

They all nodded at him and then watched as the Kingslayer stalked out of the tent. Ric went to follow, but an arm on his chest from Jon stopped him.

"Give him space, Ric."

Jaime returned late that night to the tent he shared with the Starks, and said nothing, stripping down and crawling into bed and returning the next day to clear more rubble.

Two days later, less than a fortnight after the Night King had been defeated, word came that the King had been spotted.

Jaime had thrown himself into the recovery work, barely taking a break from dawn until dusk. The weather had been cooperative; nothing but sunshine and warmer temperatures, although thankfully, it was still cold enough that the bodies on the pyres had not started to decompose yet.

When Jaime heard the news that his father's arrival was expected within the next hour, he didn't stop working. He knew that he was avoiding having to see him, and it wasn't until Jon, Arya, Ric and Tormund appeared that he was forced to confront the fact that he had no idea what he might say to the Great Lion.

Not about his wife and her betrayal, nor about Jaime's acceptance that he had to die to kill the Night King and definitely not what to say to his father that Kevan was dead.

Jaime was empty, like a flask that had run dry. He hadn't cried, hadn't wailed and hadn't grieved Kevan's death.

He'd barely reacted when Dickon had found his own father, breaking down over Lord Randyll Tarly’s prone form. He'd had no words of comfort for Jon when he'd learned that Maege Mormont had died.

The worse had been when he'd stumbled upon both Bronn and Pod, not far from where Maege had fallen. Jaime had done nothing more than waved a hand and ordered them prepared like all others. He'd barely spared them a glance, which was not like Jaime at all.

Jon and Royce were deeply worried about him and had spent countless hours discussing Jaime's lack of reaction. When Stannis had overheard, he spoke of men he'd seen like that before; they either had to come to terms with their losses, or they risked going mad.

"He's close to breaking. Where is the King?" Stannis asked Royce, who informed them that Tywin was less than a day's ride away.

Somehow over the course of this war, the barriers and usual tensions that existed between the great houses were less pronounced in the aftermath. Stannis found that he was actually worried about Jaime Lannister, which was an almost foreign concept to him.

Now, knowing that the King and Queen approached, Jon knew that he had to do something… more. He recruited Arya and Ric, along with Tormund. The Wilding had laughed and slapped Jon on the back. "I will help. We all need to be pretty for the Queen. I've heard she's quite beautiful. A ginger. Kissed by fire."

Jon shook his head at his friend. "If you speak like that in front of the King, he'll run your through."

Tormund wiggled his eyebrows. "He can try."

Arya snorted and shook her head. Men were continually making fools of themselves for Sansa. When she'd told Sandor that Sansa was on her way here, he'd practically sat up in bed, tearing at his stitches, and snarling he needed a bath. When Arya had left him, she was sure that she'd heard him muttering something about the little bird and sniping that his beard required trimming.

Now standing in front of Jaime, the four of them refused to move.

"I've seen the King and Queen before," Jaime said, smirking in order to hide his trepidation that seeing Sansa and his father was making him feel.

"You're coming with us," Jon said, crossing his arms and giving Jaime a look.

"But there is so much to do," Jaime said, declining.

“Jaime.”

Jaime heaved out a sigh and looked anywhere but at Jon.

“How long until they are here?”

“Less than an hour and you stink. Take a bath and come and meet your newest sister,” Jon said softly.

When Jaime still hadn’t moved, Jon stepped closer.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way; but either way, you’re coming with us.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow at Jon, who only shrugged. He knew that he and Tormund could overpower Jaime easily given the state the Golden Lion was in. Then Jon went in for the kill.

“They’ll be expecting to see you, Jaime. Can you imagine the state Sansa will be in if you’re not there.” Jon paused then added. “Brother.”

Those were the magic words it seemed as Jaime heaved a sigh and finally quit his place amongst those digging through the rubble.

“That was dirty, Jon,” Jaime said, a bit of admiration in his voice for Jon. He didn’t think that the dragon lord had it in him to play people in such a way.

Jon gave him a slight grin and shrugged his shoulders. Then he sighed and ran a hand through his curls. “Sansa is going to be a mess. Between Rickon worrying she won’t remember him, the deaths of Robb and Bran and her just giving birth, if she has to worry about you as well,” Jon said, giving Jaime a look.

The Golden Lion had the grace to appear chastised as they walked towards the bathing tent.

“I don’t know what to say to them,” Jaime murmured lowly, so only Jon could hear. “Of all the possible outcomes, this wasn’t one I was prepared for.”

“None of us were, Jaime. But they’re family. Your family and mine, and you know they’ve worried and prayed for us. Take your bath and dress properly and then we’ll meet them; together.”

Jaime gave Jon a slight grin. It was such an odd sensation, to have someone actually care for him without expecting anything more in return than for Jaime to just be himself. He’d spent his entire life trying to keep the peace between Cersei and Tyrion, and had never quite managed.

Somehow, Jon and Sansa and even Rickon had just accepted Jaime for who he was. Jaime laid his golden hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“Together,” he said, slipping inside to bath to ready himself for the arrival of the King and Queen of Westeros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stand by my decision that Sansa would leave King's Landing after giving birth for a number of reasons.
> 
> Mainly, I knew I wanted Tywin and Sansa at Harrenhal- I think they needed to both see the aftermath. Westeros is devastated and they need their King and Queen. Bringing Sansa to Harrenhal pregnant just didn't sit well with me, so I had her give birth before they left and go with Tywin. There was a part of me that couldn't see the King leave his family behind. 
> 
> I know- it is NOT ideal. But it is a choice I stand by. 
> 
> I have MAJOR plans for Westeros moving forward. 
> 
> I am 100% pulling a Toilken- magic is leaving Westeros. No more dragons, no more Night King, no more giants, no more three-eyed-raven, no more children of the forest. 
> 
> That means I have huge plans for REFORM in Westeros moving forward- lead by the Queen.
> 
> Also- comments are gold, honestly. They really make me want to keep writing and give me a lot of motivation.


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tywin and Sansa arrive at Harrenhal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first, I have no idea how or why these chapters are coming so fast, but enjoy it for now- See it's true- comments do fuel the muse and the last couple chapters, you guys have been amazing. 
> 
> Second: this is pure indulgence- this chapter is FANFICTION at it's best. I mean, it still made me cry, but there are so many indulgences, well, sorry, not sorry.
> 
> I'm not sorry because, after half a million words, I deserve to indulge a little bit with these characters and in this chapter I did. So I hope this brightens this story a bit and that you all enjoy it!
> 
> SA: bows down and says, I'm not worthy. Many thanks, as always.

_ Road to Harrenhal  _

As the carriage rocked and swayed up the King's Road, Sansa couldn't help but glance around at the women that surrounded her as they made their way closer to Harrenhal. They had become so close to her, and Sansa was thankful for Jeyne and Myrcella joining her on this journey to Harrenhal.

Dread filled Sansa, along with anticipation and joy, all of which made her stomach, heart and head hurt. It was nothing less than the truth to say she didn’t know what to feel from moment to moment, swinging wildly from one emotion to the next.

True to his word, Tywin did not allow Sansa to lift a single finger when it came to readying themselves for this journey. Myrcella and Genna had shown up within the hour of their announced departure and had started to pack for her. All three Lannister women wept for the loss of Kevan; Genna was especially emotional thinking about her brother being gone, and Sansa mourned the loss of one of her first real friends in King’s Landing.

"I'm so glad Ty has you, my dear," Genna said, sitting beside Sansa on their massive bed, wiping her tears away as she placed Joanna beside Serena.

Both Tysan and Jason were one year old and were now toddling around, while Joanna, at almost three months old, looked huge next to how small Serena was.

"Kevan's death will hit Tywin hard, Sansa," Genna continued, cooing at Joanna, who giggled and kicked her legs. Tyrion’s daughter’s hair had darkened, and her eyes remained a pale grey; she had the look of a Tyrell, but there was some Lannister in her as well.

Sansa burped Serena, who'd just finished nursing. Her princess was a greedy little thing, eating almost continuously and then sleeping for good chunks of time. Of course, she was often in either her mother or her father’s arms, and Sansa worried she’d never learn to sleep on her own. But those were cares for another day.

"I know. He has barely allowed himself a moment to stop."

As much as Sansa felt the riot of emotions inside her, she knew that Tywin would be grieving as well. She also knew her husband had a tendency to suppress what he was feeling, and Sansa knew he felt a tremendous amount of pressure to get Westeros back to functioning normally now that the Second Long Night was over. She worried he would not allow himself to feel the true impact of losing his brother.

Kevan had been by Tywin’s side since they were children. He had been the consummate second son; loyal to Tywin for his entire life. His advice has always been well-intentioned and pragmatic, and Sansa knew that out of everyone in the realm, besides her, Jaime and their children, Tywin loved Kevan best.

"Sansa, perhaps it's best if I come as well," Myrcella said, directing the handmaidens to pack Sansa's gowns in a certain way, open trunks scattered throughout the room. "I can't imagine Father is doing well, and you could use the support."

Sansa smiled at Myrcella, who had become one of her closest friends.

“I think that is a lovely idea, Myrcella,” Sansa said, tucking Serena in close as her daughter’s eyes fluttered closed. Sansa could still not get over how perfect she was.

They had sat Myrcella down earlier and explained how her betrothal to Trystane was done; Tywin had already sent the raven. The King was enraged that Dorne had failed to show up with men in time to fight in the war, and he would not send his granddaughter back to that land of heathens. Everyone knew that there would be consequences for the southern kingdom.

Myrcella had accepted this news with aplomb as far as Sansa could tell. She had thought Myr had been in love with Trystane and would have been more upset.

"I think, being back here, with family, I realized I was lonely in Dorne. Since I've been around you and Grandfather, I realized my feelings were not as deep and true as I'd like them to be when I wed. I spoke with my Grandfather about holding off on a match for me. I'm enjoying my time with you, Sansa, and with my father."

Sansa had been delighted that Myrcella would not be leaving King’s Landing any time soon, and welcomed her gladly along for the journey to Harrenhal. Knowing that Jaime had lost both his wife and his beloved Uncle, Sansa was genuinely concerned for her friend.

Tywin hard barely protested when Sansa announced Myrcella and Jeyne were joining them.

A particularly deep rut jostled the interior of the carriage, and Sansa looked over in time to see poor Jeyne retch again into a bucket they had procured for her.

Sansa reached out to pat her good sister on the back, her heart aching for the woman.

When Jeyne had been summoned to the King and Queen's chambers, she knew at once that the worst possible thing had to have happened. She all but collapsed in front of them, held up only by Tywin's strong arms, who guided her to the couch. So overcome with emotion, Lady Stark found herself clutching at the King.

"How?"

Tywin shared what little information they had, including the fact that Lord Royce called Robb a hero of the Long Night.

Both Sansa and Tywin saw the woman from the West put her hands on her stomach.

"I just confirmed with the Maester that I am expecting our second child. What gods take the father before he even knows he'd having another babe?"

Sansa didn't think her heart could hurt anymore, but as she cradled Jeyne in her arms, she wept with her goodsister and prayed that peace had come to Westeros. There had been too much death, enough to last a lifetime as far as Sansa was concerned.

Jeyne also asked to come to Harrenhal.

"I need to see his body," she choked out, and Sansa readily agreed.

"And then I need to go home. To Winterfell. With Ned."

Her eyes had flashed, bright and determined with this statement and her spine went firm.

"I am Lady Stark, and my role is to ensure that Robb's son inherits his family seat."

Her chin jutted out at an angle much like Sansa's, and Tywin growled his approval at her courage. These women, the King found, continued to prove just how strong they were.

"We'll need to set up a council with the Northern Lords," Tywin warned her. He knew what it might look like to have a woman from the Westerlands act as regent until Ned came of age. Tywin would not lose the North just because Robb Stark was dead.

"That is fine, Your Grace. I'd also like Arya with me if she's amenable," Jeyne said softly.

Tywin nodded at that. Neither he, nor Sansa had any idea of what her sister’s plans were.

"What of Greywind?" Jeyne asked, and both the King and Queen wore identical surprised expressions. Jeyne blushed.

"I know I am not a true born Stark, but he often slept on our bed. Robb said it was impossible to refuse him anything, and he is quite protective of little Ned. I have come to love that wolf as much as my husband did, I’m sure.”

Sansa felt the tears come again, and she reached out for Jeyne's hand. "As far as we know, the direwolves all survived. I'd imagine that Greywind is waiting for you and Ned."

Jeyne let out a soft breath and a little cry. "Oh, I hope so." She paused and looked between Tywin and Sansa. "And Sandor? He was exceptionally close and loyal to Robb. What news of him?"

Tywin shook his head. Both Sansa and Jeyne wore devastated expressions, and Tywin wondered at how a man such as the Hound had secured such loyalty from such gently bred women.

"No word yet, My Lady," Tywin told her, and Jeyne nodded, chin only quivering once.

"Thank you for telling me in private, away from the others." She gave Sansa one last hug and then nodded to Dacey, who would see her back to her rooms. Jeyne needed time to mourn in private.

Now Sansa looked at her, pale and sick, although there was a determined expression on her face, and Sansa often saw her cradling her stomach. Sansa knew if she had been in a similar position where Tywin had died, the thought of a babe from her husband would have gone a long way to sustain her in her time of grief.

Sansa often found herself lost in thoughts of her brothers, Robb and Bran. She knew that Bran was something different from both Jon and Jaime and wasn’t quite sure what she felt beyond the loss of him as a sibling.

But Robb was a massive loss for her. She had counted on him surviving; their houses growing stronger and closer as the years passed. Sansa had wanted to see Robb, as Lord Stark, happy and thriving in Winterfell. She wanted them to grow old together, exchanging ravens and funny stories about their children. She had hoped their children might wed; that their two proud houses would rule Westeros together. Now he was gone, and his loss felt almost insurmountable.

Sansa also worried about those left living.

They had very few ravens on the journey, so they knew almost nothing more than they had first learned with Lord Royce's first message.

Sansa had grave concerns for the state in which she might find Jon, Jaime, Arya and Rickon.

The pace the King set was relentless, and even though they stopped each night, Sansa was too exhausted to do much more than ensure Serena was nursed and then fall asleep in Tywin's arms, waking to do the same thing over each day. Sansa never complained, though, knowing that others were in a worse state than her.

When they passed out of the Crownlands and into the Riverlands, Sansa had startled to realize that it was the first time since she'd come to King's Landing those years ago, that she had left. It was incredible how the capital no longer felt like the prison it once had; instead, it had become her home. Her heart would always ache for Winterfell, but that was no longer her place and she knew it. 

Briefly and to distract herself, Sansa allowed herself the luxury of thinking that perhaps they might, now that there was peace, travel to Casterly Rock and the North. Sansa wanted to see all the regions including the Vale and the Stormlands.

When they were half a day away from Harrenhal, Tywin stopped them at a small inn and ordered food and baths for all of them. They would spend the night here and leave at first light. No one dared argue with the King- not with the Queen having given birth a little over a week ago, Jeyne pregnant, and four young children travelling with them. Whatever hellish nightmare awaited them at Harrenhal would be there on the morrow.

Taking the main room, Sansa stripped down and gratefully sunk into the warm water. She moaned as her tired bones finally relaxed, sticking her tongue out at her husband, who gave her a knowing look.

Thankfully, Tywin held his tongue, not pointing out that his wife did not have to come on this journey and if she had remained in King’s Landing she wouldn’t be this sore. Instead, he focused on his daughter.

"What will you wear?" Tywin asked as he held Serena, rocking her slightly in his arms as he ate with his other hand.

The food was simple but filling, and Tywin was ravenous, having spent the past few days riding. It had been an age since he'd been on a horse for so long, and he too felt the protest of long-unused muscles that were sore- not that he would tell anyone that his body was adjusting to being on a horse again. Tywin hated that anyone might find him weak; even his wife.

His question about what Sansa would wear tomorrow had less to do with his care for what she looked like and more to do with his own choice and the picture they presented. He knew that the realm had been devastated by this war. These people would be looking to the King and Queen to provide guidance, stability and support.

"My dark grey velvet gown," Sansa said, indicating to her handmaiden it was time to wash her hair. "It is still cool, and the colour is one of respect. You, My Lord husband?"

Tywin knew the gown she spoke of; she had stitched red leaves on the material, along with a direwolf and scales to represent House Tully. He fully approved of her choice.

Tywin sighed as he glanced down at his daughter in his arms. If possible, she grew more perfect each day, and his chest expanded with such love and protectiveness for her he wondered if she'd ever have any adventures. Between himself, Jaime and her older brothers, Princess Serena would be hard-pressed to be in any danger in her entire life she’d be so well guarded.

"I've never arrived a place such as this without full Lannister armour and my family's red sash, Sansa. Including the last time, I rode into Harrenhal and also when I took back the Red Keep from Stannis and his forces."

Tywin paced a bit as Serena fussed, quickly glancing to see how long until Sansa was done. Their daughter was hungry, and as much as she loved falling asleep in Tywin's arms when it came time to eat, the Princess needed her mother. She was a demanding little thing, which Tywin adored.

"But somehow, I do not think a show of force is required," Tywin continued, speaking with Sansa as he watched her attendant pour the oils Sansa liked into her hair. Tywin had done it often enough for her, he knew she was close to being finished, and the scent of lavender and lemon filled the small room.

Tywin would leave nothing to chance, not even their arrival at Harrenhal. Everything in his life was calculated, and it was why he was in the position he was and this included the impression that they made. He needed the people of Westeros to rally behind them; they were on the cusp of achieving true peace for the realm. 

Sansa finished washing her hair with her handmaiden's help and then rose, stepping from the tub and drying herself before pulling on a robe. She took Serena from Tywin, having heard her tiny cries, and settled in a chair to nurse, while her loyal servant began the arduous process of drying her hair.

When Serena was latched, Sansa finally allowed herself to glance at Tywin. Her husband was stiff and sore, she could tell, although the silly man would never admit it. He was also starved the way he ate, although he made her a plate of food and brought it over to her, dropping a kiss to her forehead as her hair was brushed and dried.

"Wear the long black leather coat with the golden lions," she told him, and his eyes widened. Sansa gave him a soft grin. "Tywin, I would love nothing more than to see you outfitted in full Lannister armour, but we are not going to war. You are correct, husband, when you say it would be too much. We don't need to scare them; we need to show them that the King and Queen have arrived and that all will be well now."

"Will you wear the lion torque necklace?" Tywin asked her and Sansa smiled and nodded. They had left some of her more expensive jewels behind in King's Landing, including her diamond snowflake necklace and the Lannister choker. This was not a place for such adornments, except for the one that clearly marked her as a Lannister.

"I will, along with my direwolf crown. They need to see us as we are, Ty. The King and Queen of a united kingdom," Sansa said. “And two people who love each other,” Sansa added.

Her husband grunted at that thought, happy when Sansa's handmaiden finally left so he could strip and bathe as well.

_Seven united kingdoms? What the fuck did that make, Dorne_? Tywin thought angrily, as he used Sansa's soaps to wash. He couldn't have cared less that he smelled like her; by tomorrow, he'd stink of horse again. Besides, his wife was one of the best smelling women in Westeros. No one would dare say a word to him if he smelled like her.

When he had finished bathing, and Sansa had nursed Serena, they went to the adjoining room to check on their sons. Both boys were curled up with each other, fast asleep from the adventure they were on. Myrcella and the two nannies they'd brought with them were also here, and Sansa asked how they'd been.

Like all mothers, she'd been feeling guilty due to the attention Serena demanded, but Myrcella waved an elegant hand, an easy smile on her pretty face.

"Sansa, please. They are rambunctious little lions, full of curiosity and happiness."

Not for the first time, was Tywin pleased that they had Myrcella with them. She was sunshine and joy, and Tywin knew that Jaime would need her. And it got her away from Oberyn Martell and any designs he might have on her for his nephew. Right now, Tywin did not trust the Red Viper at all.

Back in their room, Sansa snuggled deep into the bed, which was quite a bit smaller than the one in their chambers in King's Landing. Tywin's arms came around her, as little Serena was on the other side of Sansa.

"It's small," the King complained, hearing his wife's sleepy laughter.

"Not every room or bed in Westeros can be fit for a king, my love. Go to sleep," she said, dismissing his complaint easily.

Tywin let out a little snort, before he finally got comfortable, settled as it were, with Sansa tucked up against him. He allowed the soft sleep sounds of both her and Serena to wash over him, finally following them both over into the land of dreams.

When they emerged from the inn the next morning, cool mist enveloped them. Tywin sent word that they were a few hours away and helped Sansa into the carriage that held her, Tysan, Jason, Serena, Myrcella, Jeyne and Ned. Dacey was on her giant white warhorse, along with Tywin and Jerrod.

Before closing the door, Tywin brushed his lips across hers.

"For all my days, my wolf," he told her, and Sansa gave him a soft smile in return.

"For all our days, my lion."

Then they were off; the last miles in what had been an emotional journey to get to Harrenhal, passing by quickly, as the anxiety of what they would find when they arrived on everyone's mind.

* * *

_ Harrenhal _

Jaime had done as he'd been ordered; he'd bathed and then dressed in clean clothes. Given the work he'd been doing, he'd stopped wearing his armour each day, instead preferring a light tunic and breeches.

Now with his father arriving, he pulled on a red leather doublet, one he frequently wore in King's Landing and knew his father approved of. His hair was longer and blonder now that the sun was out, and he was outside most of the day. Jaime didn’t realize how it made him appear years younger and the dashing image he once again presented. Without even trying, he looked every inch the Golden Lion that he was.

When he exited his tent, the Starks were waiting for him, lined up like little soldiers, and Jaime couldn't help but grin at the picture they made. He remembered seeing them thusly before, ages ago at Winterfell. There were far fewer now, and that made Jaime’s smile disappear.

Jon had also taken a bath and had pulled his dark curls back into some sort of knot. He had taken care with his appearance, wearing his best clothing, still stamped and stitched proudly with the Stark direwolf. Jaime wondered what the new Targaryen sigil would be. He knew that there was no way Jon would ever take his family’s old one as his own.

Jaime couldn't help the grin that broke his face. It wasn't Sansa that Jon was anxious to see, but Dacey. Jaime let his golden hand fall onto Jon's shoulder.

"You're prettier than your beloved, Jon."

Jon rolled his eyes but then smiled.

"I've missed her."

Jaime wiggled his eyebrows. "I bet you have."

As much as Jaime ached for his own broken heart and pride, he was happy for Jon and Dacey.

Arya had taken to dressing much as Jaime remembered Ned Stark had. A long dark doublet with breeches. The leather doublet, dark grey, was stamped with two snarling direwolves, and she'd brushed her hair. Jaime only arched an eyebrow at her appearance, and then his gaze slid to Ric.

His 'squire' had somehow found himself cleanish clothing, and Jaime grinned at him. He, too, had a little leather doublet, also with direwolves.

"Is it ok? If I wear my house sigil?" Ric asked Jaime tentatively, quietly. Both Jon and Arya glanced at Ric, ready to respond when Jaime immediately dropped to his knees.

"Rickon Stark, you are a true born Stark. You have the blood of Kings from the first men, and the current Queen in your veins. Do not let anyone ever make you something you are not. You will always wear the direwolf sigil because that is who you are."

Ric smiled at Jaime and then hugged him, startling the lion until he wrapped his arms around the boy, hugging him back.

Then the four of them made their way to the south side of Harrenhal, where a crowd had gathered.

Word had clearly spread that the King and Queen's arrival was imminent.

Jaime found himself grinning like a lunatic as he watched both Sandor Clegane and Stannis Baratheon hobble out from the sick tent. Sandor looked like he'd taken special care with his appearance, and Jaime couldn't help himself.

"You clean up well, Hound."

"Fuck off," Sandor snarled at him, taking in Jaime's fancy clothing and golden hair. He let out an annoyed grunt at how handsome the Golden Lion was. Sandor didn't know why he let Jaime affect him like this, but he did. Always had and always would.

"Tell me, what did you comb your hair with? A horse brush?"

Sandor glowered at Jaime, who threw his head back in laughter.

Truth be told, the Hound wasn't the only man in the crowd that was half in love with Queen Sansa.

In his more honest moments, Jaime could admit to being quite taken with her as well. As Tyrion had been, and as Jaime suspected, both Sandor and Stannis were as well. And who could blame them? Sansa was unlike anyone Jaime had ever met; brilliant, compassionate, beautiful and caring. Jaime knew his father was a lucky man.

Once Jaime had taken a moment to piss off the Hound, which was easy to do, he glanced around. And that's when a real smile crossed Jaime's handsome face.

Those who were standing waiting for the King and Queen were all jumbled up. Lords from the Vale stood beside those from the North, while Westerman and Riverman were side by side. There were all makes and manners of house sigils; Jaime saw ragged banners waving in the air, and there was a mood of almost jubilation.

Once again, Tywin had calculated correctly. These people needed to see their King and Queen; they needed to be told that their sacrifices would be honoured and praised for their courage and strength.

Jaime looked around, and he knew that there were some here who had probably never seen a King or Queen of the seven kingdoms. Robert had preferred to stay and hunt and whore in King's Landing; he and Cersei had rarely toured the kingdom. Aerys had been even less likely to do so, and then he never would have allowed himself to be seen by a crowd such as this.

Jaime knew that there were as many commoners amongst the knights and lords awaiting their arrival. They had called for everyone in this war, and everyone had responded from farmer to the son of the King.

_"I've heard the Queen is so beautiful, it hurts to look at her."_

_"I've heard the King loves her so much; he follows her around, like a tamed house cat."_

_"I heard she takes orphans in by the dozen."_

_“I’ve heard the Queen loves the King so much, she’s never spent a night anywhere but in his bed.”_

_“Three children already? The Great Lion must love his wife a great deal!”_

_“It is said that with every new announcement, the King drapes her in Lannister gold.”_

_“It’s about time a Northern lady showed those southern women what a true Queen is like.”_

_“It is said that while the King rules the seven kingdoms with an iron fist, his wife rules him.”_

That last one made Jaime smile. It had, he’d heard, been a common refrain when Tywin had been married to Joanna. It was abundantly clear that Tywin Lannister was a man that loved deeply when he found a woman worthy of his impossibly high standards.

Jaime shook his head at it all, wondering when it had come to pass that people did not fear Tywin Lannister, but instead looked upon him with awe and deference.

Of course, most of the praise was about Sansa; the Queen had quite the reputation, and all of it well deserved. Her kindness was as legendary as her beauty, and Jaime knew it wasn't an exaggeration to say she was beloved by the people of Westeros.

The trumpet that heralded the King's approach quieted the crowd, and Jaime watched in amusement as people craned their necks for the first sight of the King.

"Gods, father's ego is going to be huge," Jaime muttered to himself.

Jon snorted and gave a short nod in agreement.

"It wasn't like the King lacked in that department before," Jon responded, and both men shared a smile.

When Tywin Lannister, King of the seven kingdoms, protector of the realm, warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock rode into the clearing on the south side of Harrenhal castle, he looked every inch the King he was.

Perhaps even more so because he'd forgone the Lannister armour and wore his traditional black leather coat, which only highlighted the golden crown on his head. He was accompanied by his Kingsguard in their crimson red cloaks, and a few of Sansa's trusted Queensguard, their distinctive grey cloaks shimmering in the morning light.

Jaime tore his gaze from his father, whom he was surprised to find he was almost desperate to embrace and talk to now that he was here, to Jon, and watched as the joy and love wared for dominion on his friend's face upon spotting Dacey.

Dacey Mormont was sight, Jaime would give him that. Tall, imposing, and beautiful, she sat on the white warhorse as if she'd been born to her position. Her grey cloak and armour was almost blindingly clean in the bright sunlight, and her eyes scanned the crowd until they fell on Jon. When they did, a huge grin broke out on her face.

Jaime pushed Jon forward.

"Go to your woman, brother," and then stood back and watched as Dacey dismounted with fluid grace, and they ran towards one another.

Jon caught her and swung her around until their lips crashed into one another, and in front of all the lords of the realm, they were reunited. A huge cheer roared through the crowd; there had been so much death and devastation that their enthusiastic need for one another was a welcomed sight.

"Dragon," Dacey finally said, when Jon put her down.

"She-bear," Jon responded, grinning like a fool, keeping his hand clasped in hers. Then Dacey swiped away the tears she realized were tracking down her face and smacked Jon with a fist.

"I prayed every day, you infuriating man," she told him, and Jon had the grace to blush.

"Ahhh, Dacey, my love, I told you I'd survive."

A cough from the King, who still hadn't dismounted, drew everyone's attention back to him. Jon immediately dropped to his knee and bowed his head.

"Your Grace."

The entire group follow suit; everyone there kneeling to Tywin.

"Let's at least wait for the Queen, shall we?" Tywin said dryly, his commanding voice carrying. Tywin swung down off his horse as everyone rose, and the excitement built. The crowd knew the Queen’s arrival was imminent.

Jaime tapped Arya and Ric on the shoulder, urging them forward to where Dacey and Jon were standing. Tywin met Jaime's eyes, and they nodded at one another. Their family would be there waiting for Sansa.

Then the first royal carriage came into the clearing, pulled, of course, by massive white horses. Let it never be said that Tywin Lannister didn’t know how to make an entrance; even at the base of a war-ravaged castle in a muddy field, stained red with blood.

When the carriage stopped, it was only Tywin that approached; he'd allow no one else to touch Sansa. This was a moment that needed to be perfect.

A steward was there, placing a stool for the Queen, before scurrying away. With a glance at both Jon and Jaime, Tywin turned and opened the door, reaching inside. Sansa's hand emerged first, elegant and pale, and then an arm, until she all but glided out, still holding on to Tywin.

A collective gasp went through the crowd as the Queen stepped out of the carriage.

Sansa’s red hair was loose and cascaded down her back, and it’s colour demanded attention. The direwolf crown was radiant in the sunlight, and it matched the gold of the lion torque necklace that ringed her elegant neck. Sansa's dazzling blue eyes were warm and curious as she took in the assembled crowd, smiling at them, before concentrating on stepping properly onto the stool and then down onto the muddy ground.

"Tywin?" she asked hesitantly, still holding on to Tywin’s hand.

"They are waiting for you, my Queen," Tywin said softly to her, brushing a kiss across her cheek. Then the King stepped back to show her Jon, Arya, Rickon and Jaime. No one would doubt that the King loved his wife, as the crowd watched the Queen reunite with her family.

Had Sansa not been holding onto Tywin's hand, she might have collapsed at seeing them, but he kept her aloft. She let out a pained cry and then was flying across the small space towards them, tears tracking down her face as she was caught and swung around by Jon first. Her feet barely touched the ground.

"Gods brother, I was worried," Sansa said into his ear, loving how it felt to be hugged by him.

"I'm safe, Sansa."

When Jon put her down, Sansa immediately found Arya.

"Sister," Sansa cried, hugging and laughing as she pulled Arya close. Both women held each other tightly.

When Arya finally let Sansa go, she gave a soft whistle. "Pretty sister, you are a beautiful Queen." There was nothing but the truth in Arya's dark brown eyes and Sansa waved a hand and blushed.

“You look very nice yourself, Arya,” Sansa told her sister, pleased Arya had made the effort.

Then Sansa turned to Jaime, who was grinning at her.

"Jaime!" Sansa opened her arms and pulled him close. For the first time since this hell started, Jaime felt peace wash over him. That was the power of Sansa.

"Sansa," he whispered into her ear. "I hear you've given me a sister."

Sansa smiled.

"I have. Jaime, she is the most precious thing, and you should see your father with her. He's already all growly and protective."

Jaime laughed softly at Sansa’s description of his father.

"I can hear you, Sansa," Tywin said, voice amused and carrying so that those around laughed at their antics.

"I know," she called back, rolling her eyes at the King, as those close to them chuckled.

Sansa cupped Jaime's cheek, dropping her voice. "He's been in a state, worrying about you, Jaime. You'd best reassure him."

Jaime nodded and then pressed a kiss to Sansa's cheek.

"They'll be time for that, later, Sansa."

Sansa accepted that answer for now. She knew if she pushed these lions, they'd snap and snarl, and that wasn't what she wanted. Jaime and Tywin would have their moment with each other; Sansa would make sure of it.

When Jaime stepped back, Sansa turned her eyes to her littlest brother.

At twelve, Rickon was no longer the baby she remembered; he'd grown so much he was getting close to Arya’s height. Sansa could see he was uncertain of her, and it almost broke her heart that they were so estranged.

"Hello, Rickon. I'm your sister, Sansa," she said softly.

She saw a grin dart across his face before he frowned.

"I don't know how to do any of that fancy stuff. Like bowing or the proper words to call you." He crossed his arms, defiantly across his chest, as if he expected her rejection and was preparing himself for it.

Sansa laughed quietly and opened her arms.

"Perhaps we could start with a hug? And you can call me Sansa."

Ric's brown eyes went warm at her words, and he stepped into her embrace. As Sansa's arms closed around him, she started to shake. She had been so sure he was dead; then, when word had come that Sandor had rescued him, she had wanted to see him so badly. He'd been through so much, and now finally, he was here in her arms.

Rickon was sobbing into Sansa's middle, tightly wrapped up in her. He loved Jon and Arya and Jaime, but Sansa reminded him of their mother before she turned mean and mad. And she smelled so good, Rickon wanted to never stop sniffing her.

"Shhhh, my love. You're safe now, and no one will hurt you again," Sansa was telling him again and again. The Queen would kill anyone who dared to harm him. She swung her head around to find Tywin, who understood immediately that their household had just grown by another and nodded as he stepped forward.

"Rickon Stark, I'd like you to meet my husband, the King," Sansa said proudly as cupped her brother’s cheek, brushing his dark curls back from his forehead.

Rickon couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him so kindly. Jeyne did, and Ric liked her, but she wasn't Sansa. Sansa was his family. Then Ric turned to the King.

Rickon scowled at Tywin. He'd heard that Sansa's husband was older, and this man looked mean. And powerful. Then the King stepped up beside Sansa and put his arm around her, and his entire face softened. Rickon had seen Robb look at Jeyne like that, and somehow he knew that the King loved his sister.

"Sansa, my love," Tywin said, drawing her closer.

"Tywin, this is Rickon Stark. My youngest brother," Sansa said, and then laughed when she felt a cold nose-bump at her hand. "And this is his direwolf, Shaggydog."

The enormous black beast had come closer when he felt the tension in Rickon's stance.

"Seven fucking hells, it's as big as a pony," Tywin snarled, only just preventing himself from stepping back in fear from the beast.

Arya found this hilarious, and she let out a laugh and then whistled.

"Don't wet your pants, Your Grace. There are four of them. Mine's the biggest," she said, a massive grin on her face.

Tywin rolled his eyes at Arya. "How apropos. Your attitude was always larger than your size."

Arya shrugged. They might swipe at each other but everyone could see the affection between them. Tywin had never said much about what had happened between him and Arya here at Harrenhal, but Sansa knew they had bonded.

"Welcome back, M'Lord." Arya gave the King a mocking bow.

To the astonishment of … well, everyone except Sansa, the King threw his head back and laughed.

"House Dustin, wasn't it?" He winked at Arya, who had the grace to blush.

The two of them could banter all day, and Sansa rolled her eyes at them. She would never have thought that Tywin Lannister and Arya Stark would enjoy each other's company, not the way the two of them carried on about the other. But it was clear they did, despite how much they might protest to the contrary.

"Well, you caught me," Arya said.

Tywin stepped closer to Arya and leaned down. To her credit, Arya held her ground as she met his green eyes.

"Yes. I also heard how you didn't get the Faceless Man to kill me."

Arya's jaw dropped open and then her eyes narrowed. "How in seven hells…. Gendry?!"

Tywin chuckled and nodded. Before he could tell her the story, he heard a soft _woof_ and then Tywin watched in utter amazement as three more huge direwolves emerged from the crowd, weaving their way in and out of the legs of the Starks. The King had heard stories about the Starks and their wolves, of course, but to witness it was something else indeed.

Then he almost choked on his tongue, when Sansa dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around a huge grey beast, stroking his fur and crying into the wolf's massive neck.

"That's Greywind. He was Robb's," Jon said quietly to the King, as Ghost sat nicely beside Dacey. "We're not quite sure what will happen to him now."

"And she's safe with him?" Tywin asked, his concern for his wife evident on his face.

Arya and Jon both smiled while Ric laughed, finally speaking to the King.

"Of course. We're all safe with the wolves. Shaggy loves Ser Jaime, but that's because Jaime shares his lunch with Shaggy."

Tywin's green eyes met Jaime, and the Golden Lion shrugged. "What can I say? The wolves love me as well, Father."

Tywin had been worried about Jaime since his son had left the Red Keep to find his errant wife; before that, if he were completely honest. Jaime had been through hell; two sons dead, sister and brother dead, and the betrayal of his wife. The King knew he needed time alone to speak with Jaime.

The moment was interrupted by a loud, firm voice.

"So this is the Queen. She is beautiful, Crow."

Tywin looked over to see a Wildling eyeing his wife like she were a meal, and he wanted to eat her up. The King let out a snarl, but the idiot man just kept going.

"Kissed by fire, Jon Snow," Tormund said, and then he winked at the Queen.

Sansa's mouth had dropped open. It had been an age since a man had so crassly and brazenly admired her; everyone knew how possessive and jealous Tywin was, and equally, how much Sansa loved her husband.

Before the King could react, Sansa rose to her full height, making her almost as tall as the Wildling.

"I am the Queen, not some fish wife," Sansa said, tone biting.

Tormund threw his head back. "I knew she'd be feisty," he said gleefully, clapping his hands. He loved powerful woman, and this one knew hers. It was a sight to behold.

Tywin was in a blind rage, ready to lash out and strike the insolent man when a gruff voice interrupted.

"Will you fuck off. The little bird doesn't need the likes of you bothering her." Tywin’s eyes immediately swung towards the owner.

Sansa's eyes widened in joy and then filled with tears.

"Sandor?" she said incredulously and then pushed Tormund out of the way to get to her friend.

"Oh gods, I thought you were dead." Sansa thumped a fist on his chest when she got in front of him, and Sandor grunted in pain.

Her hands flew to her mouth. "OH! Sorry! Where are you hurt?"

"Just my guts, little bird, that's all," the Hound grunted and gave her a soft smile.

Sansa smiled at him and laid a hand softly on his chest.

Arya snorted, while Tywin practically snarled in outrage. He knew exactly what Sandor Clegane felt for his wife, and he knew the high esteem in which his wife held the man from the West.

"He saved us, Sansa. He was the one who was protecting us from the White Walkers," Rickon piped up.

"Seven hells, Sandor. How can I possibly ever thank you for all you've done for my family. Again and again, you've saved the Starks."

Sandor blushed and waved a big hand. "It was nothing," he mumbled.

"It wasn't nothing. We all thought you were dead, you big idiot," Arya said to him.

Sansa leaned in and hugged him, pressing a soft kiss to his scarred cheek. "Well, I cannot express my gratitude enough," the Queen said.

"I protected them as well!" came Tormund's indignant cry. “Where’s my kiss?”

"Oh for fuck sakes," Tywin roared in outrage. "Are there any other men who are looking to gain favour with my wife?"

A soft cough revealed Stannis Baratheon standing there, holding his broken arm and still looking like he'd fallen from the sky and broken his fall by crashing into a wall.

"Lord Stannis!" Sansa said, dismayed by how bad he looked. "Oh, thank goodness we didn't bring Lady Shireen. She'd be in a state to see you like this."

Sansa approached the Storm Lord and gave him a gentle hug, smiling to herself when she heard Tywin all but growling behind her.

“Thank you, Your Grace, for keeping Lady Shireen safe,” Stannis said to Sansa, his pale grey eyes meeting hers.

“It was our pleasure, My Lord,” Sansa responded.

Tywin had finally had enough. He knew he was ridiculous, but seeing his wife, his Queen, being touched and praised by all manner of men, men younger than him, men more heroic than him, was trying every last bit of his patience. They would be lucky if he didn't run the lot of them through.

"Sansa, love," the King said, and he thanked the seven gods that she knew him so well because she turned and gave him a radiant smile. She must have known he was on the edge.

"Tywin, all these brave men who kept everyone safe. It's magnificent, my love," she said brightly and then tugged him closer.

Sansa didn't protest when Tywin put his arms around her, nor when he dropped a kiss to her forehead. She knew he had wished he'd been here fighting and leading this army, and she knew he struggled seeing anyone touch her but him. He was doing quite well, all things considered.

"It was nothing less than my duty, Your Grace," Stannis said, giving a slight bow to Sansa, who accepted it solemnly.

Sansa and Shireen had talked at length about how stoic and proper her father was, and Sansa was sure that when she spoke to him, she made him feel comfortable.

A cry sounded from the royal carriage, had both Sansa and Tywin turning.

"Thank the fucking gods," Tywin muttered as they made their way back to the carriage. He leaned down and whispered in Sansa's ear, "Time to be a mother and stop making every man fall in love with you, wife."

Sansa blushed and stopped, putting a hand on Tywin's leather-covered chest. Not caring that the crowd had not dissipated, Sansa waited until Tywin's eyes met hers. She had a mischievous smile on her face, and the King cocked his head.

"I like it when you're jealous, Tywin."

He scoffed. "I'm not jealous."

Sansa threw her head back and laughed.

"Oh gods, yes, you are."

Then she leaned up and pressed her lips to his, not caring that they were in front of the entirety of those that had fought in the long night, and not caring about the spectacle they were creating.

Since Sansa didn't seem to mind what people thought, Tywin seized the opportunity to prove to every man in the vicinity that the Queen was his.

The King carded his hands through her long hair and drew out the kiss, until Sansa had all but melted into him, only stopping when another cry, this one more demanding, filled the air.

"Mine," Tywin growled at her.

Sansa's blue eyes danced with glee.

"Always yours, husband." Then she nipped at him once more and turned to find the princess.

Tywin knew that the crowd had been excited to see the King and Queen, and now they had put on quite a show. Still, there was no hostility and no one surge forward- instead, they were fascinated by them.

Had Tywin cared to turn around and observe them, he would have seen most of them looking incredulous at such obvious affection between Tywin and Sansa. In one display they had proven all those rumours to be true. The King and Queen loved one another.

"Still at it, I see," Jaime said, grinning at his father, as he joined Tywin closer to the carriage that had brought Sansa.

Surprisingly, now that they were here, Jaime felt happy to see them and eager to see the two princes and the newest princess. Because his relationship with Tywin had changed, having him here now brought a measure of peace to Jaime that he hadn't been expecting.

Tywin looked at his wife, who had just reached the royal carriage.

"That woman drives me crazy," Tywin muttered.

Jaime laughed and clapped his father on the back.

"Yes, let's blame your behaviour on Sansa as if you aren't just as mad for her as she clearly is for you. I thought Lannisters never acted like fools, father.”

Tywin glowered at Jaime, who wasn't the least bit intimidated.

“In fact, I distinctly recall you telling me that. And it had something to do with another one of these Starks.” Jaime’s face had a huge grin on it, while Tywin scowled. Then he turned and gazed at Sansa and when he turned back to Jaime, all frustration was gone.

"I never thought the day would come when there would be another I could love as much as your mother.” Tywin paused, then added, “She is a woman that is worth making a fool of yourself for.”

Both men were silent at that admission by the King; as both men agreed wholeheartedly with it. Then Tywin cleared his throat.

"There is someone in the carriage for you as well, Jaime."

Jaime appeared stunned for a moment, wondering who it could be, and then a smile lit his handsome face.

"Myrcella," was all he said, and Tywin nodded, as Jaime's daughter appeared with a tiny baby in her arms.

"Mama's here," Sansa said, smiled softly as she took Serena from Myrcella, cradling her close. Excitement rose from the crowd behind them.

Jaime's daughter exited the carriage soon afterwards, holding on to Tysan, while a nanny came out with Jason so that the entire royal family was now before the crowd.

Sansa was busy making sure her children were managed, so she missed the reaction of the assembled people, but Tywin did not.

He turned and saw the hope of their faces, as they greedily drank in their Queen and her children.

Tywin knew that Sansa represented stability for these people- she was now of two great houses and had united a kingdom. Whereas before people might have just seen a beautiful woman with a crown on her head, now they saw Sansa as a wife, sister, mother and above all else, a ruler.

For Tywin, she represented hope for his House; together, they had ensured the Lannister name would not fade with his death of Jaime's.

For Stannis Baratheon, Sansa represented the hope that he would see his beloved Storm’s End; and that his daughter would take his place as the proper ruler of their homeland.

For Jon Targaryen, Sansa was his freedom. She was the Queen the realm needed and eased that burden from Jon’s shoulders.

For Yohn Bronze Royce, Dickon Taryl, Lords from the North named Glover, Reed and Tallhart, and those from the Riverlands, like Pipers and Mallisters, along with the Hightowers and Florents, Sansa represented peace.

Tywin knew then that bringing Sansa here, to a place where humanity made its final stand, had been a stroke of utter genius on the part of his wife.

Then a babbled _Da!_ drew his attention back to his family.

The princes of the realm were excited to see Tywin and Jaime, and Jaime was floored that they seemed to remember him. They were trying with great enthusiasm to speak to both men and each other.

"Hi Uncle Jaime," Myrcella said with a soft smile and hug for Jaime as she handed Tysan to Tywin and hugged her father.

Jaime's arms came around Myrcella like steel bands, and he dragged her closer. His daughter. His touchstone. The one good thing he and Cersei had done that was still alive.

"Myrcella," Jaime breathed her name, holding her tightly.

Once Jaime stepped back, the nanny handed Jaime his little brother Jason so that both Lannister men stood there holding the next generation of lions.

Jon, Ric and Arya had also approached the royal carriage, Ric's eyes going big and round as he watched Sansa somehow manage a tiny baby and two blond hair one-year-old boys with practiced ease.

Arya and Jon were both grinning as they listened to the two princes babble before their eyes lit at the sight of the direwolves.

The four wolves circled Jaime and Tywin, long snouts sniffing at the two boys. Sansa was suddenly there, laughing at the expression on Tywin's face.

"Kneel and introduce them," Sansa said, winking at her husband.

"I think not!" he told her and Sansa rolled her eyes.

"Trust me, Tywin. They won't hurt them. Your children may look just like you, but remember, they are half wolf."

Sansa's tone indicated that Tywin would not be able to leave this clearing until he did exactly what she suggested.

"You're sure?" he asked, voice low enough for only her and Jaime to hear and with just a slight bit of trepidation.

"Positive, my love," Sansa said solemnly.

With an aggrieved sigh, Tywin knelt so that his heir, Tysan, could meet his wife's family’s direwolf pack. Never in his entire life could Tywin Lannister have ever pictured such a moment.

The crowd held its collective breath at the spectacle before them.

Tysan stopped talking long enough to stare directly into Nymeria's eyes, and then he giggled and reached a chubby hand out to touch the wolf, grabbing a fistful of her hair. The wolf licked him along one cheek, and Tywin swore his heart almost stopped when that giant maw open.

Jaime had done the same, only this time it was Shaggy with Jason, as both Princes squealed in delight at the attention from the wolves.

A massive cheer rang through the crowd, and then the chant began.

"Queen of the North!" someone yelled.

“King of the West!” someone else said.

"Long live the King and Queen!" another roared.

Thankfully that was the one that gained traction. Sansa looked almost startled as if she'd forgotten the crowd they were before, and she smiled at them, and waved a hand, while they went wild.

Finally, ready to face everyone, next out of the carriage was Jeyne with Ned. Arya stepped up to hug her good sister. Jeyne looked around as if fearing she might see Robb's body right there.

"He's with the rest; we knew you were coming, and we've waited. Tomorrow we will take you too him," was all Arya said, and Jeyne gave a shaky nod.

Thankfully Jon and Dacey were also there and hugged her as well. Rickon pushed through the small group and hugged Jeyne tightly, who let out a little sob and clutched Robb's brother to her middle, overjoyed that he had lived.

Sansa looked around and found Jon, who stepped closer to her. He gazed down at the tiny babe in Sansa's arms, wonder on his face.

"Sansa," Jon all but whispered. He wanted one of these for himself. Soon. He never thought he'd be in a position to ever have his own family, but now, he was.

"I know, Jon. She's so little," Sansa's whose voice was filled with such love for her daughter it made Jon’s heart fill with his own longing. They took a minute to gaze at her. When Serena started to smack her little lips and open her blue eyes, Sansa knew that they had to get her somewhere she could nurse her.

"Where is our lodging?" Sansa asked, as Jon still couldn't tear his gaze from Serena.

Shaking his head, he looked up to see both the King and Queen needing privacy. Tywin and Jaime had somehow managed to pry to two princes from the direwolves, but now they were crying in protest.

"This way," came Lord Royce's authoritative voice, bowing to Sansa and Tywin and leading them away from the crowd.

Sansa and Tywin both shot the Vale man a grateful look, as together with Dacey, Jon, Jaime, Myrcella, Arya, Jeyne, Ned and Rickon, they made their way to the largest tent and away from the crowd.

Royce pushed back a heavy flap and indicated the royal family should make themselves comfortable. He had secured the best accommodation for them, and the King thanked him.

"The impact of your arrival cannot be overstated, Your Graces," Lord Royce said to Tywin and Sansa.

Royce had seen the toll this entire war had brought to the people of Westeros.

That scene out in front of the crowd, with the children and the King and Queen carrying on in their way, it was sorely needed to boost morale and to remind everyone that Westeros was in competent hands.

Royce knew there would be tough questions in the days ahead about the future of the seven kingdoms.

"Tomorrow, we plan to light the pyres."

Tywin nodded at the man from the Vale. "Let us settle in, and we will find you later, Royce. Your service has not gone unnoticed."

Royce nodded once, bowed slightly and then took his leave. He was glad to have the King's ear. Royce knew the Northern houses were clamouring for a chance to speak with the Queen. With Robb Stark dead, they wanted reassurances about what would happen in the North. They would be pleased with today's display; it was more than apparent how loved Sansa was in the south.

"Jeyne, you can stay with Ric and I. Dacey, and Jon have their tent as well as Jaime with Myrcella," Arya said when it was just Lannsiters and Starks. It was still hard to think of Jon as a Targaryen, so Arya's brain just made him a Stark.

"When do you want to see him, Jeyne?" Sansa asked softly, and she saw the woman's eyes fill with tears.

"Perhaps this afternoon, if you have time, Sansa," Jeyne responded, her words soft and filled with pain.

"We'll go together," Sansa said, reaching for her husband's hand. Sansa knew the moment she saw Robb and Bran. She would be a mess; she needed Tywin with her.

"Give us a few hours to get settled, and we'll find you," the King said to everyone as they departed one by one.

Left alone, their nannies and stewards worked efficiently to unpack the King and Queen, while Sansa nursed Serena and the princes played with their toys on the rug that had been laid over the makeshift wooden floor.

Tywin took a seat opposite Sansa, his entire face filled with love as he watched his wife and daughter together. The teasing mood from earlier was gone and left in its place the heavy feeling of why they were here in its place.

"I don't know how to say goodbye to my brothers, Tywin," Sansa said quietly to him after a time.

Sansa had hoped to have a long life with Robb; to have their children know each other and their houses, the wolf and the lion, rule over Westeros. And Bran; sweet, curious Bran, who was just gone so young.

Tywin looked up to see her eyes on him. "Neither do I, my love."

Kevan had been by Tywin's side through everything; Aerys' descent into madness, the death of Joanna, Jaime being made a Kingsguard, Jaime being called a Kingslayer, Cersei marrying Robert, the end of Robert, the war with the Starks and now, Tywin's second marriage. Kevan had ridden beside him when they were younger, always by his side. And now he was dead.

They were quiet, each lost in their thoughts when Sansa heard the front flap of the tent open and watched her sister slip inside.

Arya took in the domestic scene, grinning as Nymeria stalked over to the two princes on the rug, laying down and curling her body protectively around them.

Arya took another seat with Sansa and Tywin.

The King was looking at the wolf, who was allowing his two sons to crawl all over her.

"I'll never get used to that sight," he muttered.

"Well, you'd better. I think she's pregnant."

Sansa let out a gasp of delight, while Tywin's eyebrows only raised in a silent question.

Arya shrugged. "I'd bet a gold dragon she has a pup or two in her belly; that's why she's so keen on the princes. They'd be their wolves."

Tywin's mouth dropped open. He knew his wife had hoped for some such thing, but Tywin had never thought it might be possible.

"Are you serious?" as Sansa clapped her hands in glee. "Can you imagine Tywin? Both our sons with their own wolves to protect them."

For once in his life, Tywin Lannister was absolutely, completely speechless. He couldn’t imagine two huge wolves following his sons around King’s Landing.

"So, Gendry?" Arya asked, her face open and curious. She'd heard bits and pieces from Jon, but nothing substantial; only that Gendry had been located.

With one last look at the massive direwolf that was allowing his children whatever liberties they wanted, Tywin finally dragged his attention back to Arya Stark.

Sansa never liked hearing this story, but Tywin felt Arya needed to know everything that happened when he’d gone down into Flea Bottom and been attacked. So he settled himself more comfortably, adjusting slightly when Sansa placed Serena in his arms now that she was done feeding, and told Arya of the events that led up to the King meeting Gendry.

"A war hammer?" Arya said, clapping in glee. "Fucking hells, what I wouldn't have given to see that." She shook her head at the thought.

"Yes, well, his father wielded one just as effectively," Tywin said dryly. "Of course, now I owed him, so I brought him back to the Red Keep with me."

Arya's eyes danced with mirth. "Oh gods, I bet he hated that. He thought I was a fancy highborn woman."

"You are a highborn woman," came Sansa's voice.

She was feeding the princes, having sat down with them and Nymeria.

Sansa thought her sister might be right; the direwolf's stomach was moving, and Sansa swore she could almost feel the puppies inside. Of course, both her sons had taken this chance to climb onto their mother's lap as they ate buns with honey. Sansa ran her hand through their blond hair and pressed kisses to their sticky cheeks.

Tywin wondered if anyone would believe she was so powerful when she appeared thusly. His wife was never happier than when she was with family and everyone was pleased.

"Gods, you've got it bad for her," came Arya's amused voice as she watched the King watch her sister.

Nothing had changed in his affections for Sansa. If anything, he seemed even more in love it that were possible. Arya was happy for Sansa. Her sister had always dreamed of such a life, and now it was hers.

"Yes, well, you were correct. Gendry was not too comfortable in our home," Tywin said, taking up the tale again.

"That's because it's littered with gold," came Sansa's droll voice.

Tywin narrowed his eyes at her. "It's called projecting an image, woman. People expect it from the Lannisters."

"The image that gold is the only colour in the rainbow?" Sansa shot back. "There are others. Colours that is."

Arya's eyes darted between the two of them in delight.

"Anyways," Tywin said pointedly, not responding to Sansa's latest jape, "I explained to Gendry that a Lannister always pays his debts. And I owed him the biggest one of all."

Arya rubbed her hands together. "What did he ask for? Tell me it was a castle. Oh gods, please tell me he asked for a thousand gold dragons." Arya was practically bouncing in her seat.

Tywin gave her a soft smile. He could see the affection she held for the smith. "He asked to be trained as a true knight and perhaps a new pair of boots."

Arya's mouth dropped open, as Sansa walked back over to Tywin, resting her hand on his shoulder.

"Of course, Lady Shireen found out who he was, and she took him under her wing. Between Myrcella and Shireen, Gendry has been learning to read. He's pledged himself to his cousin, and he trains daily." Before Arya could say anything more, Tywin held up a hand. "And he has been handsomely compensated with gold."

Arya's eyes filled with tears. "I'm so happy for him. He always wanted a family."

Sansa took a seat beside Tywin. "And you? What do you want, sister?"

Tywin and Sansa had spent endless hours discussing the new political reality of Westeros.

"I want to go home. To Winterfell, with Jeyne and little Ned and Sandor. I want to be the Stark in Winterfell, Sansa until Ned is ready to take his place as the next Lord Stark."

Sansa's eyes filled with tears at the maturity her sister now exhibited.

"The Northern Lords will be easier with you there," the King said, approval in his tone for Arya's decision.

"And Ric?" Sansa asked. She desperately wanted her youngest brother to come back with her to King's Landing but knew he might only be happy in the North.

Arya snorted.

"You should know that Ric asked Jaime to be his squire and your son, My King, accepted. You'll have more than one wolf under your roof," Arya told them.

Funnily enough, Tywin did not seem to mind.

"Tell us about Robb," Sansa asked. She had glanced over to see both her sons, blond heads, tucked up against Nymeria's stomach, happily napping, along with the wolf herself.

Arya swallowed hard and then told Sansa what she knew from the battle of the Second Long Night.

"After Sandor fell, Sansa, you should have seen Robb. I've never seen him like that as if he could slay the entire dead army himself to keep us safe."

Sansa had tears streaming down her face as she thought of her eldest brother and the sacrifice he'd made for his family.

"I hate that I never got to see him again," Sansa cried, brokenly.

"He talked about you all the time. He was so proud of what you had done. He never liked war; I think he was almost grateful when Kevan showed up at Riverrun with father's sword," Arya told them. "They remained close, your two brothers. Something bonded them in that first meeting, and I have to think that they are somewhere together."

"It's time, Sansa," was all that Tywin said. He knew that the afternoon sun would fade, that they needed to speak with Jaime and Jon. And then tomorrow that all eyes would be on them as they said goodbye to their loved ones. If they wanted a chance to see them in private, the time was now.

"I know. Let me call back the nannies, and then we'll find our family."

Arya rose. "I'll get Jon, Jaime, Ric and Jeyne."

Sansa pulled her sister in for a hug. "I'm so proud of you, Arya." Arya let Sansa have this moment and hugged her back.

"I'm proud of you, sister."

And the truth was, Arya was proud of Sansa. Lady Brienne and her betrayal had disillusioned Arya. Instead, she now looked at her sister, who had found her own pathway to power, and a woman like Dacey, who had fallen in love with Jon along with doing her duty to Sansa.

Arya had been deeply affected by the sacrifices that both her brothers had made to ensure that the pack survived, and she was more than ready to do her part. The thought of returning home to Winterfell filled her with excitement, not dread, and she could almost feel the approval of Ned and Robb and Bran with her choice.

"I'll get them, Sansa," was all Arya said as she slipped out.

As Sansa gave orders to the nannies, Tywin slipped a cloth into his pocket. He knew that his wife would be inconsolable once she saw their bodies. He doubted he'd fare much better seeing Kevan, although he knew the only one who would see his sorrow would be his Queen, later, when they were alone and in private.

They stepped out of their tent together, their family waiting for them. Tywin held Sansa's hand, not caring what might be said about the love of the King for his pretty Queen.

_Let them speak_, the Great Lion thought. He was not ashamed at how much he loved the woman by his side and knew this would be a brutal afternoon for her.

Sansa smiled softly as Rickon ran up to her and held her other hand. Jaime had Myrcella while Jon was there with Dacey and Arya stood with Jeyne. Sandor had somehow roused himself from his sickbed once again and stood beside Jeyne and Arya. Sansa was pleased that her sister would have her champion with her in Winterfell.

"Ready?" the King asked and received grim nods. As the party started to walk, the four direwolves fell into formation. Quickly, both Sansa and Tywin's guards fell into place, so it was a relatively large group that had formed.

As they walked, a full accounting of what must have happened at Harrenhal became apparent.

Tywin could see the scoring of dragon fire on the castle walls that still stood, along with the devastation of the dragon being taken down by the Night King. There wasn't a place where the castle didn't appear to be crumbling, and from his last time here, Tywin knew that entire curtain walls and towers were missing.

"Seven fucking hells," he whispered to himself as he took in the sheer carnage that Harrenhal sustained.

"I had them in the south tower when Stannis crashed into the south gate. He took out the wall, the tower and the gate in one go. It was a miracle I got them out and down to the main hall," Sandor said, having limped forward towards the King and Queen.

For once, Tywin welcomed Sandor’s presence.

"The dead poured through, relentless. I had them hidden for a time, and I watched as Lord Stark fought White Walker after White Walker." Sandor paused. "Then the dead bears and wolves came, and the destruction they did," the big man said, shaking his head. "I don't know how this many of us are alive, to be honest."

Tywin could only imagine what they had all been through and shook his head at everything that had happened. A plan was already forming in the King's head. This place was cursed, that much was more than apparent. As they rounded the east side of the castle, more destruction came into view.

"Giants," was all that Sandor said and left it at that. Nothing more needed to be said.

They made their way to the Northside of Harrenhal, where the primary battle had taken place. It has emerged relatively unscathed, although some of the trebuchets still stood, silent and imposing.

The moat of wildfire had been extinguished and now, as far as the eye could see, pyre after pyre stretched out in front of Harrenhal's once-imposing front curtain wall.

"Oh gods," Sansa said, clutching at Tywin, thinking she might be sick as the sight. There were thousands of bodies before her.

"Over ten thousand," came Jaime's solemn voice. It was a staggering number.

"I'm here," was all Tywin said, voice low and tight. He felt … an overwhelming sense of pride that they had emerged victorious against this enemy, and a crippling sense of loss at the sheer number of dead.

"He's here, My Lady," Jon said, choking a bit on the words.

Jon made a vague gesture and took Jeyne by the arm, as Sansa and Tywin followed Jon to the front of the line. Robb had been given a place of honour, the first body on a huge pyre. Next to him was Bran and then Kevan Lannister, along with Randyll Tarly and Mace Tyrell.

Sansa felt her knees almost buckle as she came across Robb's form, still and silent. Because of the cold that still lingered nature had not yet started to reclaim these bodies, so they only looked pale, and like they were sleeping. Robb had been dressed in his Northern clothing and cloak, and Sansa watched as Jeyne reached out and stroked his cheek.

In his arms, laid vertically down his body, was Ice. The last time Sansa had seen it, Illyn Payne had taken her father's head. Now it was where it belonged, although it would soon be given to little Ned. Greywind howled mournfully, as Jeyne wept over Robb's prone form.

Sansa stepped up on the other side, tears tracking silently down her face. She was close enough to hear Jeyne tell Robb that she loved him and that he'd given her something more before he died.

"I'm going home, my love, to Winterfell, with Ned and Arya. Sandor as well, as you know how much he loves it there despite how much he complains. Greywind will be there for Ned, and we'll make sure he's a proper Stark. If the next baby is a boy, I'm naming him after you, and I know you'd grumble and say not to, but I won't be dissuaded."

Sansa was openly sobbing now, holding Robb's other hand as Jon, Arya, Ric and Sandor stood beside her.

"We'll bring your bones, home Robb. Yours and Brans and build statues to you in the crypt. Your children will know your deeds, my love," Jeyne told him, making all the Starks cry harder. She pressed one last kiss to his cheek and then stepped back, thankfully into Jaime's arms, who held her as she cried.

Sansa leaned down to whisper in Robb's ear.

"I love you, big brother. Thank you for protecting, well, everyone, but especially our family, our pack. I promise as long as I draw breath, the North shall be at peace. I love you."

Then Sansa kissed his cheek and stepped into Tywin's waiting arms, watching as Jon, Ric, Arya and Sandor also said their goodbyes.

When they approached Bran, the Stark's repeated their goodbyes. Sansa couldn't believe how much older Bran looked, and she wept over his form.

Much to everyone's surprise, Jaime asked for a moment with Bran and Jon. There was something there, and Tywin knew he'd find out eventually.

When it was just Jaime and Jon, the two men that had become as close as brothers, looked at one another, then Jaime cleared his throat and spoke quietly, so only Jon could hear.

"It should have been me, on the Isle of Faces. For all my sins, perhaps my gravest was what I did to you. Had I not pushed you from that tower, you never would have become what you were." Jaime gave a soft chuckle. "I can already hear your argument; that is was your destiny, but perhaps, had I been a better man, it would not have been." Jaime coughed and touched Bran's cheek. "I can never atone for what I did to you. But I will try. I'll be the best knight to Rickon, and I promise I won't let him be like me."

Jon gave a little smile.

"Thank you, Bran Stark. For your sacrifice. It will never be forgotten."

Jaime nodded to Jon, who coughed and then pressed a kiss to Bran's forehead.

"Little brother, there is not much else to say. I wish it didn't have to be you, but I'll never forget what you did. No one will. The names Bran and Robb Stark will be known throughout the seven kingdoms for their heroism on the Second Long Night."

There was nothing more to be said, and only one more goodbye to get through.

Kevan Lannister had a place with the others, but instead of burning, tomorrow he would be taken back to Casterly Rock. Jaime had not been incorrect in knowing what his father wanted for his brother. Tywin had already sent orders to the Rock that the highest honour would be given to Kevan; he’d arrive home to the full spectacle that Casterly Rock could put on. Nothing less would do.

Tywin squeezed Sansa's hand hard, worrying about the toll this was taking on her. Of course, his wife gave him a small smile. "I'm fine, Tywin. Well, not fine, but I'll survive," she told him, and he grunted at that.

The King hated that his grief would be on display. It reminded him of when Joanna had died, and curious eyes had never left his face, everyone waiting for him to falter at losing the person he had loved best of all. But now, he had Sansa, and her hand in his reminded him that he was not alone. Not now and not for the rest of his days. This time when Tywin mourned, he’d have her.

Tywin, Jaime and Sansa stopped beside Kevan Lannister. He looked at peace, was Sansa's first thought. He, too, had been dressed in Lannister red and gold, the proud lion sigil on his chest for all to see.

Sansa sobbed and reached for him, and Tywin let her. He knew how much they had loved one another. Tywin thought back to when he first told his brother he was getting married. The King had not missed the hope in his brother's eyes for him. _How could they have known what a godsend Sansa would be into their lives?_

When Sansa pressed a kiss to Kevan's cheek and stepped back, Tywin finally let go of her hand and leaned down to whisper his own, private goodbye.

"Brother, through all our days, it was you that was always by my side. You always supported me, and you always did your duty. It grieves me greatly that you will not be able to live your days out at Casterly Rock, for you deserved no less for your unwavering loyalty to me and my family. I wish to the heavens that you had been able to meet my daughter; she is the very image of Sansa and sure to give me fits and starts." Tywin paused and rested his head against Kevan's cold forehead. "Until we meet once again, brother. I am ever in your debt."

Then Tywin stepped back, reeling slightly as the magnitude of Kevan's death washed over him, more grateful than he could explain when Sansa's hand found his once again. She pressed herself closer, and he leaned down to kiss her gently.

"We'll remember them, Tywin, always."

"Always, my love."

Then the King and Queen of Westeros dipped their heads once more to those they had loved and lost and turned and made their way back to the living; to their children and the lords of the realm that would be looking for guidance and leadership in the days and week to come.

As they walked away from the endless pyres, the mournful howling of the direwolves filled the air, and for the first time in his life, the Great Lion found the sound of the animal comforting and allowed their wails to fill the sadness in his heart.

He understood then that the legacy he would leave would be of two houses; wolf and lion and that they would rule Westeros for years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up:
> 
> I will get to the political ramifications, and what Westeros will look like now.
> 
> Dorne, Edmure and Willas are all going to be summoned to Harrenhal. 
> 
> I don't know when the next chapter is coming, and I don't know how many more chapters. I mean, I'm not planning another war or anything, but I'd imagine I have another 50-60,000 words before this story wraps! Hope that's OK. 
> 
> Again, as always, comments are welcome. Hopefully, people enjoyed all the good parts of this chapter.


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tywin and Sansa meet with Jaime and Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always feel bad that my chapters never get to where I've plotted them out. Case in point, I had about 4 other things I wanted to get to in this chapter and yet, here we are, almost another 11k words.
> 
> Part of me wants to apologize. I have no ability to temper my words and this is already a very long story. And then another part loves my indulgence because that is the very essence of fan fiction. 
> 
> I will say, that these next few chapters set up the entire Post Long Night Westeros, so they need to be done properly. And hell, I'll just say it- I'm not ready for this story to be done. 
> 
> So having said that- this chapter is heavy on the characters and their interactions and not big on action. I make no apologies for focusing on the main pairing- by this point if you don't like my style why are you even here? 
> 
> Once again and as always, thanks for SA and LC.  
But also- everyone who comments. I read them ALL. There are some very good points being brought to my attention. i love how reader interaction makes these stories better (I hope).
> 
> T

It was dark by the time they made their way back to their tent and Sansa could feel the emotion building in her husband with every step. She knew what he was feeling; she had two dead brothers lying on pyres along with her dear friend. Tywin wasn't the only one who'd lost someone dear to him.

The difference, Sansa knew, was that she'd permit herself to grieve, whereas she worried that Tywin would not. He was the King and an extraordinarily circumspect man. Sansa had barely seen him cry when they'd dealt with Tyrion's death, and she knew how much closer Tywin was to Kevan. That bottled up emotion was what worried the Queen. They needed their King strong. The realm could ill afford him to lose his cool logic and pragmatic nature during this critical period.

"Give us time," she murmured to Jaime and Jon, a pleading look in her eyes.

Tywin had requested their presence as they were leaving the funeral grounds, but Sansa felt he was in no place to talk rationally right now. Instead, she watched as he stalked into the tent, his leonine grace on full display, along with the barely leashed temper.

"Sansa, are you sure?"

Jaime had been young when his mother had died, but even he could recall the rage that Tywin had been in after that event. In no way did Jaime want to put Sansa in any danger; he knew his father's temper well.

Both Jon and Jaime had matching worried expressions and had the entire situation not been so emotionally brutal, Sansa would have expressed her joy at how two the close of them had become. Instead, she laid a hand on Jaime's arm.

"He won't hurt me, Jaime. You know this."

Jaime wanted to believe that his father wouldn't harm Sansa; Jaime knew he'd never strike her. But his words could be just as cutting and even more damaging. Jaime had witnessed it time and again in his lifetime and he worried for Sansa.

Sansa shook her head at the doubt on Jaime's face. "He won't Jaime. Trust me." Sansa hugged both of them. "Give us some time,” she repeated. The last thing Sansa needed was for them to crowd Tywin when he needed privacy. She knew her lion and she knew what he needed was her.

Both men nodded and then Sansa slipped inside the tent. She saw the nannies with the boys; they were both chatting and happily eating. A wet nurse had Serena. Sansa did not love it when she had to use one, but she had realized the necessity of it given her position. Newborn infants needed to eat constantly, and Sansa was learning how to run a Kingdom. As much as she loved her children, she was also the Queen. Sansa stopped briefly to check on them all, was rewarded with smiles and kisses from her boys which helped smooth over the worst of her grief, and then promised she’d be back.

Seeing that Tywin was not in the main tent, she realized he must have slipped into the bedroom. Sansa had never wished for walls and her home in the Red Keep more than she had now. She wanted to be in their chambers in King's Landing, where things were familiar and private. Instead, she had this — a tent in the middle of hundreds of others, and a wounded lion to tame.

Tywin had his back to her, hunched and standing over a desk. His hands were curled into tight fists, and his breathing ragged. It reminded Sansa of when she'd found him in his solar in the Tower of the Hand, and he had just learned of Jaime's sword hand being removed. Only then, she had been his betrothed, and now she was his wife. Now she knew him better than anyone else and she knew he would accept solace from only her.

Sansa wasted no time, walking up to him and wrapping her arms around him from behind, much the same as she had that night that seemed so long ago. This time, he didn't even flinch at her touch, instead of letting out a deep sigh and grabbing her hands, holding them in his large ones. They were silent for a time, both consumed by their grief.

"He has been my side since we were children, Sansa. Near sixty years. How do I function without him?" Tywin finally asked her, voice stretched thin with the depth of what he was feeling.

Sansa had no answer for that; losing Bran and Robb was hard enough, and she hadn't been as close to either brother as Tywin and Kevan had been. She knew Tywin had let very few people into his world and that Kevan had been one of them. He was closer to Tywin than Genna ever had been, and after Joanna’s death, one of the only people in the entire Kingdom that Tywin trusted.

So, instead of empty words, Sansa said nothing and gripped him harder. His hands squeezed hers in silent understanding and though this was an extraordinarily painful time, Sansa loved how deep their connection was.

"I thought I could never feel this pain again," he confessed. "I thought the worst I would ever feel would be watching Joanna die. But this…" Tywin whispered, shaking his head in almost disbelief.

He had loved his first wife; he had since he could remember. But they'd been young and had so few years together. Kevan, though - Tywin had Kevan his entire life. And now he was gone, sent to this hellish place by Tywin himself. It was much the same as when Jaime had lost his sword hand; Tywin’s own actions had caused irreparable damage to someone he loved. He couldn’t help but feel this was some time of punishment for all the wrongs he’d done in this world, for surely neither Kevan nor Joanna had deserved their fates.

The Great Lion turned then and hauled his wife close to him, kissing her almost roughly. Sansa allowed him this liberty, knowing it was pain and grief that ruled him at this moment. When he pulled his lips back from hers, his green eyes bore into hers and he held her so close there was hardly space between them.

"You are everything, Sansa. My entire world. It can all fall into the sea; the Rock, King's landing, my gold, these fucking crowns. All of it could be gone- but not you. Never you, wife. I pray the gods to take me before I ever have to see your lifeless body."

Tywin's words had been ripped from his very soul, and even though it almost broke something in Sansa to think about him dying before her, logically, she knew that was most likely going to happen. She knew he wasn't thinking rationally right now, and a Tywin Lannister ruled solely by emotion could be a dangerous thing.

Sansa brought her hands up, rubbing them through his whiskers, and he turned into her touch. She knew then that he was with her; that he would let her in, and she let out a relieved breath.

"My love. My heart. My lion. I am strong and healthy and have no plans of leaving this earth any time soon."

Tywin growled at that statement, resting his forehead against hers, his voice barely audible.

"I wouldn't survive your loss. Even now, this pain I feel, I only go on because of you and our children. This Kingdom can burn itself to the ground for all I care at this moment."

Sansa heard the angry lash in his words and knew that Tywin Lannister's rage was just below the surface. She knew he meant every single word. As much as he had worked his entire life to be in this position, and make no mistake, Tywin Lannister was the most powerful he had ever been; it would all be ashes if something were to happen to her. Her lion loved with such a depth that put most others to shame, although so few saw it. Sansa knew that this breadth of feeling was from the pain he felt with Kevan’s death. 

"Oh, Tywin, I know this loss feels insurmountable. And it should. Kevan was your dearest friend as much as he was your brother. It should feel this painful. It means you loved him so very much, my love."

The soft keening sound the emanated from Tywin was one that no one else had ever heard; he'd only made it once before when he'd held Joanna's lifeless body.

"How do we find joy in such terrible times?" Tywin asked.

He hated emotion. Hated how it ruled men, making them weak. He hated how loving someone and losing them felt worse than any physical pain he’d ever received. And yet.

His wife was everything to him. She’d given him her heart, trust, loyalty. Her intelligence made her one of the most formidable people in the Kingdom, and he wanted nothing more than to guide her into the ruler he knew she could be. She might have been born a wolf, but she was as much a lion as he was; ruthless when necessary, just when called for and always logical and pragmatic.

Sansa had allowed him to feel again, after so many years of loneliness; and not just her. Their children, which Tywin could admit to being enamoured by in a way he had not appreciated when he’d been younger.

Sansa gave a shaky smile.

"Because their sacrifices have to mean something, something more than pain, Tywin. They wouldn't want us to hurt for longer than necessary.”

Tywin sighed into her hair, stroking his hands down her back, letting her words ease the worst of the ache. She forced him to the realization that he wasn’t alone; that no matter what happened, he had _her_. Always and forever Sansa by his side. He had done nothing to deserve such a love, yet he had it none the less and he would never give it up.

"Your children will make you laugh. You know they will. It is always about family, Tywin. When you are ready, we will go and find them. You will see yourself and Kevan in them because they are like the two of you, and we both know it."

Sansa saw the smallest quirk of Tywin's lips, right before he pressed them against hers again, this time gentle and soft. How was it she understood what Cersei and Tyrion and even Jaime to a certain extent had not. This was all they had; these bonds with those that they shared blood and vows with.

His large hand came up to her hair, and he massaged the base of her neck. "My fierce wife. The only one brave enough in the entire Kingdom to approach the wounded lion."

Sansa gave him a knowing look. That statement was more than accurate and they both knew it. Then she took his hand in hers and brushed her lips against his again, needing the contact.

"Come, my love, let's see them." Sansa knew that children had a way of reminding adults that there was still something good in this life. In the face of so much death they were the epitome of life.

With one last ragged breath, Tywin allowed Sansa to bring him to his family. She quickly dismissed their nannies, coaxing him to sit on the rug where the princes played with wooden toys. Of course, the moment their father was at their level, he was infinitely more interesting and they crawled into his lap. Tywin couldn't help but allow their innocence and joy in him wash away the worst of his pain.

Sansa settled beside Tywin with Serena in her arms, the princess sleepy. Both boys were fascinated by their sister.

"Gentle," Tywin admonished as Tysan reached to touch her. His heir, whose blue eyes were Sansa's, looked back at his father.

Tywin demonstrated, touching Serena softly and was pleased when Tysan followed, smiling the whole time. Not to be outdone, Jason was there as well, almost climbing over Tysan to get his chance with the baby.

"So gentle, my little lions," Sansa crooned to them. They grinned at her, and Tywin was undone by the love his wife had for them all. "Such good boys," she told them again and again until they grew bored with Serena and turned back to their father.

"Pa!" Tysan was babbling, followed again by Jason.

Sansa laughed. "I'm sure he's trying to say, Papa," Sansa grinned at Tywin. As it had been with Tyrion's death, being around her children brought Sansa a level of peace that she knew would otherwise be unachievable.

"Where on earth would he learn that?"

Sansa grinned. "Myrcella. She is determined that they call you that."

Tywin rumbled out a laugh, which delighted both his sons, who were still crawling all over him. He never remembered taking time like this when Cersei and Jaime had been little. He wouldn't have even thought it necessary.

Tywin had taken an interest in Jaime when he was older- Jaime was his heir. Tywin understood now that he had been too focused on securing power; and protecting his family from Aerys and his increasing madness. Tywin could also admit he hadn't seen the need for a father to be involved with children when they were young.

But Sansa demanded that he was present; she gave him no option, and he secretly loved it. These children would know their father in a way the first three had not.

"What did you tell them?" he asked Sansa quietly when he noticed Serena had fallen asleep. Tywin had seen Jaime and Jon follow them all the way back to their tent.

She smiled softly at him. "To give us time, Tywin."

He grunted at that. Time, something the young thought they had an endless supply of and those in their twilight years knew it was the one thing that no gold could ever buy you more of. Time was the one thing they decidedly did not have.

"It can wait until tomorrow," Sansa said softly, but Tywin shook his head, correcting her.

"We must speak to them tonight. There is a window of time here, Sansa, an opportunity to shape the realm in the way in which it will benefit us most. You have demonstrated time and again, your intelligence, wife. It is one of your most attractive qualities."

Sansa blushed but said nothing. She was still unused to someone finding that part of her attractive and she loved that her husband did.

"These next few weeks, I need you to pay attention to everyone and everything. Every facial expression, every nuance, every raised voice or tongue held. We must create a small council that will help us expand our power base for the years to come. There is so much to learn when you have the opportunity to sit back and observe.”

"I will."

"What we do now will define our legacy, Sansa."

She nodded. "I understand, Tywin."

“These crowns are just symbols. They give us no more power than strutting through King’s Landing announcing I am the King does. Aerys, Robert, Joffrey; they all made their own mistakes, but one thing that I will not allow is for us to be betrayed, my love.”

Sansa cocked her head. “Is there a threat that I am unaware of?”

The King shook his head. “No more than the obvious problems we have. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone plotting Sansa. We will always be a target. They will always be targets.” They both let their eyes drift down to their children, and Tywin saw the fierce wave of protection in his wife’s eyes and thanked the seven gods she was as much wolf as a lion. If there was one animal that protected its young as well as a lioness, it was the wolf. 

Tywin couldn't help himself and reached out and stroked a cheek. "I wish I had a lifetime to teach you what I've learned; how to avoid the mistakes I've made. I know you were born to be Queen, Sansa and I have every confidence in you."

"Tywin," Sansa said, turning into his hand and pressing her lips to his palm, undone by his words and confidence in her.

"But I don't, my love. I have no idea how long we will have together and we must do everything possible to secure our position. You know me, Sansa. Better than any other in the realm." Tywin paused, running a hand down Tysan's back, who had gone to sleep in the King’s arms, while Jason rested in his lap. "I am who I am, and while I am softer here, in your presence, with our children, out there, I cannot be." Tywin prayed she understood what he was trying to say. 

"My love, I understand," Sansa said, blue eyes shining brightly. "I know who you are, Tywin; I know what you are capable of. And I will not turn from that, nor will I be a hypocrite. I know what is needed to secure our legacy.”

He gave her a wordless nod. Sansa had uncovered more of him than any other, perhaps even Kevan. She knew all facets and sides; his deepest secrets and most horrible acts. They'd done what was necessary to secure their place in Westeros, and she was both lion and wolf.

Tywin knew the time had come. That Sansa was fully able to accept why Tywin Lannister was the most feared man in the Kingdom. She would not flinch, not turn from him and not reject him, no matter what choices he made in the coming weeks. It was a level of freedom he’d never had with anyone; not even Joanna and it humbled him that he’d found this with her.

"Get the children to bed, Sansa. I will summon Jon and Jaime and call for our supper. We will discuss matters with them over food and wine."

She nodded once and then rose, pressing kisses to the blond heads of the little lions they had made, and holding Serena tightly. Sansa's midwife had shown her a wrap of sorts that lowborn women wore when they had new babes, and the Queen often found herself using it to keep her daughter close. It was an elegant and practical solution, and when Sansa finally joined her family at the large table that was in yet another adjoining room to the tent, she was pleased her appetite was back.

She smiled at the three men, noting the weary looks on all their faces. They had all been through hell; the entire Kingdom had been, and yet, there was no time to rest. If they did, others might seize what was theirs, and Sansa had worked too hard to give up any of her newfound power to anyone besides those she loved and trusted most. She would not turn now that everything was almost within their grasp. True peace for the seven kingdoms and two sane rulers to oversee it all.

Sansa took a seat beside Tywin and gave him a grateful smile when he plated food for her.

"Eat," was all he said to the small group assembled and everyone dug in, grateful for the brief interlude something as simple as eating gave them.

Jaime looked between them. There was no denying that his father looked like he'd aged a year or two since viewing Kevan's body, and Jaime could practically feel the tension radiating from him. But there was no anger towards Sansa; only soft looks and touches the King was known for. Jaime was still amazed at how different a man his father was with her. It was unlike anything he'd ever witnessed, and he wondered if a time would come when it would just be something he accepted.

When they were through the meal, and the servants brought wine, Tywin finally leaned forward, arms on the massive table. The entire tent reminded Jaime of when they rode to war - Lannister lions and colours everywhere, and the chairs upon which they sat some of the best quality furniture in the realm. His father had always been good at maintaining appearances.

Without wasting any more time, Tywin pinned both men with a look. "Tell me about it all."

"Where shall we start?" Jaime quipped, sipping his wine, letting the weariness and pure shit day settle over him.

"Start with when you left the Red Keep," the King replied, his tone brooking no argument.

Jon cleared his throat, taking one look at Jaime’s relaxed pose. Jon couldn’t say he was as of yet completely comfortable with the King; not like he was with his son. And there was a part of Jon that responded to the command in the King’s voice, whereas Jaime seemed much better at brushing off his father’s requests.

So, seeing as Jaime was making no attempt to tell the story, Jon went through the sequence of events; up until Jaime, and the Blackfish infiltrated Riverrun.

That’s when Jon gave Jaime a look. This was something that the Golden Lion needed to speak about and thankfully he seemed willing to do so.

Not taking his eyes off either his father or Sansa, Jaime quickly told them what happened when they were inside the castle. He spoke of Bryden's sacrifice, the small group of rebels with Catelyn and then his final confrontation with Brienne.

"And you didn't run her through?" Tywin asked, eyebrows raised and voice incredulous, interrupting his son’s accounting of the events.

"She was my wife, father. No, I did not run her through." Jaime’s voice was low and defensive.

Tywin slammed a fist down on the table, rattling goblets. "She made a fool of you. Of our noble house, Jaime and me. She betrayed us."

Jaime's jaw tightened, and he fought to control his temper. "I am well aware of what she did, father."

Jaime held his tongue, although there was so much he wanted to say; to try to defend himself and his actions. He knew his father always saw him as ruled by emotion and weak. Surprisingly, Sansa said nothing. Jaime wondered at that. Usually, she would reach out to calm his father, but her face was a mask, and she had never appeared Queenlier than at that moment.

"So, if you weren't willing to stop her, who was?" Tywin demanded, bringing Jaime’s attention back to the matter at hand.

Jaime almost rolled his eyes at his father's dramatics. The Great Lion had the uncanny ability to boil things down to make everyone appear like a fool. No doubt had he been there, he would have sliced Brienne’s throat and been done with it, which come to think about it, might have been easier for all involved.

Jaime and Jon shared a look. "Well, somehow, Arya and Rickon escaped, and they jumped her,” Jon said.

"Excuse me?" The King said, eyes wide, thinking he must have heard them wrong.

Sansa finally cracked and let out a snicker. Then it was a tiny laugh, until finally, she was clutching at her sides, her whole body rolling with laughter.

"Oh gods, of course, they did," she said, shaking her head at that image.

Everyone relaxed marginally then. Jaime shrugged and met his father's eyes.

"I wouldn't have let her escape father. Jon was coming. I just… gods, I couldn't run her through. How can you possibly think that of me?" No matter what Brienne had done, Jaime knew he didn’t have it in him to truly harm her physically. Restrain, yes.

Tywin said nothing, only grunting at that admission from Jaime. His firstborn son always had a soft heart.

"What next?"

"I arrived, Your Grace," Jon said, picking up the tale from Jaime. Despite how much Jon knew that Tywin loved his son, their relationship was always fraught. "We secured Lady Brienne and then went to find Bran. He was in a room with Lady Catelyn. Upon entering, it became apparent that he had bashed her on the head with a rather large book."

Sansa let out a full musical laugh at this.

"Oh gods, good for him." Her siblings were fierce some creatures that she adored.

"We secured the prisoners and the next day; we gave the proper funeral rights to Brynden Tully. And then said our goodbyes to the prisoners." Jon locked eyes with Sansa, and all mirth evaporated instantly. Sansa saw something in Jon's eyes that made her heartbreak.

"She's not right, My Queen - your mother. There is something wrong with her. She upset Rickon and tried to get Arya to speak against you."

Sansa sucked in a pained breath. She wondered when her mother would stop hurting her. And the worst part was that Sansa had a feeling that Jon was understating just how much damage her mother had done.

"What did she have to say about me, Jon?" The question was asked softly, but there was no mistaking the authority in Sansa's voice.

"Does it matter?"

"I think you know it does, Jon."

For a moment it was as if they were the only two in the room, the lions forgotten. This was between the Starks.

Jon let out a pained sigh. "I made it clear that whatever Lady Catelyn's fate, it wasn't your fault, Sansa. Nor yours, Your Grace. Arya understands." Jon had looked to the King to ensure he understood, and Tywin gave a curt nod.

Jon let out another aggrieved sigh, and Tywin pinned him with a look. "Today Lord Targaryen. We grow older by the minute."

"Fine. Do you want to know what she said? She hates me- hated me from the moment Ned brought me home. On that, I can't blame her. But that wasn't the worst. The worst was she didn't believe any of it - not the Long Night, not the Night King and not Bran's role. That was her impetus for kidnapping them." Jon paused and then looked at Sansa and Tywin. "That and the fact that she doesn't trust you, Sansa. She hates the King. She feels you are lost as a Stark; that you betrayed your family and that none of them would be safe with you."

Even though Sansa had known it had to be something like that, hearing the words from Jon's mouth, spoken so plainly, cut Sansa to the quick. She had done everything to bring her mother back into the fold. She had forgiven and time and again, her mother had betrayed her.

Sansa wondered for a moment when Catelyn had been lost to them. Was it when Bran had been pushed from the tower? Or earlier? Had she been broken when Ned had brought home, Jon? Sooner yet? Was it when Brandon Stark had been roasted alive by Aerys?

Sansa knew she would never know when her mother had become so paranoid; all she knew was that her father's death, the war with the Lannister's, her own imprisonment in King's Landing, could be laid at her mother's feet. All of it. And Catelyn Stark would never take ownership of her role of any of it.

That was the difference between Jaime and her mother, Sansa realized. Jaime had done awful things as well; made horrible choices to benefit his family and the people he loved. But at least he owned his decisions and made his amends with those he'd harmed. Catelyn Stark never had and never would. She would always blame others, never herself.

"She…" Jon swallowed hard. "She told Rickon and Arya that when you take her head, it will be no different than when King Joffrey took Ned's."

Sansa sucked in a sharp, pained gasp of air, and shook her head. "No, she wouldn't say that."

Jon looked at her with almost pity in his eyes, which Tywin hated. His wife was not someone to be pitied. He hated Catelyn Stark with a vengeance in that moment he reserved for a few people; Aerys was one who came to mind.

"I'm sorry, Sansa. Arya defended you. Told Rickon it was lies; said that you weren't like that. Weren't like him." Jon's eyes met Tywin's. "She also defended you."

Tywin startled a bit at this news, and then a small, grim smile crossed his features. He reached a single hand out to offer comfort to Sansa.

What he wanted was to pull her onto his lap and hold her, easing the hurt her mother had once again caused. But right now, in spite of knowing the pain she was in, they needed to be the King and Queen of the seven kingdoms and not Tywin and Sansa. He knew she understood when she sat straighter and squeezed his hand back, but never took her eyes from Jon. There would be time to comfort each other later, privately. Tywin was never so proud of her as he was at that moment.

Jon gave both of them a smile. "It was a sight to see and I'll never forget it. She defended your choices, Sansa. She called Catelyn out on releasing Jaime and not securing your return. Defended your choice to marry Tywin; then said he was a man that loved her beyond reason and would protect you when her own family failed. Said that Tywin Lannister was the man that gave you a family when her own failed her."

Tywin couldn't school his features; he was shocked. Arya Stark had said all that about him?

"Aye, she did," Jon said, smiling at the King who hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud. "She's a true Stark and part of the pack. You can trust her."

Tywin knew this changed things considerably. He had been stewing over what to do in the North. The Northern Lords were a twitchy, superstitious bunch. If he made Jeyne Stark, formally Westerling, the regent until Ned Stark came of age, he'd no doubt have problems - problems neither he nor Sansa needed. But if Arya was exhibiting this level of maturity and loyalty, well, that allowed Tywin to put her at Winterfell as the true born Stark until Ned came of age.

Jon gave a grin and then added, "She also told your mother that if Tywin married her to an evil man, she'd slit his throat and feed him to Nymeria and then send the King a raven."

For the first time since Tywin had seen Kevan's body, he let out a real, genuine bark of laughter. "Of course she fucking would. Savage little thing." Sansa, Jon and Jaime could all hear the affection and pride in his voice when he spoke of Arya. "She's of no use to me married to some man that makes her less."

Jon's shoulders relaxed marginally. He knew that he'd helped Arya secure the future she wanted. She'd return to Winterfell, to the North to rule until her nephew took his rightful place. Jon would never understand how both Stark sisters had somehow come to command the respect of the most fearsome man in the kingdom, but they had.

"And you? What was your goodbye to your wife like?" Tywin asked. Jaime had been lost in his thoughts while Jon had recounted his tale.

Jaime gave a casual shrug. Now was not the time nor the place to discuss him and Brienne.

"My wife remains a deluded woman, father. She also did not believe us about the Night King and believed herself to be fulfilling her vow to Lady Catelyn."

Tywin snorted. "Her vow to that madwoman somehow superseded her marriage ones to you?"

Jaime gave another shrug, the pain of Brienne's betrayal, a permanent tattoo on his heart. He wondered then if there was some fatal flaw in him that somehow made him unworthy of being someone's first choice. He'd seen others find it; he could glance over and see it between his father and Sansa. But somehow, for some reason, Jaime was never that person. Not with Cersei, not with Brienne.

Cersei had always chosen power and Brienne her sense of honour.

Jaime doubted he'd allow himself a third try. Marriage was not for him. Neither, apparently was love.

"The end of our marriage has no bearing on the Second Long Night," Jaime said, and Tywin, thankfully, dropped it. For now. He saw the pain in his son's eyes and hated it. Tywin knew Jaime would feel the repercussions from Brienne's betrayal for some time to come.

"High Heart?" Tywin asked, moving the conversation away from the Tarth woman.

Jon nodded. "That was Bran. He said it was where we needed to go."

The entire story of the ghost of High Heart and the vision with the Children of the Forest came out. Both Sansa and Tywin shared a horrified look when Jaime and Jon explained that they believed they had to die.

"It was all of it; the ghost and the children and Bran- they were all in agreement. Three bloodlines, three swords, three houses to finish him," Jon said, voice pained as he thought back to that experience and what they had thought needed to happen. And what actually had.

"And you were prepared to give your life?" Tywin choked out, realizing for the first time how close he had come to losing Jaime. Moreover, how willing Jaime had been to give his life, again, it seemed, so that everyone else might live. Mistaking his father's fear and love for him for derision, Jaime responded in kind.

"You never saw the Night King father. It is impossible to describe all of them: the children, the ghost, Bran and his powers. You are a man that believes in what he can see and prove. I understand that. But we've seen things that defy all logic," Jaime snapped. "But dead men, giants and dragons destroyed Harrenhal, father. And that is something that you cannot just push aside."

"Jaime, I believe you," Tywin said quietly, meeting his son's eyes. "All of it. I believe you. I am just processing that both of you were willing to make that sacrifice."

"Three of us," Jon said, and Sansa finally let a small sob escape her mouth.

"Bran."

Jon nodded. “Three of us went to the Isle of Faces prepared to give our lives to end his.”

Sansa and Tywin were stunned by their commitment.

"Then, if the vision said three of you had to die, why are the two of you here?" Tywin asked, bewildered at how his son had been saved, yet again, from the Stranger's grasp.

Jaime had to give his father credit; he was always willing to ask the hard question.

Jaime and Jon had agreed that the only people they would tell the full story of what happened on the Isle of Faces to were the King and Queen. Now that moment was here.

"After the dragon fell, the Night King must have turned the water to ice; a short time later, we were told that he was there." Jon's eyes had gone distant, and Jaime took up the story.

"He brought his white walkers and more dead with him. We knew his entire purpose was to kill Bran; we'd erected crude wooden barriers, and I'd positioned Lannister archers in the forest that ringed the great Heart Tree in the middle of the Isle's godswood."

Both Jaime and Jon knew the ground to be sacred; from the pact that was signed between the Children of the Forest and the First Men there, to Bran's death.

"They came, relentless," Jaime all but whispered. "When he finally appeared, he stalked through our men, cutting them down with his lieutenants by his side. He had Jon…" Jaime paused and swallowed hard.

"He had me by the throat, choking the very life from me," Jon said, meeting both the King and Queen's gaze. "With his other hand, he and his Walkers pinned Bran to the heart tree."

Sansa gasped and reached for Tywin, who, thankfully, did not deny her his touch.

"I thought we had lost. I thought Bran was dead, and soon I'd be dead. Then Jaime was there."

There was complete silence in the tent; only ragged breathing could be heard. Both men looked at each other and Jaime grimaced, turning to Sansa. This was for her to understand. His actions, that had once again harmed someone she loved.

"I knew what I had to do, and still, I could not make my hand lift my sword. Then Bran…" Jaime stopped, his voice so quiet Tywin and Sansa had to strain to hear him. 

"Bran told him it was alright. That this was his destiny, and he'd known all along that this had to happen. Jaime drove his sword into the Night King's back and pinned him to the heart tree with Bran. He dropped me immediately,” Jon said into the silence.

Jon looked away then, and Sansa saw the tears silently tracking down his face.

"I was useless. Lying on the ground, gasping for breath, disorientated. He was already working himself loose," Jon choked out. He pushed back the chair and started to pace around the tent, running his hands through his hair in agitation.

"There was no other way. Three blades; steel, Valyrian and dragon glass," Jaime said quietly. "We'd all bled enough the ground was littered with it. As soon as my blade impaled them, Bran stuck him with a small dragon glass dagger."

Sansa rose, and still with Serena strapped to her chest, came to Jon, pulling him close. He clung to her, sobbing into her neck, as they were a similar height.

"Fuck, Sansa, I'm so sorry," he kept whispering again and again.

"Finish it, Jaime," the King ordered quietly.

Jaime nodded. "Bran knew. He knew, and he absolved both of us in our roles. When Jon's sword joined mine and reached the Heart tree, the Night King shattered."

Jon was still in Sansa's arms, sobs wracking his body. "I murdered my brother, Sansa. How can you ever forgive me?"

"Oh gods, no," she said, clutching at his cheeks, forcing his eyes to hers. She saw the guilt and the burden he carried. Serena let out a small cry, and both looked to her. "I am convinced the moment that Bran gave his life, hers began, Jon. You did what was necessary; what was right. There was no other choice."

"Maybe if we had done something different," Jon started to say.

"No," came Tywin's commanding voice. He could see that both men were wrecked with emotion over what had happened. But Tywin knew; sometimes, the sacrifice of one was necessary for the good of the many. When he said as much, three sets of eyes met his, but he did not back down. Instead, he stood.

"You are all younger than I am, and you have much to learn. We will mourn Bran Stark and celebrate his sacrifice, but my words are no less true simply because others refuse to speak them. War requires the greatest sacrifice of all of us, and you dishonour Bran Stark if you make his less."

"He was my brother," Jon started to say before the King interrupted him.

"As Kevan was mine. And Robb was yours as well. As there are countless brothers, husbands and sons that litter the battlefield and now lie on their funeral pyres. Bran Stark knew what needed to be done, and he did it. And thank the seven gods, the two of you listened to him. How many more would have died had either one of you hesitated? My wife and children would no longer call Westeros home; he would have swarmed over this land, making everyone like him."

Tywin smashed his fist on the table again. There was always a price to be paid when the war horns blew; they all knew this.

"Feel sorrow for his death; mourn him, yes. But do not feel guilty for doing what needed to be done. Not again, Jaime, and not you as well, Jon. You saved a realm; millions of lives because you made the impossible choice, but the correct one."

For some reason, having Tywin Lannister absolve them of their role in Bran's death, made them both feel marginally better, although it was by no means a cure to their crippling guilt.

Jon turned his attention back to Sansa, who was pale and shaking. He wiped at the tears on her stunning face, which somehow, even in the ravages of grief, was beautiful.

"He wouldn't want you to feel guilt, Jon," was all she said before the King was there and wrapping her in his embrace.

"Love, I am worried," Tywin whispered into her ear. She was all but swaying on her feet; he knew that what Jon and Jaime had revealed tonight had been heavy. He wondered now if it was possible that the blows would stop coming for them. Their two families had paid such a high price in this war.

Tommen.

Tyrion.

Kevan.

Robb.

Bran.

"I'm alright, Tywin," she told him softly. She knew there was one more matter that her husband wanted to see before they dismissed Jon and Jaime.

"Should we stop?"

Sansa shook her head and raised her eyes to Tywin's. "No, continue."

Sansa saw the flare of pride and love in his eyes.

"My wolf," the King murmured, the two simple words conveying the wealth of what he felt for her.

When they all retook their seats, Tywin sat Sansa carefully in hers, brushing a hand across Serena's red hair. Sansa smiled up at him, and he couldn't resist leaning down to kiss her. She had performed admirably tonight, the way a true Queen should.

Finally, he turned back to two men who sat before them. Two men whom Tywin trusted more than any others. Two men who would, if he made the correct moves, help his wife and sons long after Tywin was gone. Before the King could say anything, though, Jaime slid the small gold Hand of the King pin across the table.

"I appreciate the gesture, but this was never meant to be mine."

Tywin grunted. "And what do you want now, Jaime?"

His son gave him a small smile. "To train my squire and lead the Lannister Army. I have no plans of leaving your side, father, but I am no hand."

Another grunt from the King. Tywin turned to Jon.

"And you?"

Tywin watched as a smile broke out on Jon's face. "To finally marry Dacey and go to Dragonstone."

"Humpf."

Tywin looked… slightly put out at their responses, and Jaime wondered what in the seven hells was going on in his father's brilliant mind. Then Jaime saw the look that Tywin and Sansa exchanged and sat up straighter, knowing they had something planned. It was eerie how they could communicate without words.

When Tywin's green eyes swung back to Jon and Jaime, they both squirmed a bit. The King’s gaze was never easy to maintain.

"As lovely as both your plans sound," Tywin began dryly, and Jaime's feeling that something he didn't like was about to happen deepened as the king continued to speak, "You are needed as more than mere placeholders in castles around the Kingdom."

Jon only appeared confused, while Jaime's eyes narrowed.

"Jaime, you will take Kevan's place as Master of Laws, while Jon, you will be Master of Coin."

Both men's jaws dropped open. Jaime recovered first.

He snorted. "How in seven hells do you think that I am fit to be Master of Laws? To the Kingdom, I am an oathbreaker- a Kingslayer. A sister fucker. The worst sort of man."

Tywin did not rise to the bait. He arched an elegant eyebrow.

"All the better to prove that redemption is possible, even for those with the worst reputations." Before Jaime could sputter anything more, Tywin gave him a look. "Addam Marbrand remains as Lord Commander of the City Watch. Under him and Sansa, they have done more to clean up Flea Bottom than anyone in years. My wife has plans, Jaime. Reforms she wants to be started. I need someone I can trust."

Jaime's green eyes swung to Sansa's. "What reforms?"

Sansa met his gaze. "Proper stipends for widows. Education for orphans. Regulation on brothels. Correct sewage. Standardized building codes. Access to clean water and food." She listed them off succinctly, and Jaime sat there stunned. Then she shrugged. "That is to say nothing of the tax code along with the trade agreements; I want to look at. As well, I dislike that power that the Citadel has. It should be decentralized."

Both Jon and Jaime had nothing to say, as the King gazed affectionally at his wife.

"Of course, not all of this is possible or even realistic in one lifetime. But the pieces can be put in place."

In truth, Tywin knew that changing how society operated was an uphill battle. Still, Sansa was passionate and youthful enough to have her entire life to enact her reforms.

"And me? Master of Coin?" came Jon's voice, filled with doubt.

"You were raised the same way Robb Stark was, weren't you?" Tywin asked, voice demanding.

Jon nodded.

"You can read and write."

Jon nodded again.

Tywin shrugged. "Then it is time to learn, Jon Targaryen." There was no sympathy in the King's eyes.

"But, I don't know anything about being a Master of Coin."

The Great Lion smiled, and it wasn't one of warmth. "You will learn. Most importantly, you will be there to support your cousin and me in our reign. I cannot trust just anyone with the purse strings. Surely you had to come up with a budget as the Lord Commander? You had to manage resources."

Jon ran a hand through his curls. "Aye. But I had help."

"Who?"

"Samwell Tarly. Smartest man I've ever met."

"We'll bring him along to King's Landing. He can help you," Tywin said, making the decree as if he hadn't just wholly upended Sam's life and plans with that one statement.

Tywin leaned forward, green eyes blazing as he spoke his next words.

"I need you two. Sansa needs the two of you. I will not have a small council full of plotters and backstabbers. We are uniquely positioned to establish a dynasty here- one that can last a thousand years."

Jaime tried not to smile as he recalled another conversation where he'd heard the same words from his father. Except now, his father had his new heir, the Iron Throne, a Queen and, shockingly enough, peace in the realm.

He'd thought at that time his father was full of the typical Lannister ego; the lions were not known for their shyness. But damn if his father hadn't succeeded in obtaining exactly what he wanted- the Lannister name to live on.

And it would, Jaime realized. With his father's two new sons. Jaime never had to marry again, never had to have his own children, never had to become Lord of Casterly Rock. All he had to do was continue to support his father and Sansa in their reign; to ensure that Tysan came of age to take his place as the next King and that Jason did so to become the next lion of the Westerlands. Both his half-brothers would eventually marry and produce their own heirs, ensuring that the Lannister name continued.

"You have my support, father," Jaime said, leaning back in his chair and for the first time in this entire horrible evening, allowing his trademark smirk to grace his handsome face.

Tywin's eyes narrowed as if he were trying to see if Jaime were japing; it appeared he was not. "Good."

"And mine," Jon said, still looking worried, but reassured that Jaime was in this mess alongside him. Jon had no idea how the small council of the King even worked.

"Thank you both," Sansa said, beaming at them. It was for her that they had truly capitulated. Tywin was intimidating and domineering, but out of love for their Queen, they would take on these new roles.

Tywin glanced at his wife and saw her shoulders start to sag. The day, which had started at the Inn, seemed endless. He wanted to hold his wife in his bed and escape into sleep until tomorrow. There was an equal number of never-ending tasks to see too and they needed rest. He rose and before dismissing them, the King looked at both Jon and Jaime.

"We will not speak of what happened on the Isle of Faces again. Neither one of you will never be shamed or guilted for the actions you took. You are both heroes." Tywin paused. "I wish I could give you both time to recover from the grievous losses you have suffered." They hadn't even spoken of the dragon. "But I cannot. There are still enemies who might seek to harm us, might see us as weak. Dorne. The Iron Islands. Willas Tyrell in the Reach and Edmure Tully in the Riverlands. The Kingdom is in chaos; entire regions emptied of their people and Wildlings so far in the south no one knows what to do with them. The North has lost its Lord, and we have no more Night's Watch."

Tywin held both their gazes until they were all locked in some odd unspoken pact.

"I need both of you to become the men you were always meant to be, not tomorrow, not in the future. Tonight."

Jaime and Jon nodded.

"I'll need of you in the coming days. I meet with Stannis and Royce tomorrow. And then we need to settle the issues with the North." When they nodded again, Tywin waved a hand and dismissed them.

Right before they left the tent, Tywin's voice reached them. "Oh and Jon," he called, and Sansa's cousin turned. "Tell that Wildling, if he ever speaks to my wife that way again, I'll have his head on a fucking spike within moments."

Jon's eyes widened, and then he grinned. "I'll tell him, Your Grace." Jon shrugged. "Whether he'll listen or not, I have no idea."

Tywin all but growled at that and Jon and Jaime were laughing as they escaped the King's wrathful jealousy. It was a man far stupider than either one of them that would ever challenge Tywin Lannister on his wife.

It wasn't a moment too soon as Tywin saw Serena start to fuss. "Come, wife, let me get you settled."

The mantle of ruling had always settled comfortably on Tywin Lannister's shoulders, and while the conversation with Jaime and Jon had been burdensome, it had chased away the worst of the grief over Kevan. Tywin knew that when he was in bed, with only his thoughts for company, it would be back.

Sansa settled herself and began to nurse their daughter, humming softly to her as she stroked her cheeks, which were losing the look of a newborn and gaining some fullness now that she was over a week old. Tywin saw Sansa's fingers gently weave through Serena's red hair, and he hoped that the measures he put in place were enough to ensure their safety.

When they were finished, Sansa changed and swaddled their daughter and slipped into her nightclothes, joining Tywin in the large bed that had been assembled to accommodate his long and lean frame.

"Seven hells woman, how are your feet that cold?" Tywin muttered when Sansa pressed the blocks of ice she called toes against his bare legs. It was an often-heard gripe between them. Sansa never felt the cold, and she loved Tywin's warmth, while he had no idea how she didn't spend her days shivering.

She giggled, which had been his intention, as he drew her closer.

She sighed as she cuddled close to him. "We'll always remember them, my love."

He grunted at that and pressed a kiss to her forehead, knowing the only peace he found was because she was in his arms.

"Go to sleep, little wolf. There is plenty to do tomorrow."

* * *

When Jaime woke the next morning, he tried to recall if he had dreamed the conversation with his father, or if it indeed had taken place. He looked towards his red doublet and did not see the hand of the king pin.

_Thank gods_, he thought, knowing that it must be true. Not hand, but now Master of Laws. Him. The man that struggled to read more than a paragraph at a time.

It wasn't that he hadn't learned to read - he had, though it had been meticulous and brutal. It was that he didn't love it the way Tyrion or Myrcella did. And now his entire job was predicated on the notion that he, Jaime fucking Lannister, would somehow be the man everyone looked towards to uphold law and order in the Kingdom. He shook his head at his father. He was either the wisest man in the country or the dumbest; only time would tell.

Speaking of Myrcella, Jaime glanced around, looking for his daughter and realized he was alone. Which only worried him a little. There were thousands of Lannister soldiers still here, not to mention the fact that she was the granddaughter of the King. Jaime knew that Sansa's Queensguard would look out for her, especially if the Queen were in her own tent. She should be safe. But still, Jaime dressed quickly to find her.

When he stepped out of this tent, it was into bright sunshine, and that brought a smile to Jaime's face. He loved the sun. Craved it. He strolled through the camp for a time, ensuring he avoided his father's large tent. Jaime knew his duty, but the last thing he wanted was another political discussion. Not right now. In a few hours, they would set fire to the dead, and that would be horrendous. So for now, Jaime sought more pleasurable pursuits. Like finding his daughter and spending time with her.

When he came across Arya Stark, sparring with Rickon, he stopped and grinned at them. Seeing him, they paused and then Arya's eyes narrowed.

"Where is the Hand pin?"

Jaime grinned. "Gone."

She snorted at him and shook her head. "So, you're free now?"

Jaime laughed. "Hardly. I have a squire, don't I? And an army to lead."

Rickon's eyes perked up. "Really? They agreed?"

Jaime nodded. "They did."

The sheer whoop of joy that Rickon let out was enough to draw all eyes around them their way. Jaime laughed at such innocence and happiness, while secretly hoping he was able to keep this boy alive.

"Have either one of you seen Myrcella?" Jaime asked when Rickon finally called down.

Arya got a funny look on her face and then she smiled. "I think I saw her with Lord Tarly. Down by the lake."

Jaime's eyebrows rose at that.

Lord Tarly? The large, well-built man that had worked side by side with Jaime clearing the dead bodies, muscles upon muscles rippling in the sun? That Lord Tarly?

Jaime knew that Myrcella was an adult and of marriageable age, but he'd only had her back for a short while. He wasn't ready for her to be a wife to some Lord; and not one in the Reach. Or anywhere for that matter.

Not even realizing he'd let out a growl, Jaime turned until the lake came into view and then began to stalk towards it.

_What on earth was Cella thinking?_ Jaime thought as he weaved in and out of people, shoving some out of the way. Jaime knew that his father had broken her betrothal, and if she weren't careful, the Great Lion would have her married to Dickon Tarly and in the Reach in no time.

So lost in his own thoughts, Jaime didn't realize that both Arya and Ric, along with Shaggy and Nymeria, were following him.

The Golden Lion skidded to a stop as he watched his daughter laugh brightly at something Lord Tarly said, and then hand her a flower. Myrcella blushed at the daisy that Dickon Tarly had somehow produced and smiled at the man as if it were something precious.

_A weed_, Jaime sneered to himself. She deserved the very best flowers that could be found in the Kingdom. Didn't this Lord Tarly know who she was?

"Easy," came Arya's low voice as she laid a hand on Jaime's chest. "Look at her. And him. Poor fool is so far gone over for her he'd likely run himself through if you demanded it."

Jaime took three deep breaths and then did as Arya instructed; he looked at his daughter. She was smiling at the Reach lord, but there was nothing coquettish in it — just happiness and joy.

As Jaime's eyes slid to Dickon Tarly, he saw the same stunned look that Jaime had seen in both Jon's eyes and his own father's when they looked at the women they loved. It seemed like Myrcella was a Lannister after all if her feelings that she was openly wearing on her face were anything to go by. Lions seemed to fall in love at first sight, and clearly, Myrcella was no different.

"Word is he's a good man. Kind, fair. A bit dumb some might say, but nothing like his father in many respects," Arya continued talking to Jaime as they walked closer to Myrcella and Dickon.

Jaime grumbled something unintelligible. He knew that Dickon was a good man. You couldn't do the work they had done, clearing dead bodies, side by side for a week on end and not get to know the nature of a person. Jaime also knew Dickon had been reeling from the loss of his father and overwhelmed at the idea of taking over High Hill, his family's seat. Even though he was twenty-one, Dickon had confessed that the responsibility on his shoulders now weighed heavily. He took his role very seriously.

Jaime thought that anyone who could love and miss Randyll Tarly, the cold bastard that he was, had a vast capacity to love. And that was all Jaime wanted for his daughter; for her to be loved and cherished.

Off on a rock, Jaime caught the sunlight glinting off the family sword, Heartsbane.

No, if there was a man that would treat Myrcella correctly, one that would respect her and love her, it was this Lord standing in front of them.

"Myrcella," Jaime said as they got closer. He watched as her eyes found his and warmed, the affection for him shining through.

"Father," she cried and threw her arms around him.

"Cella," he chided gently. "You cannot call me that."

It broke something in Jaime's heart to say those words to her, to deny who she was, but he knew they had to be circumspect. He had only himself to blame. This was his punishment for thinking that his and Cersei's actions would have no consequences.

Myrcella smiled and then looked at Dickon. "He knows who I am, Father."

In the way of all father's when their child did something wrong, Jaime rubbed his eyes and shook his head at her and her trusting nature.

"Cella, we did not know if we can trust him…" Jaime started to say before he was interrupted.

"You can, Ser Jaime. With anything." Dickon had stepped closer and then knelt before Jaime, bowing his head in respect as he continued to speak. "I promise I will never do anything to harm Myrcella or House Lannister."

Jaime's mouth dropped open as Myrcella laughed.

"Stand up, Dickon. Father knows you are trustworthy. And besides, it is Grandfather we have to convince."

Then she winked, and Jaime swore she aged him by another five years.

"Seven fucking hells, Cella, we are cleaning up after a war. The Kingdom is in chaos, and the King just broke your engagement," Jaime said, sounding to everyone like the father he was.

Arya thought he was an idiot if people couldn't see the relationship between Myrcella and him; that he might ever hide it. In her opinion, which no one asked for, Jaime would be wise to wed Myrcella to Lord Tarly before anyone made an issue about her bastard status.

Myrcella was not put off by his gruff response. "All the more reason for us to find love and give people hope in such bleak times, father."

Jaime scrubbed a weary hand down his face. He couldn't argue with that logic, nor did he want to do anything to dim the light in Mycella's eyes. "You'll have to talk with the King and Queen, Cella. I am only your Uncle, by law."

Myrcella laughed and then hugged Jaime. "He loves me, father. He's a good man. A kind man. His eyes are gentle."

Jaime’s heart softened at her words. He longed to see her happy. She was truly the best of him and Cersei.

"Myrcella, I am not ready to let you go, and I'm not sure Sansa will be either."

His daughter cocked his head. "Alright, I understand. Perhaps a long betrothal, though?" she said hopefully.

Jaime bit back the groan and nodded and then felt something large and furry bump against his legs. Shaggy was there, and Myrcella cried out in delight.

"Oh my, you are a handsome boy, aren't you," she said, her voice loving and kind and the direwolf, one of the fiercest creatures in all of Westeros practically rolled over and gave her his stomach to pet.

"Shaggy likes you," Ric said, wondering just who this pretty lady was.

"He's marvellous, isn't he," Myrcella said, crouching down to rub her hands into his thick fur. Rickon was fascinated by her and leaned in closer.

"He's my wolf. How do you know Ser Jaime?"

Myrcella winked at the boy. He reminded her so much of Tommen her heart ached. "He's my family."

Ric's eyes widened.

"How do you know Ser Jaime?" Myrcella asked the dark-haired boy.

"I'm his squire," Ric said proudly, and Myrcella smiled. She knew her father had a way with children and that he ached since losing Tommen.

"That's brilliant. He's one of the finest swordsmen in all of Westeros," Myrcella said in a low whisper to Ric, even though Arya, Dickon and Jaime could all hear her. She had such a way about her; they were all captivated.

"I know. Even with his left hand, he’s the best," Ric said with a hint of hero worship in his voice.

Arya was shaking her head. She had thought that Myrcella would want nothing to do with their wolves; that she would cower and tremble in fear. Instead, she had both of them curled up around her as she stoked them, getting herself covered in their fur and muck and not seeming to mind at all. Arya glanced at Dickon Tarly, whose eyes had practically fallen out of his head when Shaggy bumped her and saw the man was smitten for the pretty lioness. And Arya had to respect how she treated Rickon.

Jaime was gaping at the scene in front of him. His daughter, so perfect and put together, sitting on the muddy ground, wolves at her feet, having a conversation with Rickon Stark. Dickon Tarly looked like he wanted to pledge everything to her then and there; his sword, his heart, his life and his castle. Jaime knew then that he'd never hurt her and would most likely make her one of the happiest women in the Kingdom.

When Arya bumped Jaime and wiggled an eyebrow at him, all he could do was throw back his head and laugh. What was it his father had said? That the lions and wolves would rule Westeros? Jaime knew he'd be helpless to say no to her when they approached Tywin about this marriage. But he would put his foot down and ask for a long betrothal; it was what he needed, and if that made Jaime selfish, well, he'd worn that mantle long enough that it settled comfortably on his shoulders.

Then the horns sounded, and the five of them looked at one another. The time to light the pyres had come. The crushing reality of why they were here, at Harrenhal, came rushing back, and they all turned to ready themselves for the interminable day ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next:
> 
> Tywin continues to 'fill out' his small council and deal with the aftermath and issues that are before him. 
> 
> I hope the Tywin here was both mine (who I've cultivated throughout this story) but also somewhat canon-compliant. 
> 
> It was, rightly pointed out, that Tywin's knowledge is so vast and superior to Sansa's that he could never teach her everything. While I stand by the fact that she had worked hard to learn (remember she spent hours listening to petitioners) I think it is important to demonstrate just how much Tywin rules and how much he is trying to teach her. 
> 
> Anyways, let me know what you think. As always, comments are welcomed and cherished.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Funerals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is much shorter than normal, for reasons that will become apparent at the end.
> 
> That's all I'll say- that and sometimes my brain is a funny thing. And warn that there is a cliffhanger at the end of this chapter which I hope to resolve soon!
> 
> As always, many thanks to those that add their comments and chats and ideas. I love the reader's interaction and I can't wait for the reaction to this chapter.
> 
> Starlight, thanks for doing the heavy lifting. 
> 
> T

Jaime, Arya, Rickon, Dickon and Myrcella hurried through the warren of tents in the makeshift camp that had arisen outside of Harrenhal's southern wall. Others gave them a wide berth, which Jaime was used too until he realized that it had more to do with the two huge direwolves that stalked beside them than people's reactions to him.

He'd schooled himself for the past two decades to receive the ridicule and the scorn that people felt when they saw him. And yet, now, it didn't feel quite so… intense. Perhaps it was the simple fact that his father was King. If Tywin Lannister had commanded respect and fear when he'd been hand to two Kings along with Warden of the West, his status now was almost godlike in some ways. Jaime wondered if there was anyone left in the Kingdom that would ever be so bold and so foolish as to attack him now.

When they finally made it to the King and Queen's tent, they pushed inside to see the Lords from the West gathered in the front room, including Jaime's cousin Lancel. Glancing around, wondering where his father and Sansa were, Jaime pointedly ignored his younger cousin as he'd been doing since the moment he arrived here.

Jaime knew it was petty; Lancel's father lay on a pyre beside Robb Stark, and the younger Lannister had done everything and more required of him to prepare Harrenhal for this battle. But Jaime couldn't help it. One of the last conversations he'd had with Cersei had been over Lancel and their' relationship.'

Myrcella, who had no clue about her mother's activities, cried out happily at seeing her cousin and hugged him.

Tywin appeared, dressing in his full Lannister armour as was befitting the situation. His red sash and golden lion pin made him a dashing sight. His countenance, though, was grim, and he felt the burden of the task that laid before him today. The mantle of kingship never felt more burdensome then when he had to stand before thousands of dead bodies, knowing they were there because of his orders.

Jaime stayed near the back, not feeling like interacting with the plethora of cousins, friends, and bannermen that were waiting for the Great Lion. He still felt the weight of so many dead pressing down on him. It wasn't just his Uncle or Bran. It was Tommen and Tyrion as well; the two other lions they'd lost to the Night King. The toll of this war had been devastating to the Lannister and Stark families.

Tywin, of course, sought out his son, even with a room filled with his family. When his eyes landed on Jaime, he frowned. Jaime checked to see if there was something about his appearance that was causing his father to look at him in such a way. Finding nothing, Jaime realized it was who he was standing with. Rickon, Arya and Dickon Tarly. Stalking through the Westermen, Tywin came to stand before Jaime, just as Myrcella appeared again.

"Grandfather," she cried, a smile gracing her pretty face.

"Myrcella." Tywin looked at how his granddaughter wrapped an arm around the newly name Lord Tarly from High Hill. Tywin lowered his voice. "Perhaps you'd like to explain." Tywin's green eyes found Jaime's.

Jaime arched an eyebrow and gave a casual shrug, and he almost smirked when he saw his father's face tighten in frustration. Jaime swore he could hear his father's teeth grinding from here. It was fun to get his father's ire up. No matter how old Jaime was, it never got old.

"Father, it seems that Myrcella has found a Lord she feels is worthy of her hand," Jaime said, only barely holding back the full smirk that threatened to burst forth when he saw Tywin's jaw tick. His father had always had a soft spot for Myrcella, but this might make him finally lose his temper with her.

"It's Dickon Tarly, Grandfather," Myrcella supplied needlessly, smiling innocently.

"Clearly," came Tywin's dry response, his eyes going to her arm on the Reach Lord's massive forearm.

Myrcella, missing the sarcasm, leaned in and whispered, "It's alright, Grandfather. He knows about father."

Tywin pinched his nose, closing his eyes for a moment and wondered if all men were cursed with hard-headed and strong-willed women in their life. Tywin thought about those in his life.

Genna.

Sansa.

Shireen.

Arya.

And now, Myrcella.

"Perhaps we could try to be circumspect about the origins of your birth, Myrcella," Tywin said pointedly.

At that moment, Dickon Tarly dropped to his knee and bowed his head, hand on Heartsbane.

"Your Grace, I pledge myself to your House. You will always have a loyal servant in House Tarly, and my sword is yours to do with what you wish. This is my vow, Your Grace."

Tywin barely suppressed the sigh at the show of exuberant youth before him. There was no doubting; this young man was a dutiful and loyal Lord. And Tywin knew that his relationship with Lord Willas was tense at best. Moreover, the circumstances of Myrcella's actual bastard status would not remain a secret forever. One could hardly be in the same room as Jaime and her and not see that they were more than Uncle and niece.

"Stand Lord Tarly," Tywin commanded and watched as the young man rose. He was as tall as the King, and much more muscular. Tywin gave him a penetrating stare that had scared more than one man in the Kingdom. To his credit, Dickon Tarly held his gaze.

"I will not discuss the potential betrothal of my granddaughter mere moments before we are to send ten thousand souls to their eternal rest. I will not do her, nor you that disservice." Lord Tarly nodded and swallowed hard, while Myrcella frowned. "But find me in a few days, and we will discuss such an arrangement."

Dickon brightened considerably and looked eager for that day to come.

"I will never harm her, Your Grace. I've seen how you treat your wife, the Queen, and Myrcella will be accorded the same treatment," Dickon said earnestly.

Tywin could barely hold back the smile at the man's eagerness to make a favourable impression. And the evident love-struck expression he had on his face when he said her name. This would be an excellent match, not only for House Lannister and the Crown but Myrcella herself. Dickon Tarly was more likely to hurt himself than ever harm Tywin's granddaughter.

"I will hold you to that vow, Lord Tarly. Myrcella is special to both the Queen and me," Tywin said, making his voice hard and firm so that there would be no misunderstandings regarding Myrcella's place in the Lannister family.

Dickon nodded his head and accepted the King's stern reminder. The King turned to his granddaughter and leaned in and brushed his lips across her cheek, holding her close for a single moment.

"I am happy for you, my dear. Now please ask your Lord Tarly to excuse himself as we have Lannister business to discuss."

Myrcella beamed and turned to the man she was smitten with, giggling as she tugged him from the King's tent.

That left Tywin with Rickon and Arya. And their direwolves. "Sansa is in the bedrooms if you'd like to join her."

Both of them nodded, understanding they were being dismissed and then moved off, leaving a full conclave of Lannisters and Westermen in the main chamber of the King's tent.

Tywin cleared his throat, and the silence was immediate, all eyes on him. The Lord Protector of the West. The men in this room would ride to any war for Tywin and had done so for years. They had pledged their swords, their loyalty and their loves to him- and that of their sons and daughters as well. Tywin was beloved in this room in a way, unlike anywhere else in Westeros. Many considered him the greatest man they'd ever met. He had provided them with abundant crops, protection and coin. The West had prospered under Tywin, so upon hearing had he been named King, they had naturally cheered such a development, and most felt it was long overdue.

It was, therefore, no surprise that when Tywin Lannister spoke, they all listened.

"Today, there is not just one lion, not just one man from the West we say goodbye to. There are hundreds upon hundreds who gave their lives." There was a quiet roar of agreement. "Kevan Lannister was one such man. My brother was the best lion, loyal, strong and fiercely proud of his family and the Lannister name. He embodied everything good about the Westerlands, the land that we love and that which we defend!"

Tywin's voice had risen, the emotion and trust of those who had been loyal to him the entire lives making it thick.

Jaime glanced over and saw Lancel struggling to contain the grief on his face, and for the first time, he felt something more than rage towards his cousin. After all, it was his father that had died.

"Kevan Lannister's body will not be lit today." Tywin continued and glanced at Kevan's son. "Instead, he will head on his final journey. A full regiment of Lannister men will accompany him. The banners will fly from the moment his body leaves these grounds, until he comes home, one last time to Casterly Rock. To the greatest castle in the entire seven kingdoms where he will be forever enshrined in the Hall of Heroes."

A great cheer erupted at that, and the loyal men from the West started chanting Kevan Lannister's name, followed by another- "King in the West! King in the West!"

Years of suppressing all emotions were the only thing that allowed Tywin to keep his composure when he thought of his brother's body travelling the River Road towards the Rock.

Jaime felt the surge of pride in his House and his name. He and his siblings had done their best to destroy it, but his father, Tywin, had ensured it would become a legacy for generations. He was the mighty Tywin Lannister after all.

_How did one measure themselves against such a man?_ Jaime thought idly, watching as Tywin soaked in the adoration and devotion of his bannermen. There was nothing spiteful or jealous in Jaime's question; only wonder and a bit of envy that somehow the choices his father had made had not destroyed his life the way that Jaime's had.

For a brief moment, Jaime could only wonder what his life might have been like had he married Sansa instead of his father, but that point was moot. He had not, and had he been forced to; he most likely would have done something to sabotage their marriage. It had only been recently, and only due to Sansa and her influence on the Lannister's that Jaime had been able to move past the love he'd had for his sister.

When the King's tent emptied, Sansa appeared with Arya and Rickon. Sansa was leaving the children with their nannies and some of the very best of their King and Queensguard. She knew that the funeral field was no place for such young children; even young Ned was staying behind.

Sansa had discussed the procedure of today with her family earlier, although it had been a loathsome task. Jeyne had asked to light Robb's pyre, and no one had the heart to say no to her, while Jon had asked for the honour of lighting Bran's. Knowing what had happened on the Isle of Faces, Sansa had readily agreed.

Sansa saw her lion standing there, his chest perhaps a bit more puffed out than usual, and battling the emotion the interaction with his bannermen had brought him. She moved towards him quickly and into his arms. She often forgot how all-encompassing his reputation was; how much power he had commanded before he'd ever taken the Iron Throne. Until she remembered she had first sought him out for that very power. Because she had known that he was the only man in the realm capable of protecting her against Joffrey and Cersei. He might be softer with her and the children, but he was still the man that made the seven kingdoms cower in fear.

Sansa brushed her lips across Tywin's, straightened his sash even when he mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "Its fine woman," to which she tsk'd at him and gave him a look. That made him shut his mouth immediately, to which Sansa smiled to herself. No matter how powerful her husband was to the realm, with her, he was a man that listened to his wife.

Sansa fit herself beside her King, taking his hand in hers, loving how the roughened skin felt against her smooth hands. Sansa had chosen Lannister red today, although she wore a grey cloak that matched her Queensguards that had a direwolf stitched on it. She was both a lion and a wolf.

Tywin fully approved of her choices. Her power came from the devotion of not just one house, but several.

Sitting on a small desk, waiting for them were their crowns. Wordlessly they placed them on each other's heads. Tywin knew a crown did not give a King power. He knew it was an entire host of intangibles that did; loyalty, trust, respect, skill and knowledge. But wielded properly, the crown, a symbol of their reign, could help enforce their position and solidify their power.

Today, they were required to be King and Queen, father and mother of the realm and undisputedly in control of the seven kingdoms. There could be no doubts about their power nor of their titles. As Tywin placed the direwolf crown on his wife's brilliant red hair, the surge of love he felt for her staggered him.

"My Queen," he breathed into their private space.

Sansa smiled at him, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him. "My King."

Tywin rested his forehead against Sansa’s briefly before he knew it was time to go.

Hand in hand, they met their family outside their tent to begin the processional to the pyres.

Jon, Arya, and Rickon wore Stark colours, all matching in their leather doublets. Sansa had to suppress a smile at how adorable they all looked, sure that Jon would not appreciate how Rickon mimicked his style. Sansa gave her littlest brother a smile and was rewarded with a grin. Of course, all three had their direwolves by their sides.

Sansa's head of her Queensguard, Dacey, had chosen the grey cloak that Sansa had given her and stood to wait for Sansa, but was close enough to Jon that no one had any doubts that they were together.

Tormund, much to the King's displeasure, stood with the Starks. Thankfully the Wildling had tamed his hair and his mouth, although he wore some type of cloak that looked like several small animals had been sewn together to form it. Tywin all but sneered at him, but held his tongue, knowing that the Wilding had protected his wife's siblings.

Jaime was, of course, wearing Lannister red with his golden armour, while Myrcella had taken after Sansa and donned a red gown.

Jeyne wore a dark blue dress with the Stark direwolf sewn into the fabric and a Northern cloak around her shoulders, Greywind at her side. Jeyne rested a hand his massive head and stroked him softly. It seemed the direwolf had adopted her as his new master.

Sandor Clegane was fully outfitted from head to toe in the Northern Stark colours, cloak and sigils that Robb had given.

Sansa's breath hitched at seeing them all there. So many she loved had survived; that was what she needed to concentrate on.

"Easy, love," Tywin murmured to her as their family fell in beside them, resting his large hand on her back.

As they began to walk, they were joined with other lords of the realm.

Like them, those that had survived wore their best armour and house sigils. Today was a day of mourning, yes, but also one to proclaim loudly that they had won; they had come together, united as a kingdom and fought back against the darkness that had threatened them all. And everywhere Sansa looked, men flew their house banners proudly.

Lord Royce awaited them, fully outfitted in his armour, his pewter hair gleaming as brightly as the silver on his chest.

He bowed slightly, "Your Graces," he said respectfully, and Sansa gave him a small smile. Royce was proving to be a most loyal and useful friend and Sansa appreciated his cool logic and steadfastness.

There was Stannis Baratheon, wearing the proud stag sigil on his chest and looking marginally better. Sansa’s eyes teared when she thought of the reunion between the stern storm lord and his daughter. Sansa thought Shireen would have loved to see a processional such as this, but this was no place for her. Still, she missed the girl who had almost become like a second sister to her.

Sansa stopped before Stannis and gave a small tilt of her head. "I wish Lady Shireen could see her father right now."

Stannis guffed, but his cheeks warmed with colour. "I do not, Your Grace. I am a mess."

Sansa smiled, and it was brilliant, and Stannis wondered how it was that Tywin had found such a woman to love. "Only the best kind of a mess, Lord Stannis. Your bravery will not be forgotten," Sansa told him, making his blush deepen.

Surprisingly, it seemed like loving Sansa hadn't diminished any of the Great Lion's power or status, two things that Stannis had often equated that emotion with and often why he held himself back. Of course, his now-dead wife was not a woman to inspire great emotion in the first place, so perhaps the failure to find real connection in his marriage had not been all Stannis’s fault.

Davos, his loyal man, patted the proud Baratheon on the back. "I told you, My Lord." Davos, for his part, was excited to go to King's Landing to see Lady Shireen again, and then, finally to Storm's End.

Stannis dipped his head to both the King and Queen. "Your Graces," he said respectfully. Tywin met his eyes, holding them for a moment so the man knew his deeds would not go unrewarded. Stannis felt an odd sensation in his chest that the accomplishment of his duty would be recognized and appropriately rewarded. Too often he’s been passed over by Robert, but not, it seemed by this King.

Dickon Tarly was there, wearing his family's ancestral sword on his hip, along with dozens of lords from the Riverlands, Vale, Stormlands, the Reach, the West and the North. Each one dipped their head as the King and Queen made their way North around the castle.

They had formed a corridor, so that Tywin and Sansa passed each one, nodding and acknowledging their sacrifice until they fell in behind them, the growing swell a sight unlike any other ever seen in Westeros.

When Sansa passed by the Northern lords, names such as Glover, Tallhart, Mormont, Reed, Crewyn and Karstark ran through her mind. She met each of their gazes and saw the moment they realized the crown that sat atop her head was one of two snarling direwolves. They couldn't help but howl their approval.

The four large direwolves that had fallen in beside the King and Queen fully solidified that this was, without a doubt, a Northern Queen that sat beside her husband on the Iron Throne.

They were halfway through the long corridor of people when a chant began.

"To the King and Queen of the seven kingdoms."

Tywin squeezed Sansa's hand, unsure he'd ever heard a monarch in Westeros be received with such respect and reverence.

"Long live the King and the Queen."

"King of the West."

"Queen of the North."

"Protector of the realm."

Sansa kept her eyes forward, nodding only slightly as she felt the swell of emotion come over her. She had vowed if she were ever Queen, she would make the people love her. She had watched those in power before her rule through fear and intimidation, and although she knew there was a place for that, it was not a destination in which one had to stay. It was possible, she now knew, to be both strong and benevolent, fair and just, but still willing to strike down their enemies.

"Tywin," she whispered at one point when everyone had now gathered behind them, and they rounded yet another corner of the crumbling castle, the growing chant of their names on everyone's lips.

"My lioness," he whispered back.

He was not quite as fanciful as his wife in his assessment of what had just happened, although no less moved, all be it perhaps for different reasons.

Tywin knew that he had achieved what had seemed impossible a few short years ago- power and peace in Westeros with himself at the helm. His ego was large and healthy enough to give himself credit for making the moves he had. Of course, he also owed it all to the woman at his side that had barged into his life, demanding his hand in marriage. Even in his wildest dreams and aspirations, not that Tywin would admit he had those, this had not seemed within his grasp.

Tywin had placed the goals and aspirations he had for House Lannister on his children, thinking his time in the family had become more caretaker than architect of their future. But with Sansa as his wife, that had all changed dramatically.

When they finally reached the Northside of the castle, the sunlight allowed the sheer number of dead to be visible, and Sansa would have stumbled had Tywin not been holding on to her. She straightened and stepped carefully, schooling her features, while inside, she crumbled with the sheer numbers before her.

There were several cauldrons in which fire burned, along with several hundred torches waiting to be lit. The first several rows contained the bodies of those titled lords who had lost their lives, followed by their sons, nephews, cousins, and bannermen. After that, there were rows of everyday people; farmers, smiths, tanners, bakers, and stable hands. Row after row after row of nameless dead, but ones who had all given their lives in this war.

Tywin halted the procession, while others behind them fanned out to take their places. The elected lords from the West arrived with a Lannister funeral carriage, and Kevan's body was transferred into the casket. He would go then into the carriage where it would be taken to the Rock.

Tywin stood impossibly still as this happened, unwilling to share his grief in so public a venue. It was Sansa that broke, stepping forward to walk towards Kevan, tears on her face she was unable to keep at bay. The entire conclave gathered watched as the Queen wept brokenly over the King's brother's body. She pressed one last kiss to his forehead.

"Home now, my lion brother." She allowed a moment of happier times to wash over her; the dinners they had shared, Kevan escorting her into the Great Sept to marry Tywin, and him twirling her in his arms when his sons were returned from Robb's camp. Kevan had been one of her greatest allies in King's Landing, and her heart broke as she gazed upon him.

Tywin had joined her, taking one last look at his beloved brother. He said nothing, but Sansa saw it all in his eyes; the love, the devotion, the pain- it was all there if Tywin allowed a person to see it. As they stepped back, the lid was closed, forever sealing Kevan inside his golden shroud. Sansa pressed herself against Tywin, a sob escaping her throat. The King was unable to do anything but wrap her in his arms.

Then to the shock of everyone, Tywin unclipped the great red sash he had worn into every battle since he'd been a young man. He laid it across Kevan's golden casket, and pressed a kiss to the golden lion pin, placing it atop the sash.

“Be at peace, Brother.”

Sansa let one more sob escaped her lips before Tywin grasped Sansa's hand, and they stepped back and allowed the Lannister honour guard to fall in line. The funeral carriage hitched to a great white war horse and was ridden by Lancel Lannister.

"Your Grace," Lancel said, bowing his head at his Uncle.

"Lord Lancel. See your father home."

"It would be my honour, My King," Lancel said and then dug his heels into his horse and took the King's brother away. Both Sansa and Tywin watched until they disappeared, the red and gold banners waving in the bright sunlight.

Tywin and Sansa stepped back into their place, and the King gave a curt nod. Those who would light the first pyres stepped forward.

Jeyne and Jon for Robb and Bran.

Dickon, who somehow had Myrcella by his side; he'd light not only his father's pyre, but Mace Tyrell's as well, along with the other Reach lords that had perished.

Lord Royce for some of the higher ranking Vale knights.

Lord Stannis for those from the Stormlands.

Lord Jaime for the West.

Lord Moonton from Maidenpool for the Riverlands.

Tormund for the Wildlings.

Arya for the Northern houses, although Dacey was by her side and would light her mother's pyre, as would Smalljon Umber for his father.

On and on and on it went, each man or woman grabbing a torch and then waiting, a line a mile long it seemed, lit with the burning beacons.

Tywin stepped forward. He knew only those near him would hear, but the word would travel.

"We remember the dead and honour their sacrifice. Harrenhal will be demolished, brick by brick, if needs be. Let this horrible place be a reminder, always, that the living won the Second Long Night. That the living banded together to drive out the darkness that stalked us in our homes and beds. For Westeros!" The King roared, and those around responded in kind until the sound was deafening.

With a nod, a single mournful wail on a war horn gave them the signal to begin, and Jon went to Bran first. After all, it was his ultimate sacrifice that had allowed them to stand here today.

Rickon was beside Sansa and fit his hand in hers, pressing his body against her as she wrapped an arm around him. She heard his soft sniffling, and squeezed him, her own eyes blurry with tears. Sansa did not care who saw her cry. There were tears for her family, yes, but for others as well. All those before her. Their subjects that had heeded the call to war, that had fought and had died. Let them talk about their Queen, who mourned with them and honoured their sacrifice.

Sansa appreciated when Tywin came to stand by her side again, taking her other free hand and gazing upon the scene with her. She whimpered only once when Jon looked back at her and then touched the torch to Bran's pyre. She was proud of herself that she held his gaze and nodded once for him to begin.

Jeyne was next, and Sansa saw the determination warring with outright devastation on her good sister's face. She almost faltered it seemed, but then suddenly Sandor was there, and together they lit Robb's pyre. Sansa let out a muffled cry that was half sob, half-laugh at the very idea that two people from the Westerlands would light Robb Stark's pyre. But Sansa knew her brother had loved his wife and that Sandor was one of his closest friends. Sansa also knew that Sandor Clegane would kill anyone who attempted to prevent Ned Stark from growing up to take his rightful place as Lord of Winterfell. It seemed a small thing now, to be petty over him helping Jeyne with her gruesome task, and thankfully the Northern lords held their tongues.

The four direwolves, let loose by their masters roamed in and out of the two pyres until flames licked upwards and consumed the bodies. Only then did Greywind raised his massive head and let out a mournful howl that was felt as much as it was heard. It sent a shiver down Sansa's spine as she watched Robb's wolf mourn and made her miss Lady with an aching heart.

Once Bran and Robb's pyres had been lit, the other went quickly, though it was no more comfortable to watch sons and daughters light their parents' dead bodies on fire. Sansa thanked the gods that Dacey had Jon, and Dickon had Myrcella.

To a man, there weren't many who didn't show some outward signs of deep grief, including Stannis Baratheon and Yohn Royce. It had all been too much; those that had fought that night knowing that in some cases, it was only pure luck that they had survived. Jon and Jaime were not the only ones dealing with survivors' guilt.

The King and Queen stood there for an age, so much so that Sansa began to sway on her feet, and that is when Tywin motioned for her loyal guards to take her back to the tent.

"Tywin, I am fine," she tried to say, but she was unable to mask the exhaustion in her voice. She turned in his arms, pressing herself closer to him, trying to draw from his strength.

"You gave birth to our daughter two weeks ago. You've said goodbye to your beloved brothers and mine, and travelled to the sight of the greatest battle in our history. Go back to the tent, Sansa. Be with the children." His voice was gentle, but firm and Sansa knew there was no way she'd be staying. In truth, she was thankful. The smell was turning her stomach, and the sheer imagery was threatening to undo her.

Tywin leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Let me shoulder this burden, my love. No one will think less of you."

Tywin made a motion with his hand, and three of Sansa's Queensguards and two of his Kingsguards fell in beside her.

"See the Queen back to our tent. She is tired and needs to rest," Tywin commanded, and they nodded.

"Sansa?" Rickon asked, voice a bit tentative.

Sansa pulled him into a hug, loving how he still allowed her to give him this comfort. She stroked a hand through his curls and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"I'm just going to my tent, Ric. Would you like to come with me?" she asked quietly. Rickon glanced around and saw Jaime and Jon talking with one another, along with Arya and Dacey gazing out over the dead.

"I'll stay for a while."

Sansa nodded. "Keep Shaggy beside you."

Ric just barely refrained from rolling his eyes at her. "I've got my sword, Sansa."

He gestured to the small training sword Jaime had given him. When Sansa had learned that Jaime had it sharpened so that it could, if necessary, cut through flesh and bone, she'd asked Jaime why.

"Because what good is my squire without a real sword, Your Grace," Jaime replied, grinning at her while winking at Ric and earning her brother's undying gratitude.

Sansa had huffed out a frustrated breath but found no support from anyone, not Tywin, who said it was good for him, or Arya who agreed with Jaime or even Jon.

"He needs to learn sometime, San," was all her cousin said.

Sansa had pinned Jaime with a look. "If he cuts himself, you're sewing his stitches yourself."

Jaime laughed, but one look at Tywin's face and the mama lion look on Sansa's face, and Jaime knew she wasn't joking.

Jaime gave a slight bow. "I will, Your Grass."

Sansa gave an unladylike snort. "Your Grace, my arse," she muttered and had stormed away to find her children and people who listened to her, hearing Jaime and Ric laughing together.

Now though, Sansa saw the pride in her little brother's face and shook her head, pressing another kiss to his head.

"Listen to Jon or Jaime. Or Tywin," she told him sternly. Ric and the King still hadn't quite gotten comfortable with each other, but for now, Sansa was too emotionally wrung out and drained to foster that relationship.

“I will, Sansa.”

There was a part of Sansa that loved that Rickon never bothered with any of her titles. To him, she was just Sansa, his sister.

Sansa gave one last squeeze to her husband's hand and then nodded to her guards as they walked quickly towards their tent. When they arrived, Sansa thanked them, and slipped inside, smiling at their nannies who were playing with the princes.

The twin’s faces lit when they saw their mother and she took a moment to hold them close, pressing kisses to their heads and giving them the attention they demanded. They seemed to change daily, getting bigger and stronger, growing more and more into miniature replicas of Tywin.

"Where is the princess?" she asked, her breasts aching, indicating that her daughter needed to eat when she finally rose.

"In your bedroom, Your Grace," one of the women from the West indicated, smiling as the Queen went to find her. Sansa’s staff loved how hands-on she was with her children.

As Sansa approached the makeshift crib, Serena was just waking up, her tiny fists rubbing against her mouth, clearing indicating she was hungry.

Sansa scooped her up, feeling her world right as she nestled her daughter against her breast, and she started to nurse. Sansa sang softly to Serena suckled and tugged at Sansa. The sensation of a child nursing was unlike anything Sansa had ever experienced and she loved these quiet moments with her child.

"Oh my love, Mama missed you," Sansa crooned to her, stroking a finger down her cheek that was nice and plump, almost rosy.

There was a thump, and Sansa heard the sounds of the camp outside the thin canvas walls of the tent; men walking by, talking with each other, sounds of horses and carts, the clatter of weapons and the detritus of a war being moved about. It was shocking how used she'd gotten to such a life in the two days they'd been here, although she missed the bathing rooms in their chambers. And walls. True brick and mortar walls.

Sansa burped, changed and then wrapped Serena against her chest as she had taken to doing, freeing her hands so that she could still deal with other matters. Sansa gave a soft smile as she saw Serena's eyes close; she was fed, dry and tucked up against her mother and Sansa knew she’d sleep for a few hours.

Another muffled thump, this one closer, raised the hair on Sansa's neck. It was an odd sound and decidedly out of place, which, living with her husband, was not how things functioned if you were a Lannister. Tywin demanded absolute perfection from their staff.

Curious, and even a bit cautious, Sansa called out for the nannies. When there was no answer, her heart started palpitating wildly, her breath immediately coming in shortened bursts. She all but ran through the adjoining rooms, worry coursing through her veins.

"Tysan? Jason?" Sansa cried, skidding to a stop as she took in the horrific scene in front of her.

Her sons, her precious boys, were cowering together, their blond heads covered in blood as the man who hated her husband removed his sword from where he had impaled their nanny. Both boys, upon spotting Sansa, scurried towards her, just as Oberyn Martell turned and smiled.

"Ahhhhh, Your Grace," the man from Dorne said, giving her a mocking bow. "I was hoping you'd return without your husband."

Sansa felt the fear, metallic and sour in her mouth as it went dry, and she couldn't find her voice. She clutched at her sons, unable to check if any of the blood was theirs, or if they had been showered in when the Prince from Dorne had cut down their two nannies without mercy or remorse.

Finally, struggling, the Queen raised her chin and forced the words from her mouth. "What do you want? My husband will be along shortly, and you know your life is all but forfeit."

Oberyn shrugged and wiped his blade clean, twirling it almost lazily in his hands.

"What do I want?" His laugh was bitter. "Revenge, Your Grace, against the man that ordered the death of my beloved sister and her two innocent children." He pointed his sword at her, and it gleamed inside the tent, a promise of death and despair.

Sansa swallowed hard, her stomach-churning. She knew her words were a lie; there were hours to go in the funerals and Tywin would not leave. He would stand there, stoic and commanding until the last pyre was lit and his respects were paid.

The most that Sansa could hope for was to convince Oberyn to take her life and spare her children. Surely he wasn't the monster Gregor Clegane was, she thought desperately, keeping her eyes locked on the Prince. There was no one coming to save her.

The last thing that Sansa could think of, as she watched Oberyn Martell advance on her was that she might have a moment to save herself. Tucked against her thigh was a dagger she'd worn since the night that Shae had been attacked. Her husband had given it to her shortly after Shae's death, and she vowed to do whatever possible to save the lives of her children, even if that meant hers was forfeit.

As the Red Viper advanced and Sansa saw the pure hatred for her and her children in his eyes, and she knew this day would only end in blood and death. She just hoped that Tywin would not blame himself and that he knew how much she loved him.

When Oberyn was within a few feet of her, he paused, cocky and sure and tilted his head.

"I have waited years for this day, Your Grace. It is nothing personal; only that I vowed to avenge my sister, and you had the misfortune of marrying the man who killed her."

Then Oberyn lunged, and all Sansa heard were the cries of her children as the world as she knew it ceased to exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Ducks and hides******
> 
> My plan is to have Part 2 of this up by tomorrow as to not keep you all in suspense as to the fate of some of our beloved characters.


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion to the attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I don't quite think action scenes are my thing. 
> 
> I hope this is well received. 
> 
> Final note- please remember how off canon we are with these characters. I've changed alot. Also- if you don't like what I've done, fair enough, but at the end, I've tried to make my choices logical and defendable within the context of THIS story
> 
> T

_ Myrcella _

Myrcella lasted only a few minutes longer than Sansa at the site of the funeral pyres. Between watching the King and Queen say goodbye to her Uncle, and then seeing everyone light the pyres, she wanted to find a quiet spot and weep. She had done her duty, as the granddaughter of the King; she had stood stoically and bravely in the face of so much death and paid her respects. Now she wanted to cuddle her cousins and bask in their innocence and joy. Myrcella wanted to be around Sansa, who had a way of making the impossible things seem reasonable. They had become quite close, and she was the person Myrcella wanted now.

Myrcella squeezed Dickon's arm, before telling him where she was going, and then she found her father and grandfather standing side by side. Both had taken a turn with the torches, and Myrcella had heard the awed respect when the other lords realized that Tywin went to the nameless men that had sacrificed themselves and began with that row, paying his respects to men he would never know.

"Go straight back," her father told her and Myrcella kissed his cheek, loving how attentive he was. She had missed having a paternal figure in her life that cared for her.

Now though, she was done. Myrcella was both emotionally and physically exhausted from the day, and as she made her way back to the King and Queen's tent, Myrcella hummed softly to herself.

She was barely paying attention when she stumbled a bit, falling to her knees and muddying her gown.

It was too much, and she felt the tears come, which she angrily wiped away. Who was she to cry over a ruined dress when thousands were crying over their loved one's dead bodies? Gods, she hated when she let her emotions rule her. Myrcella took a moment, clearing her eyes and glanced up to see how far she was from Sansa's tent when the movement of the guards caught her eye.

Myrcella might act like she was less politically astute than some women, but she'd survived on her own in Dorne for a few years with almost no one to look out for her. She had used her looks and her innocence and guilelessness to appear harmless, and she'd found that often people underestimated and overlooked her, which meant that Myrcella had been privy to more information than one might realize.

The guards outside Sansa's tent were not the normal King or Queensguard that her grandfather had selected. Their cloaks, while good replicas, were missing important details; the extra wave of the lion's mane on the red cloak and a missing row of fur on the direwolf. Myrcella's eyes narrowed further when she realized that all the guards were dark-skinned and dark-haired. They looked almost Dornish, Myrcella thought, then shook her head. Why would the Dornish be here?

Then a guard, much smaller in stature than the rest, came into view, and all of Myrcella's doubts evaporated like smoke.

It was Obara Sand, Oberyn's eldest daughter. She was a vicious thing, and Myrcella had avoided her whenever possible when she had been in Sunspear. While Arianna Martell had been kind to her, none of the Sand Snakes had much use for the sister of the King.

There would be no reason for Obara to be here other than to harm Myrcella's family.

Knowing that something had gone horribly wrong and that she didn't stand a chance at rescuing Sansa by herself, Myrcella glanced around, looking desperately for Lannister men. She saw no one capable of fighting the Dornish; only farmers and old men moving food from one location to another.

Myrcella scrambled to her feet, heart palpitating wildly as she turned to find someone, anyone that could save the Queen. She pushed down the panic that was threatening to choke her and rounded a corner and began to run as fast as she could.

The first person Myrcella ran into, literally, was Rickon and Shaggy. Ric took one look at Myrcella's face and knew something was wrong.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, hand on his sharpened training sword.

Myrcella sucked in a deep breath and told Rickon what she suspected. He tried to dart past her, a look of fierce determination on his face.

"Go and observe only Ric. Please," she begged him, seeing his brown eye light with fire. He gave her a curt nod and then Myrcella knew she had to let him go. She had to find other help. A twelve-year-old boy and a direwolf were no match for Oberyn Martell and his loyal guards. She took one last glance at Rickon, hoping he wasn't running straight into his death, and then hiked up her skirts and continued to run. Time was running out for Myrcella to save the Queen.

* * *

_ The King and Queen's Tent_

Sansa had swayed slightly when Oberyn had lunged for her, somehow getting the small dagger Tywin had given her. She swiped it across Oberyn's cheek, drawing first blood and making the man take several steps back from her.

He grinned, feral and angry as he wiped at the blood.

"So the lion has claws," Oberyn spat at her.

"Not just a lion. A wolf as well," Sansa said, holding the bloody dagger in her hand, as her boys clutched at her gown. She would slit her wrists before she allowed this man to touch her ever again. More than that, Sansa would do everything in her power to ensure that her children survived. She needed to keep the Prince's attention on her. If her life were required to save theirs, she would willingly give it.

Oberyn stalked around the tent, giving her a wide berth, eyeing her critically.

"Do you even know the type of man your husband is? I see you, this Northern Queen, so in love with the lion." He spat on the floor. "The man is a monster."

Sansa tilted her chin. "Many are."

Her statement was the truth. Sansa lived in a world where people were more often monsters than not. She had seen what those in power would do to those they perceived as weak, and she knew that people she loved had done awful things in their lifetime. Those that lived in this world were not the polite people in the stories, and songs and poems Sansa had loved a girl.

Oberyn's dark brown eyes glittered, and he looked almost gleeful to tell her about Tywin Lannister, the cruel lion as if he could somehow make her fall out of love with him.

"Perhaps I should tell you in detail what he ordered done to my beloved sister. My innocent sister. How that man he sent to kill her, destroyed her, raped her with the blood of her children on his hands. Her children, who were not much older than those two lions that clutch at you. How can you lie with a man, wear his colours and his sigil when you know what he is capable of?"

Sansa tried to slow her breathing; if she could keep the man from Dorne talking, there was a chance someone, anyone, might come back and find them. And she needed to think. She knew what Oberyn wanted, and Sansa was almost sick at the images that Oberyn's words evoked.

Sansa knew about all of Tywin's most hideous actions; she had learned of them over the years. She thought about what her husband had planned for her brother before her interference in his life. She'd heard his arguments; that it was better to kill twenty then twenty thousand and why he would have broken guest right to kill the Young Wolf. Thankfully their marriage had prevented such actions from having to take place.

But those discussions with her husband, about the morality of specific actions, had taken place over elegant meals with wine to wash down the distastefulness on the subject which they conversed. Those discussions had been theoretical, and right now, Sansa was dealing with the very real fallout from her husband's choices.

What had been done to Elia Martell was horrific in every sense of the word. There was no denying it, and Sansa would never attempt to do so.

But Sansa knew that Tywin had only ordered Gregor Clegane to kill them all, not how it was done. They were at war, and when Tywin had sided, at that last moment, with the winning Baratheon and Stark side, he made sure than no son or daughter would be left alive and protected in Westeros to come and usurp Robert.

Robert Baratheon had done the same thing when he had sent Stannis to Dragonstone to kill Daenerys and Viserion Targaryen. Tywin just had the fortune, or misfortune in this case, to have his man be more successful than Robert's.

Of course, neither Tywin nor Robert had known about Rhaegar and Lyanna; he'd all but confessed that had he known he most likely would have killed Jon as well. And Sansa knew that Robert wouldn't have hesitated for a second to kill Jon. It was the entire reason that Ned had all but destroyed his marriage; to keep Jon safe.

Such was the world that they lived in. Such was war. It was why Sansa hated it, vehemently, and why she longed for peace, and for all of this madness and bitterness to end. When did the noble families of Westeros stop killing each other?

"I know exactly what he is capable of. I know the man I married, the man I gave myself too. Do you?"

Sansa could see that her response startled the Dornish man a bit. He reeled back and looked at her, cocking his head.

"You defend him. Him and his actions," he said, disgust lacing every word.

Sansa schooled herself not to react emotionally but instead with cold logic as Tywin had shown her.

"The Great Lion was feared in Westeros long before there were dragons and six of the seven kingdoms at his beck and call. Tell me, Oberyn, what do you think the lion might do to Dorne should you kill me? Kill his children? Do you think he'll allow a single person to live? He will destroy the entire region, burn it to the ground and salt the earth. He will wipe Dorne from the history of Westeros and never shall a single person to rise from those ashes to claim that bloodline ever again. Your actions here have signed the death warrants of tens of thousands of people. Tell me, how are you not every bit the monster that he is?"

Sansa's voice was laced with bitterness and rage. She hated this blood feud.

"He can try," Oberyn said unconcerned, "But we know our mountains. How do you think we survived the dragons?"

Sansa snorted and shook her head.

"He'll destroy every mountain entrance and trap you all inside, allowing you to starve to death in the dark and the cold. He will never stop. He will never allow another person with Dornish blood to live in Westeros again."

Sansa could see that Oberyn was contemplating her words. She smiled then, and it was that of a Queen that knew her power.

"And if he dies before he succeeds in that mission, his son and my cousin will take up his vengeance. The North. The Vale. The Stormlands. The Riverlands. They are all loyal to me, Prince Oberyn. They will all come for you, and they will never stop and never rest. I am more than the Great Lion's wife. I am the Queen of the seven kingdoms, and beloved by the people."

"We have survived worse," Oberyn said, philosophically.

Sansa snorted. "You are every bit the monster that Ser Gregor is, Oberyn Martell, if you are willing to condemn your people to such a fate."

Sansa watched as he became agitated at her words, not likely how she compared him to a man he'd hated his entire life.

"It was not enough to give us Ser Gregor," he spat again, pacing around the tent. "That was not vengeance. To give us the King's pet."

"You agreed to it. You bowed and pledged your loyalty to my husband. You are a traitor. Your actions are treasonous, and they will destroy your people."

Sansa needed to get him to understand; there was no winning here. Even if he killed her and her three children, Tywin would never stop. Everyone and everything Oberyn loved would be destroyed. Was that worth it?

Oberyn sneered. "I was never going to keep my word. The great Tywin Lannister was a fool if he believed me."

"And, Ellaria? Your daughters? What about them and their future?"

"They will fight. They will not bow down to a tyrant."

Sansa shook her head sadly at the man. She knew there were those in the Kingdom that would never love her husband the way she did. She wouldn't blame them. But he was King and had achieved that without a major war. And Sansa knew she tempered him. With peace also came a better life for many commoners.

"A tyrant? Please. Says the man that is going to murder more innocent children," Sansa derided at him. "How are you any different?" Oberyn said nothing and then Sansa pressed further. "Tell me, what would your sister say of your actions today? Would Elia cheer her brother killing babies?"

For the first time since he'd arrived at Harrenhal, Oberyn Martell straightened and looked almost… put out. He had not expected the Queen to battle him with either her words or her small little dagger.

"Killing me would be enough revenge on my husband, Prince Oberyn," Sansa said, making her voice pleading. "Spare them. Do not be like Gregor Clegane."

Sansa could see him wavering, could see that she almost had him convinced that her death would be enough to sate his need for revenge when a small commotion sounded at the side of the tent. The Prince from Dorne whipped around to see a large black direwolf and a smallish boy with dark curly hair make their way into the tent.

Oberyn's eyes swung back to Sansa, and he shrugged. "I am sorry, Your Grace. But none shall leave this tent alive today but for me."

Then he unsheathed he sword and lunged for Rickon Stark.

* * *

_ Myrcella _

Myrcella ran as hard and as fast as she could, now worried about Rickon as well as Sansa. She knew the brave boy wouldn't be content to stand back and watch, not when he'd just gotten his sister back in his life. Myrcella didn't even want to think about what was happening inside that tent. She lived in Dorne; she knew the history of Elia Martell. If it was Oberyn behind this, Myrella's heart constricted at what he might do to the Queen.

She was running so fast, her breath chest heaving and coming in short gasps, that she startled when strong arms stopped her suddenly, jarring her entire frame.

"Myrcella, what is wrong?"

It took her a moment to focus, and then Myr realized she had found Jon, Sansa's handsome cousin. She glanced around and saw that Dacey, his betrothed was at his side, along with his white wolf, Ghost.

"Its…" Myrcella panted, almost doubling over from the pain. "It's the Queen. Something is wrong. There are Dornish guards outside her tent."

Jon straightened immediately and looked towards the tent, then back at Myrcella.

"You're sure?"

Myrcella nodded. "One of Oberyn's daughter's is there. Her name is Obara, and she is violent and vicious."

She saw the doubt on Jon's face and drilled a finger into his chest, her green eyes narrowing. "I lived in Dorne for years, Jon Targaryen. I know the Dornish, and they are acting like the Queen's guards outside her tent. Something is wrong."

Jon nodded and then all but shoved her forward. "Find the King, Myrcella. Now!" he cried and turned, Dacey already in motion towards the tent where Sansa was.

Myrcella took another precious second to catch her breath, and then gathered her skirts and started to run again, more hopeful now that she had found Jon and Dacey. Surely they had to be able to do something, couldn't they? Then she pushed that thought from her head and ran to find her father and grandfather. Myrcella didn't even want to think about the consequences to those in Dorne should something happen to the Queen or her children.

* * *

_ Outside the Queen and King's Tent _

Jon and Dacey, along with Ghost, raced towards Sansa tent. Jon could see that Dacey was beside herself with worry and self-recrimination.

"I should have come back with her," she was muttering lowly, slowing as they approached the large red tent. They crouched low and hid.

Dacey's sharp breath told Jon everything he needed to know. These were not the guards that King Tywin had left for his wife.

"Fucking seven hells," Dacey cursed, already reaching for her sword.

Jon put a hand on her arm, and she snarled at him. "That's my Queen in there. I am the head of her Queensguard, Jon. You won't stop me."

She was a fearsome thing, his Dacey and Jon loved her more than he ever had at that moment. "She's my Queen as well. Along with my cousin and my sister. My family, Dacey. We need to be smart. What is the plan?"

"There are only five, Jon." Her grin was almost feral in nature and Ghost snarled his approval. It seemed that sharing a bed had bonded his direwolf and his soon to be wife.

"I need to get to Sansa. If it is Oberyn in there, he hates me," Jon said. "I can distract him."

"Seems the pretty man from Dorne hates a lot of people that the Queen loves," Dacey stated dryly. Jon didn't disagree with that statement at all.

"I need to gain access before Oberyn knows the guards have been alerted," Jon stated.

They took another precious minute and watched the pattern the guards took. There was a moment when there was just one out front, and that was where they would strike.

"We take him, and I'll slip inside." Jon got a worried look on his face. "That leaves you four." He hated those odds for the woman he loved.

Ghost bumped Jon's shoulder, and he grinned at his wolf. "He should even your odds." Dacey's eyes had narrowed.

"She's my Queen Jon. I pledged myself to her first. If I have to die to try to save her, I've made my peace with that. I won't stand by and do nothing."

Jon was in awe of this woman before him. "Aye, I know Dacey Mormont. Tis half the reason I love you so much. That and your skill with a sword."

Dacey gave him a cheeky grin. "You look at my arse enough for me to know you like that as well, Jon." Then she winked and stood, and Jon knew the time had come. He pulled her close and kissed her once. Then he smacked her arse that he had looked at longingly more than once and pulled her close once more.

"Stay alive, Dacey. I still have plans to marry you."

"Aye, my love, I will. I can't wait to see you in your pretty clothes." Then she grinned, and they moved together, silent and deadly until they struck at the perfect moment.

Dacey sliced the Dornish guards neck, dropping him to the muddy ground and jerked her head towards Jon, who slipped inside the tent. Dacey turned and settled one hand on Ghost and one hand on her sword.

"Let's kill some fucking Dornish," she snarled to the white wolf, who bared his teeth in agreement.

* * *

_ Inside the tent _

Sansa watched in horror as Rickon appeared suddenly inside the tent, and distracted Oberyn's attention to him.

Her heart sank when he uttered those cruel words that everyone in the tent would now die but him. Sansa loved her little brother; she loved his bravery and his selflessness, but right now, she wished he were anywhere but here. She didn't know how to save him and her children.

Sansa barely had time to react when Oberyn lunged for Rickon, and she feared she would see her little brother die before her very eyes. Then a grey-black blur, snarling and snapping, jumped for the Dornish Prince, and he howled in pain as he clutched at his wrist.

Shaggy landed neatly on all fours, giving Rickon a chance to run towards Sansa, drawing his training blade.

"It is sharp, My Queen," he said, voice not even wavering as if he were a true knight.

Sansa nodded at him and reached down to make sure both her sons were still with her. Her heart ached at how Rickon had been forced to grow up so quickly. Even now, acting years past his age, willing to die to defend her. She could only hope he survived, and she would be worthy of his devotion.

"Do not send them out of the tent, sister. His guards are everywhere."

Rickon had a grim look on his face. He'd snuck in the back and hadn't seen anything. That meant that Sansa's guards had to be dead somewhere near the front.

"I will," she told her brother.

They watched as Shaggy circled Oberyn, and the man toyed with the wolf until, in one smooth stroke, he sunk his sword into the black wolf's side, and Shaggy collapsed to the ground, whimpering in pain, a growing dark pool of blood under his body.

To his credit, Rickon didn't even react when his wolf was cut down. Sansa let out a whimper. She thought of Lady and her heart clenched in pain. She hated this man that was here, taking her family apart, piece by piece. It had been enough to think about her losing her life, but now her littlest brother as well?

Once the wolf was incapacitated, Oberyn turned back to the two Starks and three little lions in front of him. He grabbed at a sash he was wearing and took a brief moment to wrap his arm, stemming the blood that was flowing from two puncture wounds curtesy of the direwolf.

"My fight was not with your family, little wolf," Oberyn said, waving a sword still dripping with Shaggy's blood.

"Sansa is my family," Ric replied, jutting his chin out. "She's a wolf of the North."

Oberyn shook his head, tsk'ing at the boy.

"She is as much as lion as her husband. Look, she has even given him little lions."

Oberyn glanced down at the two princes who were near catatonic with fear. Rickon took a step away from Sansa, and the training sword held steady in his hand.

"She's a wolf as well. She'll always be a wolf," Rickon replied, voice shaking with emotion. Jon and Arya had told him that the pack survived. Sansa was part of his pack.

"So much potential," Oberyn said, shaking his head in regret. "I hate to destroy something young, but if I let you live, you will come for me."

Oberyn gave a lazy flick of his sword, and Rickon lunged, opening himself up. Oberyn smacked him with his free hand, breaking Rickon's nose and sending a spatter of blood through the air that landed on the Queen. Sansa cried out in shock, as Rickon whimpered in pain.

"I can make it quick, painless," Oberyn said, leaning down to where Rickon kneeled on the ground. "It doesn't have to be a miserable end, little wolf."

Rickon kept his head down, whimpers of pain still coming from him, and Sansa saw Oberyn sigh and raise his sword. At the same moment, Rickon rose up and jabbed him with his training sword, nicking him just at the neck and arm, a thin line of blood appearing on the handsome man's skin.

Oberyn clapped his hand over the wound, trying to staunch the blood.

"Impressive. Not enough and nothing that will save you, but very few people have ever left a mark on me."

Rickon snarled in anger and pain, knowing he didn't have the strength or skill to kill this man. He knew he would die here, and so would Sansa and her children, and he wanted to howl in rage. Still, he would try his best and perhaps he'd wound him enough, buy just enough time that someone else would come, and they might save Sansa.

* * *

_Outside the tent _

Dacey made quick work of two more guards she found circling the tent. They were not expecting a woman and a wolf, and she and Ghost made a lethal team. When Dacey thrust out her sword, the wolf lunged for the neck, ripping the men to pieces with a few quick bites. His maw was covered in blood and gore, and Dacey couldn't help but praise him.

"You're a loyal beast, aren't you," she said lovingly to him, and she swore the direwolf almost preened under her words. That was how the remaining three Dornish guards found Dacey. Her Queensguard cloak on her back, armour gleaming, sword wet with blood and a bloodied white direwolf at her feet.

Dacey knew immediately the real challenge would be Obara Sand, Oberyn's daughter. Her eyes were cold and emotionless; black pools of nothingness. She had a long, traditional Dornish spear, and she twirled it almost lazily as she eyed up Dacey.

"Who brings a dog to a sword fight?" Obara asked a sneer in her voice.

Dacey shrugged, not giving in to the emotion. She had watched Jerrod, the King's loyal man, for almost a year now, and Dacey knew that if she allowed her feelings to rule her, the fight was already lost. She needed to give Jon time to rescue the Queen.

"He's a wolf," was all the Northern woman said, liking that she had height on the southern woman.

There was barely a flick of Obara's eyes before two guards rushed Dacey. Sansa's Queensguard was a better fighter than she had ever been; it came from training daily in King's Landing with some of the best swordsmen in all of Westeros. Dacey spun, crouching low as Ghost leapt, and together they made short work of the two men.

When Dacey turned, it was only Ghost that saved her from a spear in her back that Obara hurtled, knocking Dacey down so that it missed her.

"Bitch," Obara hissed, hating that this woman was more skilled than she expected. Ghost was busy stalking the last Dornish guard, while a small crowd had started to gather.

"Quit fucking standing there. Get the King," Dacey yelled at them. "The Dornish snakes attack the Queen."

Dacey didn't see whether they scurried away to do her bidding, but with her Queensguard cloak on full display, there could be no doubt that this woman was in charge. A murmur started to go through the camp, and Dacey knew it would only be a matter of time before everyone would know that something had gone horribly wrong in the King's tent.

Then Dacey pushed all other thoughts but the fight in front of her, from her mind, as Obara Sand struck. The woman from Bear Island knew this would be the fight of her life, and she planned on winning.

* * *

_ The Funeral Fields_

Myrcella finally rounded the final turn of Harrenhal, cursing how bloody huge the castle was and came across the nightmarish scene of the burning pyres. It felt like it had been hours before that she had been here, but it could hardly have been more than 10 or 15 minutes.

She spotted her father and grandfather where she had left them, alongside Arya and Jeyne.

She pumped her legs harder, praying they didn't quit her now. Jerrod saw her first, and he turned, alerting the King and her father.

They met her, rushing to her side, as she collapsed in her father's arms.

"Myrcella, what is wrong?" Jaime cried, distressed at the state of his daughter. She was gasping for breath, clutching at her chest and trying to form words. Her eyes slid past her father's and found the King's. Arya Stark was standing by their side with her massive wolf Nymeria.

"It is Sansa, Grandfather. I spotted Dornish guards outside your tent."

The King went ramrod straight, his green eyes going cold and merciless before her very eyes. He turned to go, and Myrcella cried out.

"I ran into Rickon and then Dacey and Jon. They rushed to save her Grandfather," Myrcella yelled at him. With one sharp nod, the King was in motion.

Myrcella could see the war in her father's eyes. "I am fine, father. Go. Help him."

Jaime looked torn until Dickon Tarly was there. "I have her, My Lord. I will ensure she is safe." Jaime looked at him hard and then nodded, passing Myrcella into his arms and hurried after his father.

There were no horses, nothing to get him back to camp faster, and Tywin's mind was an absolute dark hole of the worst possible thoughts. He'd lost one beloved wife, and now another was in mortal danger. And not just Sansa; his children. His sons and daughter. His blood.

Tywin cursed himself as he practically sprinted towards the camp. He knew better. He knew that Oberyn would never accept him as King. He knew the man still held him responsible for the death of Elia, and he knew the man was ruled by vengeance.

Now the man had attacked his family, and Tywin knew that he had all but signed his death warrant, if not that of Dorne itself.

Nothing would stop Tywin from grinding them into dust; to wipe the entire house and bloodline from the pages of Westeros' history. Didn't they know how powerful he was? Tywin wanted to scream with impotent rage. What good was it to be this powerful if he couldn't even keep the person he loved most safe? Then his mind turned back to the vengeance he would wreak on them.

They could retreat to their mountains and Tywin would cave in the entrances and let them starve to death. He wouldn't allow a single one to escape, not across the sea to Essos and not back into Westeros. He would shut all borders and burn the southern kingdom to the ground and salt the earth, so nothing ever grew there again.

No one with Martell blood would be left alive when Tywin was done; it didn't matter if Sansa was alive or not for his vengeance. They would feel all of his fury for this action.

Tywin did not even allow his mind to contemplate the hell he might be walking into. He tried not to imagine his wife raped, her body torn and mutilated and her throat slit. He didn't allow the idea of his children's tiny bodies, dead and lifeless. But it was impossible. Tywin knew precisely what had been done to Elia Martell; he had not ordered her death in such a manner, but he had sent his man to do the job.

Now all of his past actions were back to haunt him, and his wife and children would pay the price. He lengthened his stride and prayed that somehow, someone had gotten to her in time. He had been negligent with Sansa's safety, and should she somehow survive this; he vowed no one would ever harm another hair on her head for as long as the Great Lion drew breath.

* * *

_ Inside the tent _

Jon crept inside the King's tent, being as silent as he could be, sick at the sight of the men that had pledged themselves to guard Sansa, dead at his feet. Their throats had been slit, clearly to prevent them from raising any alarm.

As Jon pushed in deeper inside, he crept quickly but quietly, straining his ears to try and ascertain if Sansa were still alive. The last thing Jon wanted to see was her dead along with that of her children without steeling himself for that. Worse yet would be sounds of rape and mutilation.

Thankfully, all he heard was the voice of Oberyn Martell.

"Impressive. Not enough and nothing that will save you, but very few people have ever left a mark on me."

Jon wondered how the hell the Prince was talking to until he almost tripped over a lump on the floor. Looking down, Jon sucked in a breath.

Shaggy's breath was laboured and the blood pool underneath him in a large pool, but he thumped his tail once as Jon stroked a hand down him.

"Aye, you're a good boy, aren't you. I'll save him now. You've done your job." The wolf gave his hand a weak lick.

How the fuck did Rickon end up here? Jon thought, heart, thumping wildly.

Myrcella had told him to stand guard, not to come and defend Sansa. Jon knew he was out of time. He had to move now, or risk losing another brother. He stepped into the main room of the tent, cataloguing the scene before him.

There were more bodies on the ground, the nannies Jon thought.

He looked at Sansa, who had spatters of blood on her gown, face and hands, but otherwise appeared unharmed. The princes were clutching at her, their blond heads covered in red, and Jon felt ill at their state. The princess was wrapped against Sansa's chest.

Sansa met Jon's eyes, and to her credit, her expression did not change; she gave nothing away, even though she looked to have been thoroughly terrorized.

Rickon had a broken nose, a black eye and blood dripping down his face. And yet he still stood there, clutching that damned training sword that Jaime had sharpened for him, ready to defend Sansa.

Rickon raised his sword, "You'll have to cut me down first," he said bravely, and Jon felt the swell of pride for his bravery. He'd make a fine knight one day, and he was indeed a Stark.

Jon unsheathed Longclaw, thinking if Rickon just kept Oberyn's attention for a moment more, Jon could drive his sword into the Prince's back.

Just as Ric raised his sword, his eyes met Jon's and he must have given something away, because before Jon could strike, Oberyn turned and sneered to see who had interrupted them.

Then he laughed.

"If there was one I wanted to kills as much as the Great Lion's precious wife, it was you."

Jon kept his eyes and sword steady, the familiar pommel of Longclaw fitting comfortably in his hand. Jon knew he was no match for the Dornish man. Oberyn was one of the premier swordsmen in all of Westeros. Jaime might be, Jon thought contemplatively. But Jaime wasn't here.

Jon knew he didn't need to kill Oberyn; simply hold him at bay until the King and Jaime and the rest of Sansa and Tywin's guards arrived. Jon couldn't worry about Dacey, nor about what was happening outside this tent. His job was to stand between this man that wanted to harm his family and the people he loved. And if Jon died doing so, well, he had to hope he'd buy them enough time for the other's to arrive.

Jon shrugged, lazy.

"I'm sorry your sister wasn't enough for a man like Rhaegar," Jon said, taunting to the Dornish man.

In truth, Jon wrestled with the poor choices his parents had made. He hated that his father had abandoned his first wife and two young children. But now was not the time for such sentiments. Now Jon had to save the woman he viewed as his sister and one he loved dearly

"Elia should never have married that piece of shit," Oberyn spat, giving Jon time to observe the few wounds on him.

A slash across his handsome cheek.

Punctures on his forearm that had all the indications of direwolf teeth.

And a weeping wound on his neck.

His family had fought back, and their bravery surged through Jon, making him confident in a way he had never been before. He knew that Myrcella would have reached the King by now.

"Killing woman and children now. Impressive," Jon taunted again. "That's how you want to be remembered? Queenslayer? The man who murdered babies?"

"Her death will be my revenge against the man who took my sister!" Oberyn roared, having completely lost it. He'd spent too much time taunting Sansa, wanting her to know the man she married - to admit she loved a monster, to beg for her life. Instead, nothing had gone according to his plans.

The Queen had not begged; she had not wept. She had been willing to bargain for her life for her children. She had been everything Oberyn would have loved to have in a Queen if only she had not been married to him. She would have made an excellent wife and the perfect helpmate to the right man. But that man should not have been Tywin Lannister. He was not worthy of her.

Since the moment their betrothal had been announced, Oberyn had been plotting his revenge. He'd wanted it for years, but seeing the Great Lion happy and in love? He could not stand for that and Tywin had given him the perfect target.

Even nicked and bleeding, Oberyn Martell moved with a grace and speed few men in the country possessed. He was skilled in ways that Jon hadn't yet known of, and in the relatively small confines of the tent, it was all Jon could do to keep Oberyn focused on him and away from Sansa.

Jon was on the defensive immediately, barely able to block blow after blow by Oberyn that seemed to come faster and faster. There had rarely been a time that Jon had been so grateful for his lighter Valyrian sword, but tonight was one of them. It gave him a fighting chance against the skilled warrior.

Jon kept the Prince from Dorne occupied until he slipped, and Oberyn pressed his advantage, his sword arcing down towards Jon's face, when suddenly Oberyn let out a howl of pain, turning and slashing at what hit him, clutching at his calf.

Rickon stood there, sword wet with blood and Oberyn snarled at him.

Jon rolled and jumped back to his feet. He slashed at the tent, knowing they needed more space and that Sansa did not have to see this. Either he would die or Oberyn would, but if he could help it, Jon would spare the Princes such a horror.

When the sunlight spilled into the tent, everyone almost recoiled, until both Ric and Jon pressed forward and pushed Oberyn outside into the mud and muck, and towards the crowd that had gathered.

Ironically, they had opened up the tent to where Dacey and Obara were taking pieces from each other.

"Father!" Obara cried, covering in thin cuts, with blood dripping from several of them.

Ghost stalked around the crowd that had gathered, pushing the Dornish woman ever closer to Dacey and her deadly sword.

Jon startled a bit at seeing them until Dacey winked.

"Hello, love. Good of you to join me," she said, a cheeky smile on her face.

She was winning against Oberyn's daughter, thanks in large part to her loyal direwolf. Dacey knew with a single command, he would lunge and take the woman's throat, but Dacey also knew the King would want her alive.

Oberyn glanced around, eyes wild and crazy. He charged towards Jon, missing the second direwolf. Ghost, who now had a new target, launched himself at Oberyn, dragging him to the ground and pinning him. Ghost's mouth, still red with blood, drew back, snarling as he revealed a row of razor-sharp white teeth mere inches from Oberyn's face.

Jon kicked Oberyn's sword from his hand and pressed Longclaw to his throat.

"Be still," was all Jon said, meeting the man's eyes.

"Finish me," Oberyn said, pressing his neck into the tip of Longclaw, but Jon gave him no quarter.

He glanced up in time to see the King careen around the corner, sword in hand, just as Dacey landed a blow against Obara's head and sent the Sand Snake to her knees. The wild woman snarled and went to leap back to her feet when Tywin was suddenly there, sword in hand.

His green-gold eyes met Oberyn's and all he said was, "She's yours?"

Not even waiting for a response, the King's sword took Obara's head, and he threw it on the ground like it was garbage. Her headless body collapsed, and Tywin barely spared it a glance.

"Get him to his feet!" the King snarled, his sword dripping with Obara's blood. Jon gave a soft command to Ghost, who stepped of the Dornish Prince, and Jaime was there to help Jon haul Oberyn to his feet.

Tywin stalked closer, pressing his face almost to Oberyn's. He had no idea if his wife and children were even alive, and he was blind with rage. It was only her voice that stopped him.

"Tywin?" came Sansa's cry. The King whirled, seeing her there, arms full of his sons, his daughter at her chest and all of them covered in blood. He snarled a feral and threatening sound.

"You came for what is mine? You dared?" Tywin seethed into Oberyn's face.

"It was no less than you deserved for what was done to my sister," Oberyn spat, defiant even in the face of sure death.

Tywin's fist came up, fast and connected with Oberyn's face, smashing his nose in and opening the cut that Sansa had given him earlier.

"Secure him," Tywin said, motioning to Jerrod. "He is to under guard at all times." Tywin saw that Jerrod wanted vengeance as much as he did. Then Tywin looked towards Jon and Jaime and saw the same bloodlust on their faces. He forced himself to take a breath. And to think.

"I need him alive - for now." When he saw them open their mouths to protest, he held up a hand. "Do it."

A quick death would not do for Oberyn Martell; it would not satisfy Tywin's need for justice and vengeance.

Then the King spun away from the man that had almost taken everything from him and towards his family.

His wife. His love. His heart.

The Great Lion's entire world.

Tywin almost stumbled when he finally took in Sansa. Her face was pale white- that which he could see. There were parts of it that were covered in blood. Her clothing did not appear torn or ripped, for which he thanked the gods. His sons' blond heads were red, and they clutched at Sansa, eyes wide and fearful. When he got to her, he forced himself to soften his voice. She had been terrorized enough this afternoon; he would not add to it.

"My love," Tywin said, and she finally heaved out a sob.

"Tywin," she cried again, and he pulled her to him and crushed her against his chest, his strong arms banding around her. Within moments, he reached down to pick up his sons, so they were in his arms and between them, making them a family once again.

His wife was crying, great big gulping sobs and she was starting to shake. Tywin felt helpless; where could he take her? Their temporary home had been violated. He couldn't think which the King hated. He was ruled by so many emotions, all of them pulling him in a different direction.

Suddenly, there was a cough and Tywin snarled and turned, finding Royce standing there.

"A second tent has been procured, Your Grace. Two bathing tubs are being filled as we speak, and the Queen's sister will bring some clothing."

Tywin could only nod.

Another voice, this of Stannis. "I assume the prisoner needs to be kept alive to answer for his crimes?"

"Yes," Tywin said.

"I will ensure that is done, Your Grace," Stannis said lowly and met Tywin's gaze. Tywin knew that Oberyn Martell would not die until he gave the command, and he gave Stannis a short, jerky nod.

Another commotion and both Tywin and Sansa saw Sandor with Shaggy in his arms, Rickon trailing beside him. The big man, having opened his own wound, laid the wolf down on a patch of grass outside. A maester hurried forward, clearly having been summoned and started to fuss with the wolf.

"A maester will see to your wife and children if needed, Your Grace," Royce said softly, and started to direct the King towards the empty tent that had been set up for them.

Sansa and Tywin took one last look at the scene behind them.

Dacey was beside Jon, who was looking her over and shaking his head at her before he kissed her softly. Sansa's guard had more than proven her worth, and Tywin had no words to express his gratitude for her devotion to his wife.

Jaime was kneeling beside Rickon, worry on his face, a comforting hand resting on his back. Jeyne and Greywind had also appeared, and the big grey wolf was sniffing Shaggy. Thankfully, Ned had been in another tent and was safe.

Arya was berating Sandor for being stupid, but the big man had a snarl on his face as he looked at the wolf, worry on his face.

Jerrod had removed Oberyn, followed closely by Stannis.

Myrcella was standing in the protective arms of Dickon Tarly, and no one dared say a thing - not after her heroics today.

Sansa opened her mouth and sucked in a massive gulp of air. She grasped at his hand.

"Rickon saved us, Tywin. If it weren't for him, I'd be dead," she told her husband. He had to know; he had to know what Rickon had done. How brave and fearless he had been. Sansa would never get that image out of his head, her little brother standing in front of her, ready to defend her with only his training sword.

"Alright, my love. Royce is correct. We need to get you, and the princes cleaned up." Tywin could see that Sansa was close to a full-blown breakdown, and they needed privacy.

"Their nannies are dead, Tywin. Throats slit in front of them." Her voice had taken on almost a hysterical tone.

Tywin tightened his grip on her. "Shhhhh, Sansa. Enough now." He wanted to remove this entire afternoon from her mind but knew he could do nothing now but try and make her feel safe.

As if knowing she was needed, Nymeria came over, bumping against Sansa's hand. Sansa clutched at the direwolf's fur, the wolf calming Sansa in a way that nothing else seemed to. Not even Tywin.

Sansa's breath hitched, and she nodded.

"Alright. Alright," she repeated and let Tywin lead her away.

Arya saw them leave, and she hurried to catch up. She knew her sister would need her, especially since the nannies were gone. Myrcella must have had the same thought, because she was suddenly there, with Jeyne as well. Dacey let Jon go and strode confidently over to Sansa. She would not leave her Queen's side.

Sansa's eyes teared then, at these women who loved her and had helped save her and her children.

"Thank you," Sansa whispered, and pressed closer to Tywin.

"Come on, my loves," Myrcella said brightly to the two princes. Both boys clung to Myrcella, having become very familiar with her. Her bright smile, while forced, drew them in like a bee to a flower.

Tywin had never been so grateful for his granddaughter than he had been today. It was her that had saved Sansa. It was her that had noticed the Dornish guards. It was her that had alerted them. It was her that had saved his family. And now, after all of that, she was here to help his family recover.

Tywin knew the coming hours, days and weeks would be agonizing for him and Sansa. They had almost lost each other today. The danger to them and their positions had been exposed with cruel clarity, and it would be an age before Tywin allowed Sansa out of his sight.

But for now, Tywin had to trust his family; he had to focus on his wife, and his children that had been the victims of such a heinous act. There was time enough for his revenge.

As they walked through the assembled lords from the West, a song began, and Tywin wanted to roar his approval.

_And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?_

_Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know._

_In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws._

_And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours._

_And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that the Lord of Castamere,_

_But now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear._

_Yes, now the rains weep o'er his hall and not a soul to hear._

It reminded Tywin that he was the Great Lion. He had destroyed his enemies before and would do so again. He didn't need dragons; he didn't need anything more than his own iron will and brilliant mind to crush his enemies into dust. He gazed around and saw the loyal men from the West, willing to ride beside him, to right this wrong that had been done against his house and family. Then Sansa tugged on his hand and his entire focus was here. Sansa and his children were alive. Revenge would come later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it!
> 
> Let me know!
> 
> T


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Oberyn's attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First- I know that Sansa is NOT at the level of Tywin in terms of playing the game of thrones. She can't be given his experience and age. 
> 
> BUT- we all saw how Tywin ended without Sansa, so while I FULLY conceed he has most likely forgotten more than she has learned, WITHOUT Sansa, none of this is possible. This is the entire premise of this story.
> 
> Added to that- I am the biggest Tywin fan around, but sometimes it is more interesting to see Sansa's mind and how it works. We all know how Tywin operates, but Sansa is the wild card. 
> 
> This chapter is a bridge now between the attack and dealing w/ Dorne/Martells.

_ Harrenhal _

Tywin hurried Sansa into the tent, Myrcella just ahead of them with Jason and Tysan, who had remained silent and almost limp against her. In the background the words to the song that those in the West sung as a testament to him and his fearsome reputation. A reputation that apparently did not matter to Oberyn Martell. Tywin seethed, the words bringing him no comfort at this moment, only emphasizing his deficiencies.

The tent Royce had pointed to had a full complement of both King and Queensguards outside, which did almost nothing to alleviate the stress that Tywin felt when it came to the safety of his family.

One thing was sure; they would not be staying here in Harrenhal. This place was tainted and as soon as possible Tywin would tear it down, brick by brick. Nothing would remain but bitter memories of all he had lost here and all that had nearly been taken from him.

The moment they stepped inside the tent, Tywin glanced around. There were only a few rooms, one with two steaming tubs filled with water and another with beds for his family. Arya was there, and grasped Sansa by the arm and leading her and his sons towards the bathing room, giving Tywin a moment alone with Dacey.

The King turned to the Northern woman, taking in the look of pride on her face, along with the blood and gore that covered her armour and cloak.

"You kept her alive," Tywin stated, not asking it as a question.

"I did, Your Grace." Dacey's back was straight and proud. She knew she'd done her duty to both her Queen and her friend, today, but more, she'd made a choice that the King had been pleased with.

"Why?"

Dacey's brown eyes almost glittered in rage. "I knew you'd want the honour of killing her yourself."

Tywin snarled at the word honour. What honour had Oberyn shown him? He'd bowed, before the entire Kingdom and pledged his loyalty not only to Tywin but to his wife. Tywin had been the first King in generations to elevate his wife to such a place, and the Prince of Dorne had humiliated him, destroyed that with his betrayal.

While Tywin appreciated at the gesture from Dacey of allowing him to kill Oberyn's bastard himself, it had barely slaked his need for vengeance. He would not rest until every single member from House Martell was dead. If they thought to challenge him and survive, the Great Lion would make what happened to houses Reyne and Tarbeck pale in comparison.

Lost in his head with thoughts of vengeance, the King barely realized that Dacey was still speaking.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace. I was neglectful in my duty. Had I accompanied the Queen back to her tent…" Dacey started to say.

"You would most likely be dead," the King finished succinctly and held her eyes.

His were dark green pools of rage, and even Dacey wanted to step back, seeing the fury there. He was a man who was only just holding himself in check. This was a barely controlled man, and the power he had was almost limitless. Dacey knew there were 80,000 men stationed at Harrenhal ready to do the King's bidding should he give the order.

The North would not rest until justice had been served, of that Dacey knew. Their Northern Queen and her children had been attacked, and the North remembered. Sansa was more than just Tywin Lannister's wife and Queen; she was a Stark. She was a Northern princess first and had the blood of the first men running through her veins.

If before the Northern Lords might have bickered and fought amongst themselves vying for power and unsure if they could trust this lion, this action by Oberyn Martell would unite them in their fury and need for vengeance in a way nothing else would have.

"They ambushed the guards, Lady Mormont. There would have been nothing you could have done. And my wife would have lost even more today," Tywin told her and prayed she heeded his words. Sansa loved Dacey.

Dacey nodded once, short and jerky.

"Find Jerrod and tell him we leave for King's Landing tomorrow. Once you've done that, gather the Lords of the Realm that are here. I'll address them in a short time. Then come back. Sansa will need your presence here tonight."

Dacey's eyes went wide at this development. "Tomorrow?"

Tywin nodded. "I will not linger in this hellish place when my family is not safe. Tell every, Lady Mormont. Every lord in this camp will present themselves to my court in King's Landing in a fortnight or face my wrath," Tywin stated, his tone brooking no argument. He could not keep his wife and sons safe here, not with no walls and fewer guards than usual.

Dacey nodded and then slipped outside to spread the word and see that the King's orders were followed. She did not envy any house that did not heed his decree.

What Tywin wanted to do was take his wife and his children and ride hard for Casterly Rock. He knew his family seat was impenetrable. He knew that no one could get Sansa there; that his sons and daughter would be safe and doted upon. But as much as he wanted that, he also knew it was not an option; not for him. This crown on his head had never felt so heavy, nor had he ever felt so utterly powerless. Not even after Joanna had died.

A soft cry drew his attention back to his wife. Sansa was kneeling in her soiled gown, attempting to get his sons into a warm bath and wash the blood from their hair. Both Arya and Myrcella were trying to help, but all that seemed to be happening was the increased agitation of everyone.

Tywin wanted to help but realized he was still clad in full Lannister armour. He glanced around, trying to see if one of his loyal men was there to help him. He wanted Sansa in his arms now. Seeing no one, he cursed, unleashing a torrent of heated words.

"Need help, My Lord?" Arya asked suddenly there. She looked between her sister, who was moments away from a meltdown as far as Arya could tell, and Tywin, who was as angry as Arya had ever seen. She knew they needed time as just a family. Arya hurried to his side, unbuckling and undoing laces as quickly as possible, letting pieces drop haphazardly wherever they fell. She knew there were more important things at this moment than being careful.

"How do you know how to do this?" Tywin asked quietly, seeing that Sansa had settled Jason.

"Sandor. My father. Robb," Arya said. She shrugged. "I wanted to be a knight for as long as I could remember, so I learned."

He hadn't bothered with gauntlets today, and neither his helmet. But otherwise, they worked in tandem to rid him of the pauldrons, vambraces and rerebraces on each arm.

When Tywin had ridden into war, he donned the greaves required to protect his shins but hadn't today. By far, the most intricate piece had been his elaborate breastplate that was heaviest of all the pieces. It had an ornate lion carved in gold on the front, and Arya grunted as they removed the hinges and ties.

"Seven hells, that's heavy," she swore as it all but dropped to the floor.

Usually, Tywin would have cursed the clumsy squire or attendant who didn't treat his distinctive armour with the utmost care and respect, but right now, none of that mattered in the least. The only thing that did was Sansa and his children.

There was no chainmail today; he had thought there had been no need for it, once again realizing he'd been a fool ever to think they were truly safe. The lesson learned today would not soon be forgotten.

When he was finally free of the cumbersome pieces, he flashed a look to his wife, who was struggling to get their sons in the bath. They were distraught clearly, upset and beyond exhausted.

"Take Myrcella and leave us," Tywin said quietly to Arya. Her eyes widened and then narrowed.

"She doesn't need your anger right now, Your Grace," Arya said, daring to defy the King.

Tywin heaved a breath.

"I know."

Arya kept her gaze upon him until she was satisfied. "I'm leaving Nymeria." Before Tywin could protest, Arya held up a hand. "Sansa needs her, and so do the princes. They are not just lions, Tywin, but wolves. Those pups in her belly are for them. She knows it, and so do they. You'll both sleep better with her here. Look at what both Ghost and Shaggy did today. They would die for her."

Tywin gave a jerky nod, knowing it to be the truth. His wife was as much a wolf as he was a lion and her house sigils had more than proven their worth today.

Still, it reminded Tywin if who had not saved her today.

Others had rescued his wife. Others had saved his sons. Others had protected her.

It had not been him, and that was his duty to her as her husband.

It was his greatest failure since Aerys’ attack on Joanna, and it shamed him to his core.

Arya went and gathered Myrcella, who pressed kisses to both cheeks of the Princes, and then both women were gone, leaving Tywin alone with his family.

Sansa's blue eyes met his, and he saw all her walls crumble, as he rushed to her side.

"My love," he said raggedly, only barely catching her before she fell, sobbing into his arms. Sensing their mother was distraught, Tywin positioned himself so Tysan and Jason could also climb into his arms, sniffling and crying along with Sansa. He would be their strength now, allow it felt like a bitter recompense for his earlier negligence in their safety.

"I thought we were all going to die, Tywin. Myself, our sons, our daughter. Rickon and Shaggy. All of us, dead."

Tywin tightened his grip on her.

"Shhhhh, love, you must calm down," Tywin pleaded, knowing no words tonight would be sufficient. Her safety had been violated most horribly.

"I had him almost convinced to kill me to save our sons and daughter. Surely, I thought, you'd understand, if he took me but saved them," Sansa whispered, and Tywin's blood ran cold at that thought.

Her strength, her love for their children and her courage staggered him. He knew she would not have hesitated to give her life for theirs, and that love, that dedication to their union and their children threatened to bring him crumbling to his knees.

"Gods, Sansa," he choked out, unable to say more.

What could a man, even a King, say to his beloved wife when he had failed her in the most fundamental way possible?

"Pa," came Tysan's small voice and both Sansa and Tywin looked down at their son, their heir. The next King of the seven kingdoms, who had almost died today for a choice Tywin made decades ago.

"They need to be cleaned and fed, my love," Tywin said, keeping his voice soft and gentle even as he struggled to control his rage. Sansa gave a jerky nod, looking down at herself. Somehow, Serena remained peacefully asleep in the wrap against Sansa's chest, unaware of the danger she had been in such a short time ago.

"Come on, little lions," Tywin said to his sons, forcing a smile onto his face and running a hand through the water. "Time for a bath." He undressed them and got them in the tub, where they splashed happily and played. His hand only shook slightly when he poured water over their head, working soap and oils into their hair until their blonde hair was once against bright and not marred with the blood of their beloved nannies.

Sansa watched, transfixed by the simple, mundane task, finally shaking herself when Jason laughed brightly.

"They won't remember," she whispered, allowing a hand to brush through his blond curls. "None of this. They won't remember."

Tywin nodded. "You're correct; they won't, although they will know what happened here today because the destruction of Dorne will be known throughout the kingdom."

Sansa was too numb to say anything more to that; the shock and horror washing over her, sometimes in waves and at other moments in a dribble. She couldn't think which annoyed her. Everything felt fuzzy and disjointed as if she were moving through thick, sticky honey. Mostly, she couldn't look beyond Tywin, because the walls of this tent seemed eerily similar to the last tent they were in and where their safety had been violated.

"We can't stay here," she whispered when they finally had their sons clean. "It's not safe, Tywin." Her voice sounded almost panicked.

His green eyes met hers, his hand stilling with the washcloth as he gripped her hand. "We won’t. We ride for King's Landing at first light, Sansa. It will be hard and brutal, but I will push to have us there in half the time it took to get here."

Her shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank you, my love."

Tywin stilled. It was the first time she'd used an endearment to speak to him since this ordeal had started, and he wondered if maybe she did not blame him, did not hate him for his failure to protect them today.

A part of him had wondered if she would demand to go to the Rock by herself, with the children, abandoning him to the Iron Throne because he had failed so spectacularly in his protection of her. It had been the entire reason she had sought him out, all those many, many, many months ago. He still remembered the conviction in her voice, how her chin had titled, in her ill-fitting gown as she had declared he was the only man in the kingdom that could keep her and her children safe.

And he hadn't even been able to live up to that expectation as evidenced by Oberyn’s attack today. 

He looked at her, seated across from him on the opposite side of the bathing tub, their sons between them. "You still love me?"

Sansa's brow creased, and she frowned, looking confused. "Still love you? What jape is this, Tywin. Of course, I still love you. You are my heart, my love, my lion. You are mine for all my days, are you not?"

Did her husband somehow think less of her now that she had said she would have sacrificed herself to save their children? Sansa worried.

The King almost choked on the emotion that flooded through him at her words. Then he forced the vile words from his mouth that showed his vulnerability. He had to know if she would turn from him if there were any part of her that was set to reject him after his weakness had been exposed.

"Even though I am unworthy? Even after I failed in my vow to keep you safe? To keep our children safe?"

Her blue eyes widened in astonishment and then she was shaking her head, reaching for his hand.

"Oh, Tywin. No, my love." Her eyes filled with tears again, and she heaved out a sob. "You did not fail me. You came as soon as possible. I saw what you did to that woman, Oberyn's daughter. You will avenge what has happened here; what wrong was done to us. I know this, Tywin."

He rose then, all leonine grace and muscled limbs and sat beside her, pulling her into his lap as she cried again.

"Hush, love. I will never be negligent in my protection of you or our children again. Never, Sansa. I vow this to you, here and now."

"I know,” she sobbed into his chest. “How could he even think to harm them, Tywin? They are innocent," she cried, pressing closer to him, as Serena was cradled between them.

"Do you want to go to the Rock?"

Sansa's blue eyes swung up to his, and though the words pained him, he forced them out.

"It is impenetrable. I could send Jaime and half the Lannister army, and no one would ever get you there, Sansa. It has never been breached and is the greatest seat in the entire Kingdom."

"Would you be there?"

He shook his head and his heart almost soared at that question. "No, love. When we took the crown from Joffrey, my fate was sealed. I will remain in King's Landing until I can root out all threats to us and destroy House Martell."

Sansa reached a hand up and cupped Tywin's face, running her hands through his whiskers as she so often had. "Then no, husband, I do not wish to go to the Rock. My place is by your side. As your wife and your Queen."

Tywin rested his forehead against hers, letting out a ragged breath.

"For all my days, Tywin. That was my pledge to you, in front of the seven and with each other. That pledge has not changed."

He nodded, staggered by her. "For all my days, Sansa. That is my pledge to you, wife. You are everything to me, little wolf.”

Tywin took another deep, shuddering breath.

"I want to destroy Dorne, brick by brick, Sansa. This fury is all-consuming."

"I know," she whispered back, knowing that there was no tempering the storm that raged inside him right now. "I know," she crooned over and over again until his heart rate slowed, and logic wormed it's way back inside him.

"Let me get the boys settled and then you need to clean yourself, Sansa."

She looked down as if startled by her appearance and the blood still on her gown. As she did, Serena stirred, rooting around, and Sansa knew that no matter what, life pushed forward. Her daughter was hungry and needed to be fed, her sons likely the same. Nymeria roamed closer, and both boys cried in delight at seeing the wolf.

Sansa allowed Tywin to help her to her feet, then gently undressed her, cradling Serena in his large hands as Sansa slipped into the now lukewarm tub of water. Tywin handed Sansa their daughter, who began to nurse and another part of Sansa's world righted itself again in the simplicity of such a task.

Sansa watched in astonishment as Tywin dried and dressed the boys for bed, getting them buns slathered in honey, uncaring that their sticky hands roamed over him as he rumbled out a story for them about lions and wolves. Their happy cries further settled Sansa. Finally, when they rubbed at their eyes, he placed them in the large bed, where the snuggled into one another and jerked his head once to the huge direwolf who hopped up and curled her frame around the two princes, protectively.

When that was done, Serena had finished nursing, and Tywin took the cloth from Sansa's hand.

"Allow me," was all he said, and cleaned her reverently, even though hardly any blood had spilled onto her skin. Sansa refused to look at the soiled gown, knowing it would be burnt and never seen again. When the water had cooled, Sansa finally rose with their daughter, and dried herself, dressing in one of Tywin's tunics, needing to feel close to him.

"Can you eat?" he asked. Someone had slipped a mild soup and fresh bread into an adjoining chamber, and she sighed.

"I feel ill to my stomach, but I must. My wet nurse is…" Sansa refused to finish that sentence and watched as the anger flared again in Tywin's eyes. He gave her a curt nod, then gently took her hand and led her to a small table where her dinner waited.

She sipped at the soup, forcing it past her lips and down her throat, knowing she only did so because her daughter needed her to keep producing milk.

When she'd eaten as much as possible, she went back to the bedroom and crawled beneath the covers with her children in between her and Nymeria.

"You aren't staying right now, are you?" she asked quietly. It was early evening, and Sansa knew that Tywin was needed as King.

"No love. But once I have things settled, I will be back." He brushed his lips across her forehead and tangled his hands in her hair.

She nodded, biting her lip. She wanted to beg; to say it was unfair that he couldn't stay with her, but she knew he had duties to attend to ensure they were safe. A slight commotion at the door altered Sansa to someone else and Arya was suddenly there.

"I'll stay, sister, until your husband returns. Dacey is outside, along with half the Northern army. They have formed a wall around the tent, Sansa. No one will enter tonight," Arya told her.

Sansa nodded shakily as Arya slipped into the bed with her and her children and her wolf.

Tywin looked at the picture they made; lions and wolves together and stronger for it.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, Sansa. But your sister is correct. No one will dare harm you tonight."

"Be quick, Tywin," was all Sansa said, and he nodded.

Then he and Arya exchanged a look, and Tywin knew his wife was as safe as he could make her at this moment. As he left, he heard Arya whispering to Sansa.

"I'm here, sister, and I'm not going anywhere." There was a muffled sob from his wife, which almost brought Tywin to his knees before he forced himself to leave the bedroom. He had to trust that Arya, their children and the wolf would be enough for Sansa right now.

When he righted himself, Jerrod was there, silent and holding out the red doublet Tywin preferred. They worked silently, both trying to tamp down the anger before it overwhelmed them and the King ordered the entire army to march to Dorne and destroy the southern kingdom.

When Tywin had finally dressed again, Jerrod stopped him with a single hand on his forearm.

Tywin arched an eyebrow. "My King, how is the Queen?" Jerrod asked.

This was Tywin's most loyal man, as faithful to him as Jaime and Kevan and Addam. He had been with Sansa from the very beginning, protecting her first from Joffrey and his brutish men, and later from others who sought to harm her. He knew the King and Queen in a way that few in the Kingdom could claim to. He had been with them through their marriage and the assassinations of both the King and the Queen regent. This was the man that had seen every part of their lives, and Tywin knew he loved Sansa deeply. There weren't many people in all of Westeros that Tywin felt he owed an answer to that question, but Jerrod was one of the few.

"Shaken, Ser Jerrod. Scared and upset," Tywin said lowly, so only he could hear.

Tywin saw the man's jaw tighten, the rage at what had been done to her and the children imprinted on each line in his face. Jerrod's eyes met Tywin's.

"I trust retribution will be swift and appropriate?"

Almost no one else in the entire kingdom could ask such a question to the King but this man. "It will, Ser Jerrod."

"Never again, My Lord. Never again will anyone get near her," Jerrod vowed to Tywin and the Great Lion clasped Jerrod to his chest.

"Never again," he agreed. Sansa would be protected for the rest of her life; she was everything, and he'd never allowed anything like this to happen to her again.

"There is something you must see, Sire," Jerrod said then, trusting that Tywin would deal with Dorne as he saw fit. Jerrod had no reason to believe otherwise; he had grown up on tales of Houses Reyne and Tarbeck.

Tywin arched an elegant eyebrow, before Jerrod drew back the flap to the tent, ushering Tywin through. Night had fallen, and torches had been lit in the camps, but that was not what stopped the king. No, what stopped the King was the sight of a ring of soldiers, ten deep if he wasn't mistaken, surrounding his tent. North and West, alternating, standing guard over his wife and children.

Dacey was there, along with Jon, Jaime, Royce and Stannis.

Before any of them could say a word, Lord Glover stepped forward. "The North remembers, Your Grace." His anger was palpable. "That is our Queen, and she is of the North."

Tywin could only nod and then looked down the line. North. West. North. West. An unbroken line that meant no one would get near Sansa tonight.

"Gather the Lords that are present," Tywin commanded, allowing Royce to lead him to yet another unfamiliar tent. The only way he'd been able to walk away from her, was that he'd seen Dacey slip inside the tent where his wife was sleeping, along with the rest of her Queensguards standing protectively in the innermost circle. The three who had died would need to be replaced, but for now, Sansa was as safe as Tywin could make her.

Within moments the small conclave had grown until every lord that was still at Harrenhal was before him. A small dais had been constructed, and standing beside him were Jaime, Jon, Royce and Stannis.

The Lords from the North were all accounted for, leaving their knights to guard their Queen, along with Dickon Tarly and those from the Reach, others from the Vale, Stormlands and Riverlands. But none from Dorne. It wasn't the first time that the southern Kingdom had failed to join in a war. Tywin remembered when Doran had marched his ten thousand troops to the high passes and yet halted them, claiming the only way Dorne would go to war was if Dorne was attacked. If only they all had such luxuries.

Tywin hoped Doran Martell was ready now, because he had struck first, and Tywin would not back down.

He looked over the faces of every man and woman present and his voice boomed out.

"The rumours that have spread like wildfire through camp are true. Today, the Queen of the seven kingdoms was attacked along with her children. It was only through the bravery of a few, quick thinking and strong swords, that she is alive tonight."

Angry murmurs and calls for vengeance circulated through the tent. Tywin's voice rose.

"We have eighty-thousand men. The greatest army Westeros has ever seen. Each region bowed; bent the knee, not only to me but Queen Sansa of House Stark. This attack was not just on House Lannister or House Stark, but on every region that pledged men to the Iron Throne. To each family that lost men and women in the battle against the Night King."

The swell of emotion grew in the tent.

"A great conclave will happen in King's Landing in two weeks. There, the traitors who sought to undermine my rule will be held accountable for their actions."

Tywin paused and looked through the crowd.

"Lady Catelyn Tully Stark Marbrand. Lady Brienne of Tarth. Prince Oberyn Martell. Ellaria Sand and her daughters. Doran Martell and his family. They will all answer for their crimes of treason."

"We should march to Dorne! Burn it to the ground!" Someone yelled.

"I've always hated those sand snakes," came another.

"Where was Dorne when we fought the army of the dead?"

"Or Robert's Rebellion?"

Tywin let their passion and their rage swell, knowing he had full control now with six of the seven kingdoms. While he would have never used his wife as bait, the attack on her had solidified the people’s love for her and his place as King. Tywin Lannister was not a man to waste an opportunity, no matter how callous it was. No one would want to be seen as going against him now.

"The North remembers," someone cried.

"So does the West. House Reyne and Tarbeck no longer draw air!"

As the cacophony of voices rose, Jaime met his father's eyes, arching an elegant eyebrow. Jaime knew his father had to be beyond anger at Oberyn's attack. Look at what his father had done to get Tyrion back and Tywin could hardly stand the dwarf. To attack the Great Lion’s beloved wife and children? Suicide and not just for the man stupid enough to engage in such an endeavour but his entire house.

Jaime had grown up with his father's legendary logic and need to avenge his house. There was nothing as important to Tywin as the family name and honour. So Jaime waited to see how far his father's fury would extend.

Tywin held up a hand, until quiet returned.

"We could, My Lords, march to Dorne when dawn breaks tomorrow. We could sweep over the lands, take their cities, pillage their stores and put a blade to every man, woman and child in the region." Tywin paused. "But we must be smart and think beyond mere vengeance. A quick death is not punishment enough."

The smile that Tywin Lannister, the King, bestowed upon the group was chilling and more than one man stepped back.

What could be more than vengeance? They thought.

It was what separated Tywin from most men. His logic; his reasoning and his unflinching coldness. To do what others wouldn’t even dare to dream. That and his ability to turn a near tragedy in his favour.

"When I am done, House Martell will wish they had heeded the call to war and turned their back on the idea of revenge against the King. We march to King's Landing tomorrow, where the greatest conclave in years will be held. Futures will be decided; houses will be rewarded, and those that dared to defy their King will be held to account."

Not a single Lord in the room had reason to disbelieve him. Tywin Lannister's almost pathological need to defend his house and his family was legendary. And so was the love he had for his wife, his Queen.

More than one man there wondered at the sanity of Oberyn Martell.

Tywin finished and stepped off the dais and swept out of the room; everyone knew the order had been issued, and the price of defiance would be death in the form of Tywin Lannister himself.

Tywin wanted more than a ruin of a region in the south. He wanted to own Dorne in a war no one other than the Martell’s or Targaryen’s had for hundreds of years. He wanted to be the King that finally broke that insolent house while feasting on the fruits of their region. No, Tywin would not destroy Dorne but own it and stamp lions and wolves over every sun he could find.

Jaime hurried to catch up to his father, the only man in the world right now, beside Jerrod and Arya, who would even dare talk to him when he was in this mood.

"What?" Tywin snarled when Jaime was beside him.

"Worse than vengeance?" Jaime said, a smirk in his voice.

Tywin whirled to his son and gripped him hard, words tumbling out.

"There are poisons that will let a person linger for months, in pain and agony, while they slowly wither away to nothing, Jaime. Tell me, if I chained Oberyn to a wall and forced him to watch that whore his calls his paramour and his bastard daughters die in such a way, would that be worse than vengeance Jaime? Perhaps I should find a goaler who takes particular pride in their work and allow them to slice bits and pieces of Doran's children off in front of the man until they are dead, and he too suffers the same fate."

Jaime held his father's eyes. "And what would Sansa have to say about such punishments?" Jaime mused and watched his father reel back.

"Do not talk about my wife as if you know what it is like to be a husband. Your marriage was a joke, at best when you finally agreed to one," Tywin snarled at his son.

Jaime shrugged. "It was. But Sansa is my friend, and I love her."

Tywin spun, needing to get away until Jaime's next words stopped him.

"I know she is capable of murder father."

Tywin turned and looked at Jaime, green eyes glittering in the night.

"I know what she did to Cersei. You all tried to tell me she didn't. But I knew."

Tywin said nothing; jaw clenched tight.

"It was quick. Clean. Painless – Cersei's death. And while I hated both of you for a time, I was grateful for that small mercy. I am not saying that Sansa won't want House Martell wiped from this earth. She should. But the way you promised in there?" Jaime said, gesturing back to the tent they had just left. "Tell me how you crawl into bed beside your beautiful wife, your good wife, when you have done that?"

Tywin stalked back to Jaime until their faces were mere inches apart. "He came for my wife. Do you know what she was willing to do, Jaime? She begged him to take her. To kill her, to spare our children. Tell me, how does a man live with himself when he fails to protect the only people in the kingdom that he loves. The rest of it could burn to the fucking ground for all I care. If she is dead, there is nothing left. I would not survive her death, Jaime."

Tywin's breath was ragged and filled with self-loathing and Jaime could only try to imagine what the man was going through. Knowing Sansa Jaime knew that would have been a sacrifice she would have been willing to make- her life for the safety of her children.

Tywin lowered his voice. "Tell me how I don't destroy everyone in House Martell for even thinking of harming her. I killed Joffrey and procured the poison to kill Cersei. My own flesh and blood, Jaime, to protect Sansa. How can anyone not believe I will destroy everything they love if they were to harm her? To think of harming her?"

Jaime shook his head in wonder at his father. Jaime had loved Cersei, to be sure, but even he was unsure if there was another man that loved as profoundly as Tywin Lannister did. He was wholly unashamed of his feelings for his wife and Jaime could only wish to find someone to love so thoroughly one day.

"I know what you have done for her. I know what you would do for her." Jaime paused and then clasped his father closer. "But Sansa has to still be able to look at you, Father. She has to be still able to love you afterwards. Quick and clean death, she can handle. But this," Jaime said, waving a hand in the air about their discussion of torture. "That type of death would destroy her and you, bit by bit."

Tywin snarled again, running a hand through his thinning hair, frustrated with his son, himself and this entire situation. No one questioned his decisions, but here was Jaime, warning him. He didn’t know whether to rage or laugh at such a situation.

Jaime saw his father, the most powerful man in the realm struggling and all because he loved Sansa beyond reason. Jaime knew that Tywin was a better man, a better king because of his wife, but he was just a man. And right now he was reeling. Jaime laid his hand on his father’s arm.

"Go back to your wife, father. Comfort her. Tomorrow we ride hard for King's Landing and then the conclave. Perhaps such vengeance will be required," Jaime said softly. "But do not make the same mistakes I did. Sansa did not die today, but your choices might destroy her all the same."

Tywin held Jaime's eyes.

"I am the impulsive one father. The one that makes ridiculous decisions that have detrimental impacts on our House. You can't take that from me,” Jaime smirked.

Tywin gazed at Jaime for a time, until he finally nodded.

Tywin found Jerrod and waved him over. "Send a raven to Willas Tyrell at Highgarden. His presence is required in King's Landing. Then send a raven to Doran Martell, demanding he present himself to the King in two weeks. Finally, send one to Addam in King's Landing. He is to secure Ellaria and her daughters until further notice."

With that done, Tywin finally turned and went back to his tent, the knights parting for him so he could get to his wife. When he entered, he ripped at the buckles on his doublet, needing, as Jaime had said, to hold his wife in his arms. Arya rose, having heard him come in, and nodded at him.

"The wolf stays," she said as she slipped out of the tent to find Jon and Rickon.

Belatedly, Tywin realized he hadn't even asked about Sansa's youngest brother, the one who had used his training sword, for fuck sakes, Tywin thought, to stop a man like Oberyn Martell.

A boy, to defend his wife! Tywin wondered if he should knight him for such bravery in the face of overwhelming odds.

Tywin had no idea how to reconcile these thoughts that seemed to torment him with his apparent failure, again and again. Lost in them, he came behind Sansa so he could hold her. She woke, turning in the dim light to see him, his face a testament to the war he was currently losing in his mind.

As he settled with her in his arms, he brushed his lips across her forehead, feeling her fingers stroke him lovingly. "Oh my lion, stop. You were exactly where you needed to be today. It is ridiculous to think you can be by my side at all times. You are the only man in the kingdom who has made me feel safe, day in and day out, Tywin."

He grunted, unwilling to argue with her even though she was wrong. His place was by her; to keep her safe or at least have such a reputation that no one would dare harm her. Clearly his reputation had failed today as evidenced by Oberyn’s attack.

Sansa narrowed her eyes. "For how long, My Lord?"

The King startled and turned his attention back to his wife and the look on her face. When she spoke to him in that tone, Tywin knew she was working up a head of anger towards him. He had been prepared for her fear, but once again, she showed her spine of steel with her fury. Pride surged through him, even as he spoke.

"How long, what, My Queen?"

Sansa snorted. "Do not, My Queen me. How long will you mope, Tywin?"

"Mope?" he asked, indignant and outraged. "He tried to kill you, Sansa. You and my children."

He was not moping! Didn’t she know what he wanted to do to House Martell? To Oberyn right now? He could make the man suffer in ways that were unimaginable to most.

"And he most likely won't be the last. We knew this, Tywin."

The way she said it told Tywin that somehow in the time he had been gone, she had started to come to terms with what had happened here today. Her tone was matter of fact. Not that of a martyr just a woman who knew her position would make her a target.

Tywin had seen it before; after the attack by the Kingsguards, when Harry Hardyng had come for her and even with her mother. Time and again, Sansa always rallied and he always loved her more for it. He couldn’t abide if she were the weak woman Cersei had claimed she was. No, Tywin thought, his wife was stronger than that.

He stared at her, green eyes into blue until Sansa sighed.

"I understand your rage, Tywin. I was there. I want House Martell wiped from the history books as much as you. But you did nothing wrong, husband. You were where you needed to be. Oberyn Martell, and perhaps Doran and Ellaria betrayed us, but that is not your fault Tywin. You are not a god, no matter how powerful you think you are. You cannot know everything."

"I left a few hours ago, and you were near incoherent in shock and grief. And now you think to lecture me, Sansa?" Tywin whispered angrily.

Tywin watched as his wife shrugged.

"There wasn't much your daughter said that I understood at the time. Not when I was alone and vulnerable in King's Landing. But she was right when she said when you play the game of thrones, you either win or you die. We choose to play the game Tywin and today we won. And House Martell lost."

Tywin stared at her until he felt her press her lips to his.

"Tywin, you will do what is necessary to avenge what was done to us; to right this treasonous act. But I cannot live with a man who will blame himself for doing his duty to the realm; the guilt will destroy you." She paused. "And us."

Tywin allowed a ragged breath to escape him. "But I failed you so spectacularly, Sansa. Like I failed Joanna," he said, voice barely above a whisper.

"You did not," Sansa said, tilting his chin, so their eyes met again. "Because this time, unlike the last, you have built a loyal family that surrounds me so that my safety is not just your responsibility Tywin. Think of it," Sansa urged him. "My little brother. Jon. Myrcella. Dacey. All of these people, in some way, were here today because of your actions. Our marriage, our alliance with the North, sending Stannis to the Wall, bringing Myrcella back from Dorne. You aren't alone, Tywin. Not anyone. This is nothing like what happened with Joanna."

Tywin's breathing became less laboured as he thought about her words. Somehow, logic and reason, it seemed, had come back to Sansa first. It annoyed him even as he was proud of her.

"I am consumed by rage, wife," he told her and she nodded, a bit sadly.

"I know," as if she had already accepted whatever vile acts he might commit in the name of his love for her. As if she would love him through his darkest actions, as she had done in the past. Tywin knew this was where Jaime was wrong. No matter what, Sansa would love him. But— did Tywin want her to have to love him if he became a monster?

"Nothing needs to be decided tonight, Tywin. Nor tomorrow. We have a little bit of time," she said, and he saw the sleepiness in her eyes.

"Go to sleep, my love," the King told his Queen, brushing his lips across her gently. "I'll guard you tonight and all nights to come."

Tywin felt some satisfaction when she slipped into rest but knew he would allow himself no such luxury. Sansa's words might have been accurate and had the treachery not been so fresh, and he might have been able to heed them. But for tonight, all that occupied Tywin Lannister's mind was how to make House Martell pay in the most painful ways possible.

* * *

The next morning their start for King's Landing did not begin as soon as Tywin would have liked, and he was a tyrant barking out orders for his camp to be dismantled and his family safely on their journey as quickly as possible. Word had spread at how the King has taken Obara's head, and everyone scurried to comply.

In one carriage was Shaggy, who had somehow, against all the odds, survived, along with Rickon, Sandor, Jeyne and Ned. That left Mycella to help Sansa and the princes, along with Serena in the other. That was until Tywin saw Stannis Baratheon limping by towards his horse.

"Lord Baratheon," Tywin bellowed. The Storm Lord stopped and turned, a look of discomfort on his face he was unable to hide.

Tywin stalked closer to him, seeing how pale and drawn he was. He'd need the man soon if his plans for House Martell were to be carried out.

"You'll ride in the carriage with the Queen," Tywin commanded and watched as Stannis' back stiffened. Tywin would have smirked had it not been such a dire situation. Leaning in, before Stannis could protest, Tywin spoke.

"Who else can I trust with the Royal Navy, Lord Stannis?"

Stannis' eyes widened.

"I can make any fool Hand of the King," Tywin said, lowly, dismissing the second most powerful position in the kingdom as a mere afterthought. "But, I trust only one man to blockade Dorne to the point where I can get Doran Martell to surrender to me."

The Stag's eyes narrowed. "I thought House Martell was all summoned to King's Landing?"

Tywin snorted. "And you think they will come? Knowing what Oberyn has done?"

Stannis shook his head, then cocked it.

Tywin laid a hand on Stannis' shoulder.

"What Robert did to you after you held Storm's End was nothing less than cruel insanity. I meant to make you Hand, Lord Stannis. You have performed your duty admirably since the moment you came to King's Landing. But there is no one else for Master of Ships. Perhaps Baelor Hightower," Tywin said after a moment, and Stannis snorted.

"No, Your Grace. I am your man, as always and wherever you need." Stannis's ego was healthy enough for him to know there was no one his equal, not even the Iron Born when it came to the sea. And he could see the truth in Tywin Lannister's eyes about making him his hand. He had not expected that, especially after he'd seen the pin on Jaime's breast. The Lannister's were well known for their nepotism. But obviously the King had different ideas which, Stannis had to admit, both pleased and intrigued him.

"And the carriage, Your Grace?" Stannis asked, looking towards it with disgust.

Tywin glanced to where his wife and children were being loaded inside. "Her guards will hardly leave her side, and Jerrod hovers over her like a mother over newborn kittens." Tywin paused. "Still, if anything were to happen…." He didn't finish his sentence, and he did not need to. Stannis knew what the King was worried about. Then those cat green eyes swung back to Stannis.

"I need you healthy, Lord Baratheon, and sooner rather than later. Don't be a fool. Ride in the carriage. You're as likely to fall from your horse as you are to stay on it."

With that final decree, the King walked away, assured that Stannis would follow his orders because he was the King, and he was correct. If Stannis was to take his rightful place as Master of Ships, and there was no one quite his equal in all of Westeros, he needed to heal as fast as possible.

Giving a resigned sigh, Stannis made his way to the carriage; sure, this journey could not possibly get any worse.

* * *

Half a day later, and Stannis Baratheon had a new respect for women - mother's specifically. He had been impressed with the Queen when he'd first met her, pregnant with her sons, and had seen how she had tamed the Great Lion. Then she had welcomed his daughter, uncaring about the scarring on her face and opening her home to Shireen, providing her with a proper female role model that befit Shireen's station.

There had been more than one political discussion with Sansa present, and Stannis had watched, somewhat amazed and astounded as Tywin had listened and respected Sansa's opinions, all while teaching her and guiding her. It was more than clear what he had been doing, giving her as much knowledge as possible to ensure she was in a position to rule in his stead should anything happen to him.

Stannis understood all too well the driving desire to ensure that a proud family name carried on. He was the last of the Baratheon brothers, and neither Robert nor Renly had left any legitimate children. Only him. In fact, one of Robert's so-called children was sitting across from him in the carriage, playing with the two golden-haired princes.

Stannis snorted, wondering how anyone had believed the lies that Cersei had woven, including Robert. Not only did Myrcella look like Jaime, but she also had his temperament and disposition. Still, the entire debacle didn't sting nearly as much since Joffrey Baratheon had been murdered, and Tywin had taken the throne by conquest, thus severing the Baratheon claim to the Iron Throne. 

Watching Sansa, Stannis realized that he would have needed more than just himself, his convictions and his belief in what was right, to have held the seven kingdoms together. He would have required a wife like her. It was what the realm been lacking for so long; the stability that two well-born, properly educated, intelligent and rational monarchs brought to the Iron Throne. Aerys' had not been that ruler, and neither had Robert. Joffrey was almost a joke, if not for incredible damage he had been able to inflict in such a short period. Thank gods he was dead.

No, Stannis thought, watching Sansa with her sons, there was something about having a capable Queen that was well-loved throughout the kingdom, from commoner to the King himself that set a man apart from others. Sansa brought gentleness and compassion to one of the coldest and most logical men in the realm, and that was what made all the difference in their rule.

Finally, when both the princes and Myrcella had drifted off to sleep, and Sansa had finished nursing her daughter, Stannis cleared his throat. He had to admit, being on a horse would have been excruciating, especially given the relentless pace the King set. Even being jostled about in this contraption was almost more pain than he could endure. But endure he would because he was that type of man.

Stannis could hardly blame the King for wanting to be back in the security of King's Landing as soon as possible. If Stannis never set eyes on Harrenhal again, it would be too soon. That place was hell on earth; he was convinced.

"Tell me, Your Grace, how is my daughter?" Stannis asked quietly when all the others were asleep.

Sansa gave him a smile, not forced, but not as bright as he remembered. He knew she had to be still dealing with the attack from yesterday.

"Please, call me Sansa. We're practically family, Stannis."

He startled a bit, unsure if he could but nodded, unwilling to argue with a woman who had been attacked a mere day ago.

"She is well. I am sure she is anxious to see you. I sent word immediately when I knew you had survived the Long Night."

Stannis thanked her before asking his next question, one that had been bothering him for some time.

"And this Gendry person?"

Sansa gave a little shake of her head and shared the story about how Gendry had saved Tywin during the riots in Flea Bottom.

"My husband swears it was like looking at a young Robert Baratheon with a war hammer in his hand."

Stannis' eyes narrowed. "And you trust him?"

"Hmmm?" Sansa asked, distracted for a moment. Each mile that was put between her and Harrenhal brought an added relief, which was silly considering Oberyn Martell was still alive somewhere in this massive procession that made its way down the King's Road.

"You trust this bastard?" Stannis almost spit the word, wondering what the young man's angle was. His voice had deepened, and he wondered at the King and Queens judgement to let this nobody from Flea Bottom around his daughter.

Sansa's eyes narrowed. "I do, Lord Stannis. He has more than proven himself, and works to better himself daily."

Stannis snorted. "Doubtful."

Sansa cocked her head. "Tell me, is it the fact that he is Robert's by-blow, or simply that he is poor and undedicated that makes you hate a man without even meeting him again?"

Stannis startled a bit at her tone, but before he could continue, Sansa rushed on and he failed to linger on the word again.

"Because, My Lord," she said, tone clipped and angry, "I have come to learn that it is more about a person's deeds and character than the status of their birth. Oberyn Martell, Petyr Baelish, Roose Bolton, Joffrey Baratheon, hell even my mother, were all of noble birth, and they have shown themselves to be the worst sorts of traitors and liars."

Stannis sat there a bit stunned by her outburst.

"Do you know what he asked for- this bastard of Robert's?"

Stannis shook his head, intrigued despite himself. The Queen was even more beautiful when she was angry and passionate about a cause.

"When we brought Gendry into our decadent rooms, filled with more gold than most people have seen in a lifetime, this bastard smith from Flea Bottom asked the richest man in the kingdom, the King, Lord Stannis, for some new boots. And to be trained as a knight. Not a castle. Not a thousand gold dragons. Not to be legitimized. He asked for boots, Lord Stannis, so forgive me if I do not judge him the same way that you do."

They were silent for a time.

"Robert and I had a tumultuous relationship, My Queen. I can admit, to you, to being jealous of his closeness with your father. Time and again, I did my duty for House Baratheon, and Robert passed me over again and again," Stannis shared with her.

She gave him a stiff nod. "Neither my father nor Robert were quite the people others would have us believe them to be," Sansa conceded.

Stannis was surprised, hearing that from Ned Stark's daughter. It seemed she had come to some brutal realizations during her time in King's Landing.

"My brother soiled my marriage bed with my wife's sister on the night of my marriage, Lady Sansa," Stannis shared again, wondering where these words came from. "After I kept Storm's End, kept it for over a year as my men starved, and we ate rats and our boots, he sent me to Dragonstone to kill Daenerys and Viserys. When I failed in that task, Robert thought it a jape to give me that seat, while allowing Renly to become Lord of Storm's End."

Sansa sighed, weary and tired. "I know, Lord Stannis. It was wrong. So much of what Robert did was wrong."

"Your father sent me a raven, saying he would support my claim to the Iron Throne. Had he not been killed…" Stannis let the sentence trail off.

"But he was, My Lord. I miss my father. I can still take myself back to that day his head was taken, and it is just as awful as when it happened. But he was not without faults, Stannis. Just like my husband, and Jaime, and Robb and a host of other men and women in the seven kingdoms."

"Some are worse than others." Stannis' grey eyes met hers.

Sansa nodded. "Some are." She was looking at her daughter, perfect and beautiful.

"What makes a woman like you, someone so good in this cruel world, approach a man like Tywin Lannister?" Stannis asked after a time. His lips had been loosened from the wine and small amount of sweet sleep he was taking for the pain. He'd long ago worked out that it hadn't been the Great Lion that had initiated his marriage. Tywin had been single for too long to have allowed himself to see what someone like Sansa could have brought him.

Sansa's blue eyes met Stannis' grey ones.

"He was the only man who could protect me from the King."

Stannis nodded. That made sense.

"And falling in love with a man like him? Surely you knew his reputation?" Stannis couldn't help but let the judgement colour his words. This woman before him was good, and her husband was decidedly not.

Sansa arched an elegant eyebrow. "Casting stones, Lord Stannis?"

He shook his head, confusion marring his features at her words and tone.

"Gendry told us what you would have done to him on Dragonstone, My Lord. Tell me, what man murders an innocent one to appease a woman and a god, not even of this land? What was your role, Lord Stannis, in the death of your brother?" Her words were a direct hit.

The Stag lord paled and tightened his lips, unsure what he might say in his defence. He had killed his brother and almost another blood relation to gain more power and take what was rightfully his; that was an inescapable fact.

"I was well aware of Tywin's reputation before I sought him out. It was the reason I sought him out, and I make no apologies for that. I was alone, friendless, and near-death in that horrid place. He was the one person who might protect me. He could have just as easily killed me, My Lord. Everything my husband has done has been for his house and the family name. And I can name a dozen or so other Lords who do as much or more."

Her passionate defence of the Great Lion did not surprise Stannis, but it did make him envious that the King had found a woman such as this and somehow won her love.

“I did not expect love when I married Lord Stannis; only safety. But I would have been a fool to deny myself that emotion. For what person would? We all want love, My Lord.” Sansa paused and then continued. “My husband loves deeply, quite unlike any other man I have known.”

"And now? Should he march on Dorne? Will you condone his actions as he wipes a people from the map of Westeros? Innocent people? Those who have no say in what Oberyn Martell set in motion?"

Sansa's eyes glittered. "Love does not have conditions. Besides, My Lord, ask House Frey and House Bolton what I would condone to keep those I love safe," was her only response.

Stannis startled at that, having thought that had been all Tywin Lannister. Clearly, their relationship was much more profound than even he had realized.

"Those were only two houses, much like Reyne and Tarbeck. I'm talking about an entire region, Your Grace," Stannis pressed on, unsure why it mattered to him that the Queen might support her husband in Dorne's destruction.

Sansa sighed and looked away. She would not share her concerns about Tywin's plan with Stannis, not before she had spoken with her husband. But as she looked back at him, a thought struck her.

"There are other ways to end wars, My Lord and to bring peace. Other ways to bring a rogue region under control."

Stannis arched an eyebrow. "And what might those be?" He expected her to say something like blockades or reparations.

"Marriage. And last I checked, you were in need of a wife." Sansa arched an elegant eyebrow as Stannis Baratheon paled under her announcement.

With that, the carriage came to a halt, their endless day over for now. Sansa exited the carriage, and she didn't even spare Stannis a second glance. As Tywin approached, Stannis was standing there, looking at the Queen, equally shocked and slightly worried.

"What?" Tywin barked at the man.

Stannis shook his head. "Your wife is a remarkable woman, Your Grace.” Tywin grunted and looked to see if Stannis was in love with her the way all men seemed to be whenever they spent any time with Sansa. But all he could see was disbelief on the man's face.

"And scary. Perhaps even more so than you." With that cryptic comment, Stannis went to find a bed and to try to make sense of what he'd just learned- and been told. Because Stannis has no doubts that if Sansa wanted him married, married he would be. There wasn't a thing that Tywin would not do to make his wife happy. And that included using whatever tools were at her disposal.

One thing was sure, Sansa Lannister would make a remarkable ruler one day, of that Stannis Baratheon, had no doubts.

When Tywin eventually slipped into bed beside his wife that night, she curled into his arms.

"What on earth did you say to make Stannis Baratheon so scared, Sansa?" Tywin asked, delighted by her but curious as well. It had been eating at him for hours.

She gave him a sleepy smile. "I simply told him there are other ways to end a war, besides the complete annihilation of the common people."

Tywin frowned. "And what way is that, Sansa?"

She kissed him and said, "Marriage, my lion." Then she cuddled deeper into his embrace, while Tywin's mind spun.

Marriage.

He hadn't even considered the possibility.

He looked at the woman in his arms. Their marriage had ended the war of the five kings and united the West and North. Their marriage had brought six of the seven kingdoms together, to defeat one of the greatest enemies they had ever faced. Their marriage had ushered in a feeling of new peace and hopefully new prosperity.

Marriage.

Tywin chuckled softly, releasing some of the pent up tension from the day. He brushed his lips across her forehead. "Clever little wolf," he told her, his voice filled with awe and love.

They would be home soon enough, and then plans would be made. But once again, Sansa had proven herself more than capable at the role of Queen. She was, as he'd known for some time, his greatest treasure and the most precious thing in his life.

The next morning before Stannis entered the carriage again, hating it but knowing he could not ride at the pace they currently were, Tywin laid a hand on his chest.

"Try not to anger my wife too much today, Lord Baratheon," The King said, a smirk in his voice.

Stannis went to protest, and Tywin held up a hand. "I know what she said to you, and she is not wrong." With that, Tywin strode away, leaving an amused Jaime Lannister and Jon Targaryen behind to witness his humiliation.

"Don't feel bad," Jaime said quickly, leaning against his huge white horse. The fucking Lannister's, Stannis thought. They always had to be fucking pretty.

Jon laughed as well and clapped Stannis on the back. "She only speaks to you like that if she thinks you're family. It means you matter to her."

Stannis stared at the two men for a moment, unsure how his life had come to have them in it. The trueborn son of Lyanna and Rhaegar and Jaime fucking Lannister. But somehow, they were, and they were… close. Perhaps he and Jaime still had too much history and bitterness between them, but the links that were forging between their families grew tighter by the day.

“I am not the only unmarried man that could end a war,” Stannis said looking at the two of them. That statement wiped the smirks from their faces.

As Stannis sat in the carriage on the second day, he thought about his own attempt to claim the Iron Throne. He snorted when he recalled how he couldn't even rally all the houses from his own region to his cause. Had he really thought that he would be able to unite a Kingdom just because it was his by right? He'd been a fool; he could see that now.

The day was mostly uneventful. Sansa focused on her children and Myrcella, sighing happily when, at the end of the second day, they crossed back into the Crownlands.

She gave Stannis a slight shrug. "It is silly. This place has been the site of some of my greatest tortures and biggest heartaches, but now it is home."

Myrcella smiled brightly and clasped Sansa's hand. "But now you are happy here, right, Lady Sansa?"

Myrcella only ever wanted people to be happy, and after spending two days with her, Stannis had lost all hatred towards her. She was a sweet woman with none of Cersei's darkness. A small part of Stannis ached for his brother, wondering if he'd ever even suspected what he'd missed out on with Cersei's deception.

"I do love it, now, Cella. But mostly because of the people. I miss Lady Genna and Lady Shireen and wonder how large baby Joanna has grown. I cannot wait to see Ser Marbrand," Sansa said a bit wistfully. They had only been gone a short while, but the journey had been fraught with extreme emotion.

"I also hope to see the Sunset Sea and Casterly Rock." Cella smiled at Sansa. And then Sansa's grin grew wider. "And take my husband to Winterfell. There are bathing pools I'm sure he'd enjoy."

Myrcella blushed but laughed happily. "Oh, I am sure he would love that, Sansa. His favourite spot is his terrace, where he can see the sunset."

It was decidedly odd and slightly uncomfortable to hear these two women discussing Tywin Lannister with such ease as if he were naught more than a man with a loving wife. One could almost forget the nearly unmatched power he now commanded now that he was the King. To hear them speak, he was simply their family and a man both women loved.

The next day passed in much the same way. Stannis listened as Myrcella shared more about Gendry. She, too, had taken up his cause, and it made Stannis smile when he heard how insistent Shireen had been that he learn to read and write. His daughter was bright, and it stunned Stannis a bit to realize how much these two highborn women seemed to value that in her.

Of course, Stannis couldn't help but compare Sansa's intelligence to Shireen's and knew they were similar in nature. It did surprise Stannis that Myrcella, a woman he'd thought to be nothing more than a pretty, vapid thing, seemed to appreciate Shireen for who she was.

"I imagine she'll have Gendry reading in no time. He was already making good progress when we left," Myrcella said. She had been reading to the princes before, who were now asleep.

Both Myrcella and Sansa spent the endless hours in the carriage with a needle and thread, speaking candidly of those at court. Stannis swore he learned more about the nobility in these past few days than he had ever before.

Once again, it struck Stannis what a boon a well-connected wife could be for a man. Selyse had never fit in; too much a religious fanatic and outsider to make any lasting friendships or connections with others. It had left Stannis very much in the dark, and he could see how this was such a vital part of the King's success; this network of gossip and information that flowed between the high born women at court.

It was only when they were getting close to King's Landing that the topic of Dorne was broached and by Myrcella herself.

"Grandfather will punish them, won't he, Sansa?" she asked quietly, late in the afternoon of the fifth day. Tomorrow they would enter the city and then within a week, the great conclave of their time would begin.

Sansa nodded. "Yes, Myrcella. Something must be done."

Myrcella sighed. "They aren't bad people, Sansa. Not all of them, at least."

Sansa cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

Myrcella blushed a bit but met the Queen's gaze.

"Doran has kept Arianna locked away and isolated. I was one of the only people allowed to speak with her, and that was because I was viewed as little better than her."

Sansa frowned. "But she is his heir." Sansa had studied the inheritance practices and laws of each region. Dorne's inheritance did not follow gender, only birth order.

Myrcella's voice dropped. "Arianne discovered her father's intentions for her. She was livid and screamed at him, or so I was told. From that point forward, he has kept her at arm's length, only confiding in his sons and his brother."

"What were his intentions?"

"Viserys," Myrcella told both Sansa and Stannis.

Sansa, of course, knew this, as did Tywin, but apparently, that was news to Stannis.

"And she objected?" he asked, leaning forward.

"Vehemently. That lead to her father all but locking her in a tower in the Old Palace. She was rarely allowed to come out and was quite lonely there." Mycella paused and sighed, picking at her gown. "He won't let House Martell live, will he?"

Sansa reached for her hand and shook her head. "No, Myrcella. He cannot. They betrayed us; betrayed our house and their pledge of loyalty."

Tears filed Myrcella's eyes, and she nodded. "There are many innocent people there, Sansa. People like in Flea Bottom that have no other choice but to live where they were born. They had no say in what Oberyn chose to do."

"I know," Sansa said, swallowing hard. The carriage was quiet for a time; all three adults lost in their thoughts.

"I do not think that the region is as prosperous as they would have us all think," Myrcella added, saying at times it seemed the people were almost starving while those in the palace ate well.

Then her pretty green eyes took on a decidedly worried look. "Oberyn's daughters are vicious creatures, Sansa. They will not stop once they learn that you have their father."

Sansa sighed, knowing it was true. She wondered then if she were a fool ever to hope that this endless cycle of violence and revenge would stop. Even if Tywin eliminated all of House Martell, there would be others that would come for them. Perhaps not in the coming weeks or months, but someday.

Her husband found her that night, quiet and reflective in their room, sitting beside the bed where their children rested.

"Sansa?" The King asked, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She didn't even turn and look at him. "It will never end, will it, Tywin?"

"What won't?"

"War. Violence. The need for power and control."

He didn’t answer because there was nothing to say to that.

Her blue eyes raised to meet his.

"I wish we could give them a different world. A better one."

Tywin said nothing, slipping into his nightclothes, and taking a seat beside her.

"Perhaps we cannot change everything, but some things. Your reforms in Flea Bottom have undoubtedly made a difference to those that now have a brighter future."

She snorted. "Inconsequential."

Tywin reached for her hand. He was not in the habit of having to prop his wife up or buoy her spirits, so he found himself at a bit of a loss. "Perhaps inconsequential for the realm, but not for that person. Take Gendry and how his life has changed," Tywin said, settling in and finding himself enjoying this debate.

"Stannis still thinks he is less than us because of his birth, which was not of his choosing," Sansa said pointedly.

Tywin snorted. "Stannis is a stubborn man who allows himself to be ruled by the ideas of proper etiquette and decorum."

Sansa frowned. "Still, Tywin, what does it matter if violence continues?"

Tywin sighed and then pulled Sansa onto his lap, loving the breathless sigh she let out. His wife was fundamentally good, one of the best people in the kingdom.

"We can make it less, Sansa. Peace can bring stability to thousands. It can fill their larders and allow them to worry less. It can ensure that fathers are there to guide and teach their children. Yes, it may seem contradictory to claim that some force is needed for there to be peace, but that is the way of this world."

Sansa turned and looked into her husband's eyes. "Do you truly believe that?"

"I do, my love. My time as hand for Aerys saw some of the most prosperous for the realm."

Sansa snorted. "For the already wealthy, Tywin. That is not true reform."

He chuckled softly. "Fair enough. I cared little for the common people then and won't pretend I did. But, you have opened my eyes to their plight, and now, I see the love they have for you."

They were quiet for a time as they looked at their children. "I hate that they might one day have to do the things we have, Tywin."

The king had nothing to say to that, and could only hold his wife tighter. He knew the world in which they lived. Perhaps he might be able to make it safer for a time, but both his sons would be required to be strong men to defend the family name; to keep the Lannister legacy secure. He expected nothing less of them.

Sansa turned and brushed her lips across her husband's. Sometimes she expected so much from him, and she knew it wasn't fair. Tywin Lannister did not create the world in which they operated and making him feel guilty about it would get her nowhere. She could only try to change what was within her power.

"I love you, husband," she told him softly, reverently.

"I love you, wife."

"I am excited to be back in our own rooms tomorrow," she added, and she rumbled out a laugh.

"As am I."

Tywin's anger towards House Martell, Lady Catelyn and Lady Brienne had not dimmed. Each mile, they came closer to the capital he felt it build. But he would shield Sansa from the worst of his temper.

Tomorrow they would ride for King's Landing victorious in one war while turning their eyes to the south. The great conclave of their time would happen in a week, and it would decide the fate of Westeros for years. Tywin Lannister knew the next few months would be critical to establishing the Lannister dynasty that was within his grasp, and he was not a man that lost at anything he did.

Their enemies would feel his wrath. Those that sought to harm or undermine him would be rooted out. Those that had pledged loyalty to them would be rewarded.

The Great Lion had almost everything he had ever wanted, and he didn't mean to fail now. He would do whatever necessary to protect those he loved most, and anyone who doubted him would see the real power of Tywin Lannister in the upcoming weeks. For now, though, his family was safe, his wife was in his arms, and they were almost home. He knew their welcome would be one of the largest that the capital had ever seen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reunions galore in King's Landing since every one and their wolves are here. 
> 
> And the Great Conclave. 
> 
> Once again, I love the passion this story brings. I do read and respond to each comment. And I take them all under consideration. 
> 
> So feel free to hit me up with your thoughts on this latest installment.


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tywin and Sansa arrive back in King's Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 50 chapters. Wow. This story has had so many ups and downs, and one I've at times struggled with. So for all those who are still here with me, my many, many thanks.
> 
> To SA and LC - two wonderful people who help me sort through so many twisty plotlines and are the best cheerleaders- thank you.
> 
> For everyone who continues to comment- thank you.
> 
> I feel that this chapter is a love letter to the two mains and I make NO apologies for it. I know we have BIG plot points to get through, but please indulge me in this chapter. 
> 
> Also, there is a big surprise that I hope people love! So let me know what you think 
> 
> All the best and (one day late) happy solstice! For those who celebrate Happy Hanukkah. May the light shine in the darkest of days! 
> 
> T

_ An Inn, half a day from King's Landing _

As Sansa ran her hand down the luxurious, red fabric of the dress she chose for today, her fingers lingering on the golden lions and silver wolves stitched into the heavy material, she tried to recall how many times that they had done this - dressed to impress the Lords of the realm. There had been more than one beautiful gown that Sansa had donned; and many times in which she had dressed with her husband.

She remembered what seemed like an age ago, dressing for Margaery and Joffrey's dinner party, where Margaery sat her beside Willas Tyrell in a desperate attempt, Sansa could now see, to secure the North for the Tyrell's and their bid for the Iron Throne. Sansa giggled when she thought about how angry Tywin had been that night, unable to declare to the entire court that they were engaged to be wed, and having to sit through her making small talk with the crippled lord from the Reach.

Sansa’s handmaidens knew better than to ask what was on the Queen’s mind. When she had such a look on her face, they knew she was thinking of her husband. The love between the two of them was legendary amongst those that served Tywin and Sansa.

Her husband, now the King, noticed the smile on her face and rose from the desk where he was reading correspondence like a moth drawn to a flame. Sansa was the flame; the light in the darkness that had haunted him for too many years. The thought that he had come so close to losing her still sent chills down his spine.

With a flick of his hand, Tywin dismissed the handmaidens that had woven his wife's hair into some intricate style atop her head, leaving her elegant neck and shoulders bare.

"Love?" he asked, softly when they were just alone, taking her against his chest, allowing his body to cradle hers, brushing his lips across her neck, loving the sweet taste that was Sansa. Lemons and lavender, no matter where they were. It was a touchstone that Tywin relied on more than he cared to admit.

"I was trying to think of each time we have chosen our clothing together for a greater purpose," Sansa told him, turning to receive a kiss that he always seemed willing to bestow upon her lips. She hummed in appreciation as his lips found hers. “So many dinners, my lion,” Sansa murmured.

"The dinner with Margaery and Joffrey was the first time," Sansa said and heard Tywin snort.

"A disaster," the King muttered, recalling wanting to kill both Lord Willas and Joffrey that night. And how afterwards, he'd held Sansa in his arms, her curled up against him in the gardens of the hand. It was the first time he'd held a woman since his first wife had died. He'd known then that she meant more to him than merely securing the North.

"Our wedding," Sansa said, her voice taking on a dreamy tone, then her breath hitched. "I miss him, Tywin," she said, refusing to speak Kevan's name. The grief was too fresh. Indeed, in the days since the attack by Oberyn, Sansa had longed to have her goodbrother by her side.

"He was so proud when you asked him to walk you down the aisle," Tywin choked out, the memory of that day awash in bittersweet memories. He never thought anything could hurt as much as losing Joanna, but Kevan's death staggered Tywin daily. The only difference was now he had Sansa. His wife. His lioness. His Queen.

"The night we killed the King," Sansa continued, both quiet and reflective, thinking of that night when she had worried that something might go horribly wrong. They had rarely spoken about what they had to do in order to secure their current positions. 

Tywin supposed he shouldn't be shocked when she indicated the deed had been done by the two of them, even though the King's blood had been on his hands. He still remembered walking into the Great Hall earlier that evening with her on his arm – it had been apparent even then that she was the true Queen of the seven kingdoms. His daughter and the King had been positively livid with him, but Tywin had known, the future of House Lannister resided with Sansa.

"Our coronation," Tywin continued. "Both of them." Sansa smiled, chasing away a bad memory with the good.

Those were fond memories, thinking that they had put themselves in a position to keep their family safe, although the formal coronation was now a bittersweet considering the betrayal of not just Oberyn but also her mother.

Sansa felt like a fool now, seeing how easily Oberyn had gotten to her and their children.

Still, she couldn't have even imagined what her life might have been like had either Joffrey or Cersei lived.

"When we presented the twins to the court," Sansa said, continuing. She had been so confident that if someone were going to strike at them, it would have been then. But a viper waits for the right time, and that afternoon had not been it, Sansa now knew. She hadn’t thought that Oberyn had the patience that he had displayed.

"Weddings and funerals," Tywin added, brushing his lips against her neck again, liking when she shuddered in his arms. Her mother and Tyrion's wedding; Cersei, Joffrey and Tyrion’s funeral.

"And now, here we are. Leading the largest single army that has ever been amassed in Westeros, victorious back to King's Landing," Sansa said, finally turning fully and reaching up to cup her husband's face.

She knew precisely what Tywin was, not only in reputation but to the realm. To many, Tywin Lannister was their greatest enemy; a man that was ruthless, cunning and utterly without compassion.

But to her, he was her greatest friend, her lover, her confidant and the person she trusted the most in the seven kingdoms. She could barely conceive of a day that he would not be here, to not hold her in his strong arms each night.

Sansa knew some objected to his rule. Those that thought him harsh and cold and demanding. And he was all those things. Sansa had learned he needed to be to keep the realm safe. It was his duty as the King; to protect those under his care. He had done that job admirably for years as the Warden of the West.

Sansa would defend her husband against anyone who questioned him; friend or foe. She thought about Stannis and Oberyn, two powerful lords who had questioned not only her loyalty but her ability to love Tywin Lannister.

Sansa would not shy away from what she felt for this man before her. He was her entire world, and Sansa knew all his secrets, all the darkness and all the burdens heaped upon his shoulders. Tywin had taught her more about ruling and power than anyone else, and she was forever in his debt.

"Are you sure you can ride, love?" Tywin asked, after a time, stroking her back. Sansa saw the concern on his face. He thought it was too soon for her to take to horseback, with Serena barely three weeks old, but Sansa knew it was necessary. She needed to be seen by the people as they rode into King’s Landing. 

"I will be fine, my King," she said confidently.

Sansa could see there was something on his mind, and she cocked her head, stroking her hand through his whiskers, loving how he turned in to her caresses as he had always done. It was a gesture that belonged to them.

"They must be dealt with, Sansa. And we cannot be seen to show any favouritism," Tywin said and watched as his wife's mouth turned down.

"To my mother and Lady Brienne," she responded, and Tywin gave a short, jerky nod. He knew they were both anxious to be back in King’s Landing, but there were huge issues facing them at home. 

"Yes." Tywin paused. “Especially with Oberyn receiving his trial at the same time.” Tywin planned on putting all three before the Lords of Westeros, trying them all for treason against the Crown.

Sansa's blue eyes reached Tywin's. "I know, my love. I know what needs to be done."

"If they are found guilty, then I must…"

Sansa rose and stole his words with a kiss. "I will not judge you when you say those words Tywin. Their lives were forfeit when they made the choices they did. I will not condemn you for being the King the realm needs."

Tywin shuttered out a breath he'd been holding. He still was quite at a loss to understand how he'd come to win the love, trust and acceptance of such a woman.

Sansa had no equal in the realm, Tywin knew that for sure. He was reluctant to compare Joanna and her, but even he knew his first wife would never have been the Queen that Sansa was. Joanna had been content in the Westerlands, at his beloved Casterly Rock, whereas Sansa was made for this role.

It was as if Sansa had been born to rule, somehow able to blend pragmatism with compassion, logic with empathy.

Sansa was the first to recover from their brief reminiscence and reached for the crown that Tywin would wear as they rode into King's Landing. He bowed his head, to her and only her, as she put it on his head. When his head rose, he brushed his lips against her, loving how her blue eyes warmed with his touch.

When it came to her crown, Sansa did the same, loving how he knew exactly how she liked it placed. Since the Lannister choker was in King's Landing, along with her diamond snowflake necklace, Tywin fastened the lion torque one around her neck, so once again, Sansa was both wolf and lion.

“My wife,” the King whispered into her ear and loved it when she shivered. There wasn’t a man in the realm, Tywin was convinced, that wouldn’t be affected by his wife.

"It is time," Tywin said, and Sansa nodded.

When they exited the Inn, it was a similar scene to the one that has awaited them the day of the funerals, with everyone in the realm turned out in their best.

Jaime in golden armour, Jon in his pragmatic, dark Northern leathers. Sansa made a note to speak to her cousin about what new sigil he might create now that he was solely responsible for House Targaryen.

Her sister was cleaned and carefully presented, not in a dress, but in a tunic that their father favoured. Rickon, her brave brother, stood proudly between Arya and Sandor, also sporting a tunic, and if Sansa weren't mistaken, a carved wolf on the pommel of his training sword.

On and on it went, as far as the eye could see. The men and women that had come and fought and won against the Long Night. This was as much their moment as it was Tywin and Sansa's. So much so that it brought a tear to her eye.

Waiting for Sansa was her mount from King's Landing, her beautiful white mare that Tywin had gifted to her over a year ago.

"How?" she asked, turning to him, and the King allowed a small smile just for her, watching as Sansa stroked the horse. Of course, Tywin’s great warhorse was white as well, and he knew the dashing image they would present as they made their way home.

"I am the King, my love. To make you happy, nothing is outside my power," Tywin stated.

She gave him a jerky nod, and then uncaring of their audience, leaned in to kiss him chastely on the cheek. When she stepped back, she bowed, giving a proper curtsey and murmured, "My King."

Those close to her heard her words, and the chant began anew. The love story of their King and Queen inspiring those from across the realm to voice their full acceptance of their monarchs.

"Long live the King and Queen of Westeros!"

Tywin helped her onto her mount. She had forgone a cloak today, the cold grip of winter lessening by the day, and the bright sunshine making it so that she knew she’d be warm enough in her heavy gown. 

Sansa watched as he swung up onto his. Even at his age, he was agile and strong, and Sansa felt a tremor of desire course through her body, seeing him thusly mounted. She welcomed it openly, knowing the past few months had been one horror after another.

It was odd seeing him without his iconic red sash, but his figure was no less handsome. He had chosen the red doublet she so loved, choosing to forgo armour. He looked to her, his Queen and cocked his head. Then Sansa grinned, and Tywin unsheathed his sword.

"To King's Landing, where we will celebrate our victory against our foes!" his voice roared out, and laughing, Sansa kicked her mare and all but flew down the King's Road, the wind in her hair giving her a sense of freedom and joy that had been sorely lacking for far too long.

Soon enough, decorum would dictate she school her features, but for now, she gave herself this moment of joy and laughed as she looked over to see Tywin keeping pace beside her. Not in front, but beside. It was a small but important point and one that would continue into the reign for years to come, Sansa knew. The corresponding smile on Tywin’s face sent another bolt of longing through Sansa and she laughed brightly as they raced towards King’s Landing.

* * *

Tywin wasn't the only lord of Westeros that morning that thought that Sansa was the Queen that the realm had been waiting for.

Stannis, who refused to spend another day in that dreadful carriage, mounted his horse, only mildly discomforted as Ser Davos fretted. Stannis shook his head in wonder as the King allowed his wife to lead the procession into King's Landing. Lead might have been too strong a word, Stannis realized after observing them.

For a moment, Sansa Lannister had looked like nothing more than a woman in love who was out for a ride with her beloved. Stannis had no idea how Tywin somehow managed to give her the freedom she so clearly desired while keeping her happy and well-loved and safe. It was a precarious balance, and one Stannis knew Tywin struggled with given how much the man loved his wife.

Stannis had seen the bond the two of them shared when he’d first come to King’s Landing from Dragonstone, and again when he’d been back in the capital with Jaime. But now? Spending over a week in close proximity of the two of them, Stannis was almost transfixed by it.

Shaking his head as Sansa and Tywin disappeared down the King’s Road, Stannis realized he was excited to get to the capital. It had been far too long since he'd seen his daughter and slept in a comfortable bed. He knew that Tywin and Sansa's hospitality would be exceptional, and the comforts of a proper room called to him.

Jaime, who had felt the heavy weight of Brienne's betrayal the closer they rode to King's Landing, allowed himself a moment of levity watching his father all but preened in front of Sansa. For god sakes, the man had her mare brought here just for her to ride into the capital. The man was positively smitten and didn't seem to care who saw him. Jewels, gowns, horses and the choicest food, never let it be said that Tywin Lannister did not know how to keep his wife happy. And Sansa was happy, seemingly having recovered from the ordeal with Oberyn and now looking like the Queen she was.

Knowing that Sansa had his father, Jaime allowed his thoughts to linger upon what awaited him in King’s Landing. Brienne. His former wife.

Jaime wondered if his father would insist that he was there during the trial for his former wife. Jaime had assumed he would die during the Long Night, and that the punishment for Lady Brienne would fall on his father's shoulders. But that had not happened, due to Bran Stark’s sacrifice. Now, he was alive and making his way ever closer to her, his gut in a knot thinking about all that had transpired between them. How was he supposed to look at her, let alone sit through her trial? And there were no doubts that he would be called upon as a witness. He and Jon.

Jon could only marvel at Sansa, wondering at her fortitude as he heard her rich laughter in the air as she kicked her mare and tore off down the road. Mere days ago, she had almost died, and yet, here she was, mirth dancing in her eyes. It was hard to imagine her as anything but the Queen now, as Jon had seen her in this role so often. She was born to it, though Jon knew his Uncle would be positively apocalyptic at who Sansa had married. But. Tywin Lannister had more than proven himself to be a loving and dedicated husband to his cousin. He might be a monster to some, but he was Sansa’s monster and would defend her and their children above all else.

Of course, Jon’s eyes strayed to Dacey, who smirked at the Queen and followed Sansa out of his sight. He hoped that being in King’s Landing again would allow them time to marry. He was sick of sharing a chaste bed with his soon to be wife, but he refused to lie with her, never wanting a child to bear a bastard name, especially since Jon now had a proper name to give a child.

Arya was used to Sansa and Tywin's antics by now. They were almost nauseating how they carried on, but she had seen how people respected them, loved them, followed them. Sansa made Tywin seem more human, more approachable, even though Arya knew the man wouldn't hesitate in a second to destroy anyone and anything that hurt Sansa. Who would have ever known that such a man would be exactly what Sansa had always dreamed of?

Arya was curious as to what the King had planned for Dorne. And her mother. Just because Arya’s arm prevented her from becoming the fighter she had always wanted to be, it did not dim her outlook on her enemies and how they should pay. In that regard, Arya knew shew as more similar to Tywin than to Sansa.

The other topic that occupied far too much of Arya's mind was that of Gendry.

Her friend.

Her family when she’d had none.

It had been years since she had seen him, and she knew they would both be dramatically changed. The question was - too changed?

Arya knew from Sansa and Myrcella that Gendry trained daily now to become a proper knight, which made her snort at the thought.

Arya knew her place was North; she only had to gaze at Little Ned and knew that she would do whatever was required of her to ensure he came to rule Winterfell one day. Perhaps Gendry might want to go back with her to Winterfell.

As if he knew her thoughts, Sandor had asked her quietly one night if she was planning on staying in the south. She scoffed at him until she saw real doubt in his eyes and gentled her tone, laying her hand on his arm. "No, I won't. My place is in the North."

He settled then, content with her answer. Sandor was as much her family as Gendry. Sandor and Jeyne and Ned and the child that Jeyne carried. Arya knew her place was in the North, but perhaps there was room for one more.

* * *

By the time that Tywin caught Sansa, her carefully braided hair had come undone, and her crown sat slightly askew. A man that had lived his entire life adhering to proper etiquette, Tywin said nothing because his wife's eyes positively danced with glee.

"Gods, that felt amazing," she said, taking her mare down to a respectable trot as their loyal guards fell in around them. She glanced at Tywin and saw the look on his face. "I'm a mess, aren't I?"

He gave a curt nod, unwilling to say more, while Sansa laughed.

"Easily fixable husband," Sansa said, pulling pins out with one hand, letting them drop to the road below, and shaking her head until her hair fell in silky waves down her back, stunning her husband with her effortless beauty.

_She was a beacon of all that could be good in this wretched world_, Tywin realized at the moment, as his wife somehow, on the back of a horse of all places, made herself Queenly again.

"You are beautiful, Sansa," he told her, the raw honesty in his voice, drawing her eyes to his.

She smiled, delighted at the compliment.

"Thank you, Tywin." She looked down her body. "After three children in short succession, I had wondered if my form would somehow not please you anymore."

Tywin's jaw fairly hit the ground at that statement. _She was worried_ _her body would not please him?_ The thought was positively insane.

The Maester had warned him about getting her with child again so soon, making Tywin swear he'd stay out of her body for six weeks, and he ached daily to be with her again.

"Sansa, that is the most ludicrous thing I think you have ever said," Tywin all but sputtered, still trying to make sense of how she might think that.

She gave him a side-eye before speaking, her grin rueful. "My breasts are full of milk, my stomach soft and stretched, and even you can't say my arse isn't slightly bigger, Tywin."

The King looked on his wife, gobsmacked. _What in seven hells was she going on about?_

Before he could respond, she shook her head and smiled at him. "But apparently, you don't notice those things.”

"I notice everything, wife. You simply made the mistake of thinking they detract from your beautify. Your body is a work of art, Sansa. It has given me an heir, not only for my beloved ancestral seat but for the Throne we took by blood together. It has also given me a daughter back, one I hope I live to see wed happily one day."

Sansa felt her heart thump wildly at Tywin's words. She truly hadn't been seeking compliments, only stating the truth of the changes that had come from birthing three babes in less than two years. But somehow, despite the differences she knew her body had undergone, Tywin still desired her.

“Some men in your station, take another woman after their wife has given them children,” Sansa responded quietly and Tywin wanted to be ill at the mere thought of touching another woman. He wished more than ever that they were having this conversation in private, away from their guards and that he could hold her.

“I am not some men, Sansa. I will never want another woman. Never!” the King practically vibrating with passion from his words. “You must believe me.”

Sansa looked at him, unshed tears making her blue eyes watery. “I do, husband. I do. Forgive me. It is hard when we have gone through so many changes. I must trust that I am enough for you.”

“Never doubt my love for you, Sansa. It takes every last ounce of my patience to wait this ridiculous amount of time the Maester has decreed,” Tywin grumbled.

Sansa saw the ticking of his jaw and felt the love he had for her course through her body.

"I wish we were alone, in our bathing chambers, and I could kiss you at my leisure, My Lion," Sansa all but purred to him, missing the smirks on the faces of their guards.

They'd long grown used to their open and blatant flirting and were hardly bothered by it anymore.

Tywin, however, did not, seeing Jerrod turn his head and blush at his wife's remarks.

Tywin wouldn't lie; Sansa was a beautiful woman and the fact that she was so openly flirting with him stroked his ego. He might be a King, he might be the most powerful man in the realm, and he might be the richest man alive, but Sansa was young, stunning and so powerful in her own right. The fact that she wanted him so much still, made him feel like he could take on all of Dorne himself, and ward off any other man that might seek her attention.

"Sansa, you're driving me mad, woman," Tywin growled back at her, watching as she threw her head back in laughter.

"Not as mad as you drive me. Do you have any idea how handsome you are, Tywin?”

She saw her husband’s jaw drop at that statement, and she laughed again, hearing him mumble something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, _making her pay._

When Sansa finally turned her gaze forward, she realized how close they were to the capital.

“Gods, who would have ever guessed that I would come to see King's Landing as my home? That I would miss it Tywin? I know it is a crowded, stinking mess of humanity, but it's ours, isn't it?" She said, grinning wildly at him.

"It is." He was pleased she’d come to love where they lived, although he still longed for the day when he could take her and their children to Casterly Rock.

They were quiet for a time, the King observing the look of almost peace on his wife's face.

"If I had known a good ride would put you in such spirits, I would have arranged for it sooner," Tywin murmured back to her.

"Oh, we both know how much I adore a good ride," she said, winking at him, making the King smirk when he thought of some of their more amorous bedroom activities.

Tywin had no idea what had gotten into his wife, but he liked it. He knew the next few weeks and months would test them in a way that nothing had.

Sansa would not like his plan for Dorne, and no matter what she said, when Tywin sentenced her mother to death, Tywin knew it would affect Sansa. It had to.

Still, she made his cock twitch along with his lips, and he smirked back at her.

"I do, wife, know how you like to ride," Tywin retorted, loving it when she laughed.

Then all banter was ended, as they spotted the first people standing beside the road. Both Sansa and Tywin immediately slowed their mounts and schooled their features to reflect their station and the seriousness of the situation.

They were miles out, and clearly, word had spread that the King and Queen were coming back; that they were home. Peasant, commoner, merchant, and crofter from all across the seven kingdoms lined the King's Road ten deep to catch a glimpse of them.

When they entered King's Landing proper, they would come through the Gate of the Gods. The gate was so wide that more than one horse could ride abreast, but it would be Tywin and Sansa, together, that came through first.

This would be their moment, despite what individuals had done. This victory belonged to the realm, yes, but also to the King that had commanded the men to go to Wall to fight the threat of the Night King. To the King that had listened and not scoffed at such an impossibility.

There would be time to honour the individual heroes at the great feast that Tywin planned.

But that first moment, that would be for him and his wife alone.

Tywin knew that he could build a lifetime of loyalty and devotion off of this victory and planned on using it to his advantage.

No part of the victory that had occurred at Harrenhal would have been possible without Sansa approaching him in his tower room to blackmail him into marriage.

Everything stemmed from that one critical moment.

The end of the war of the five kings.

The alliance with the North.

The ability to take the Throne and seize power.

The negotiation with Stannis Baratheon to reject his claim to the Throne and join them.

The ability to rally six of the seven kingdoms to fight the Night King.

Everything was because a brave little wolf challenged the most powerful man in the realm. Because she played the game of thrones and won.

They had all won because of Sansa.

Tywin could not even try and imagine what the realm might have been facing had Sansa not forced his hand into marriage. Joffrey and Cersei would have been useless against the threat of the Night King, unable to trust anyone in order to form an alliance to march North.

Most likely the North would have been decimated since Tywin had planned on killing both Robb Stark and his mother.

The Tyrell’s would have never given up their bid for more power.

Stannis would have been sitting on his island, doing little more than brooding.

And Dorne would still be in open rebellion.

In short, Westeros would have been fucked, Tywin thought.

Tywin did not concern himself with how things were ordered behind them. He was the King, and he had people for that, but he knew that his family and Sansa’s would be close to them, followed by Stannis, Lord Royce and Sandor, then the Lords of the North, and the Riverlands, Stormlands and Reach.

It was only when he slowed for a moment, that Tywin realized that the people that he was King of, were holding something in their hands.

_Red flowers_, his brain finally registered, _of every conceivable type and kind_.

Some looked like nothing more than weeds, clutched in dirty hands of raggedly looking children, while others were beautiful blooms that had been cultured in the royal gardens.

When Tywin examined the gesture closer, he knew it was in honour of his wife- they couldn't tear their eyes away from her.

It wasn't just a tribute to House Lannister, but to their beloved Queen, who had been attacked and who had survived.

Now she had returned, and they were desperate to pay their respects in some small way.

"Tywin," Sansa said, tears gathering in her eyes as she smiled at them.

Sansa made eye contact with as many of the people as she could; from the poorest peasant to the wealthiest merchant, it did not matter. She loved them all, he knew. And they loved her, calling her name, waving and bowing as she rode by.

"My Queen," Tywin said, never prouder of her than at that moment. She was the beloved mother of the realm, and all these people, from beyond the Wall straight down the Stormlands, knew it. They knew it, and they embraced her. They would always embrace her.

With a nod to one another, they spurred their horses into a faster pace as they galloped through the Gate of the Gods to an adoring crowd, a seething mass of humanity that represented all the great regions in Westeros and who cried and chanted their names as they entered their home, making their way street by street towards the towering walls of the Red Keep.

Even for a man who had seen as much as Tywin had, it was an impressive sight that stole his breath in scope.

Through Cobbler's Square, they rode, the place jammed with more people than Tywin had ever seen and straight through, winding their way closer and closer to the Red Keep.

The streets began to climb, as they rode through the twists and turns of Aegon's High Hill, climbing ever closer to their home and their loved ones that awaited them.

_Atop this highest hill, was their great fortress, for it was indeed, wholly theirs,_ Tywin thought. Now more than ever before, he could claim it, mark it as the second home of House Lannister.

The final twisty road, Shadowblack Lane, curved back and forth, and though the people were fewer, their looks of adoration were no less ardent.

When they finally crested the top of the lane, the massive curtain walls that surrounded the castle came into view, and lined up outside the main Bronze Gate was Ser Addam Marbrand and the City Watch, along with the men that made up the rest of Tywin and Sansa's King and Queen's guards.

Addam's breath caught when he saw them, and Tywin saw Sansa's face break out into a grin. No matter what the outcome with her mother, Tywin knew that his wife looked upon Addam as family. Riding through the gate, they finally came to a stop in the large cobbled square, which was the staging point before entering the main keep.

Finally able to dismount, Tywin did so first, shooting Sansa a look that told her to stay there. Tywin swore his wife, rolled her eyes at him, but did as she told until he was able to be by her side, holding his hand so she could swing down of her pretty mare.

"Wife," Tywin said, pulling her close, and taking a moment to nuzzle at her ear. He was the King – they all could wait for him.

"Husband," Sansa said, playfully back and felt Tywin kiss her just beneath her earlobe.

"Ready?" he whispered into her ear, eager for her to see the other surprises he had waiting for her.

She nodded and linked her arm with his as their guards fell in around them. Sansa paused for a moment, looking back for Rickon. Her littlest brother was gazing around with pure awe in his face, unable to believe what he was seeing.

"Satisfied?" Tywin asked, having paused with her. Tywin knew that Sansa’s youngest brother would be joining their household, and after what he’d done for his sister, Tywin had no objections.

"I am, My King," Sansa said, grinning. Then they walked, going through the small inner yard and over a covered bridge until they made it to the steps that would lead them up and into the Great Hall.

"Your Grace," Ser Marbrand said, just behind Tywin.

"The Lords and Ladies of the realm that were present in King's Landing are gathered in the Hall. They await your arrival."

A look passed between Addam and Tywin, and the King knew that what he had ordered done in their absence had been completed.

"Thank you, Ser Marbrand," Tywin said, pausing outside the doors that opened into the Hall. He turned and saw their family and closest allies there.

Jaime and Myrcella, who had the two princes and Serena with them.

Jon, Arya, Rickon and Sandor, standing beside Jeyne and Ned.

Lord Royce and Lord Stannis.

Lord Dickon Tarly.

And Dacey Mormont and Jerrod Lydden; their trusted guards.

Behind them, countless others from across the seven kingdoms, many of whom, Tywin knew, had never stepped foot in this Hall. Even Jon and Rickon looked slightly awestruck by the entire thing.

Without saying a word, Tywin acknowledged them all and then turned back to the crier who was poised at the door.

"We are ready," was all he said.

With a flick of his head, the doors to the Great Hall were opened, and all eyes turned as he spoke.

"All hail His Grace, Tywin of House Lannister, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm and victor of the Long Night, and his wife, Her Grace, Sansa of House Stark, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm and victor of the Long Night."

A great cheer erupted from the Great Hall, but Tywin hardly heard it. He was focused on Sansa and her reaction. He had ordered the same titles to be applied to her as to him. For once, it appeared he had stunned his intelligent wife speechless.

"Tywin, what did you do?" Sansa asked, shock radiating across her face.

"What is needed, My Queen," Tywin stated unapologetically.

He knew it was unheard of for the King to share his power with his Queen, but Tywin simply did not care. His wife was due the same respect that he was, and should something happen to him, no one from the Wall to the Sunset Sea could ever question her legitimacy in ruling until Tysan came of age.

Those behind them, men such as Stannis and Yohn Royce, along with Jaime and Jon, understood what a momentous occasion this was.

Tywin Lannister, the most powerful man in the realm, had just declared his wife to his equal.

"It is too much," Sansa protested as he dragged her into his arms, cupping her cheek.

"It is not, Sansa. It is nothing less than what you are due, and what you are capable of. I have so much to teach you, little wolf, but you will learn because you care about these people, all of these people, in a way that no ruler has for decades. Not all your reforms will work, Sansa, and some I might outright veto," Tywin said, earning an inelegant snort from his wife. "But we shall do the work together, Sansa. Rule together. Prepare our children for their time, together. What say you, wife?"

Tywin's green-gold eyes bore into hers as Sansa drank him in.

"Never in all my dreams could I have imagined being so loved, my lion," Sansa spoke quietly so only he could hear. "Never did I imagine that my heart would belong to a man from the West; that he would know me as well as I know myself. That he would give me so much power and agency, and so much love. For all of my days, Tywin. I am yours and you are mine. For this lifetime and the next. I am always and forever yours."

Tywin rested his forehead against hers. "I am ever and always yours, Sansa. For this lifetime and the next."

With one deep breath that they seemed to all but share, they communicated silently as the chant for them grew. Finally, Tywin linked their arms, so they could walk together down the carpeted runner towards the raised dais that held the Iron Throne.

When they finally entered the Hall, Sansa gasped again to see intermingled the Stark banner with that of House Lannister falling from the rafters.

Sansa wondered if that was the reason for the palpable hum of excitement that she felt in the Great Hall; surely it was more than just seeing them again.

"Not just a lion and not just House Lannister. I have learned, My Queen, that both West and North rule here," Tywin smirked as the four direwolves appeared out of nowhere, to walk beside the King and Queen, eliciting gasps from the gathered Lords and Ladies at such a sight.

It was only as they came closer to the front that Sansa realized that something was different on the dais where the Iron Throne sat.

The entire dais was covered in a large red cloth that hung from one end of the Hall to the other. Stitched on the fabric was the Lannister lion and the Stark direwolf.

Tywin waited until their family and advisors were behind them, seeing the questioning look in Sansa's eyes, but not giving anything away. When the Great Hall had settled, and nothing more than breathing could be heard, Tywin gave a jerk of his head, and the cloth dropped dramatically.

Sansa gasped and stared straight ahead.

It was gone.

The Iron Throne was no longer there.

Instead, two elegantly appointed thrones, resplendent in Lannister gold and red, were in their place.

The crowd behind them was beyond shocked; most were utterly speechless, wondering what the King had done. Still, Sansa couldn't focus on them, only on the man by her side.

"I was always planning on getting rid of it. It harkens to an era we'd all like to forget. Why should my arse sit on a throne built by dragons?" the King said snidely, and Sansa grinned at Tywin’s sheer arrogance. She loved it when Tywin's ego was on full display. It was a heady feeling to be in the presence of a man that had such supreme confidence as her husband did.

The man was a legend, and she knew that no one else could have done something so daring and retained power. Only Tywin.

"Tywin," Sansa said, breath catching as she turned to him, feet rooted to the spot.

"My love, you don't think I didn't notice you tense every time we came to hold court? Each time you had to sit in that seat, see me there?"

Sansa stifled a sob, overcome with how much this man saw and the lengths he would go to for her.

Uncaring that they were on display, Tywin cupped her face in his large hands.

"I know what happened to you in this room, Sansa, and I will not have our reign be a source of pain for you."

She nodded, trying to gather her emotions.

"But what will people think? Families have been fighting to sit on it for years."

Tywin's eyes warmed.

"Our power does not come from that Throne nor these crowns on our heads. They are naught by symbols, love. Our power comes from our alliances, our words, our vows and our deeds. The links we have forged with others, the knowledge we have gained and the willingness to make impossible decisions. People want peace, Sansa. They are done with war, and death, and empty bellies. They are done with violence. You have shown me that my wolf."

Sansa hiccuped a sob, overwhelmed with what her husband had done.

Then the King leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, capturing the sob in his mouth. When he finally pulled away, he spoke only to her.

"For all our days, Sansa."

"For all our days, Tywin."

When they took the first steps up the dais, Sansa couldn't help but gasp at the two new thrones before her.

They were stunningly beautiful and inlaid with more jewels and gold than Sansa had ever seen. Where the Iron Throne itself had been a testament to war, blood and death, these Throne's symbolized wealth, comfort and class.

As Sansa climbed the steps to the new thrones, ones that sat side by side, she could suddenly see the carvings that made up the arms of the thrones.

Tywin's was a lion, and Sansa's was a wolf. She clutched at him, knowing how deeply this man loved her.

When they finally got to the top and approached their new thrones, Tywin gave a slight bow to Sansa as they turned, and she noticed that the thrones sat equal to one another, neither one ahead of the other. It was another not too subtle indication on exactly how Tywin Lannister planned to rule, with her by his side.

"Happy, My Queen?" The look on his face was one of supreme confidence, and Sansa's corresponding smile did not disappoint.

"Only you, Tywin, could get rid of that horrible chair and somehow be even more powerful," Sansa told him, watching him all but preen with her words. "And yes, my love, I am happy. No words could express how much I hated that chair."

He snorted his agreement. It had been a long-standing wish of Tywin's to see it melted into scrap to be turned into something useful, such as more swords or armour. He would not rule from the seat in which Aerys had ordered his son to stand by as he burned King's Landing to the ground.

Gone were the days when Tywin would pay any type of lip service to the Targaryen's of old. The Lions and Wolves were in charge of Westeros now, and Tywin meant them to last a thousand years. That meant tearing down any reminder of the old ways, of the dragons and their madness, and ushering in a time of stability and good governance.

And that began now.

Tywin turned them and stood, arms linked with Sansa as he waited for the clamouring to die down and so he could address the assembly. Once they had gotten over their initial shock, those in attendance roared their approval.

Lords from the North were gobsmacked at the Stark family banners hanging here, in King's Landing, and no one missed the significance of the two thrones that now adorned the dais. Some from the North, those that had sworn loyalty to the Queen's father, had never honestly imagined being comfortable or accepting of Tywin Lannister as King. His reputation preceded him, and Ned Stark had once sworn he wouldn't trust the man for as long as he lived. But at every turn, the King proved himself worthy of Sansa.

Jaime shook his head at his father, knowing that the moment Tywin had changed her titles to match his, that the Great Lion had some significant planned for today. Never would Jaime have imagined that his father would have the arrogance to remove the Iron Throne itself from where it had sat for hundreds of years.

It was why, Jaime reflected, his father was the best man to be the King. It was as his father always said; the lion did not concern himself with the opinion of the sheep.

Jon might not be as well versed in Westerosi politics as the others he was standing beside, but even he knew the significance of what the King had done here today. The Iron Throne represented the ultimate power in Westeros, but Jon was coming to learn that these symbols only had as much power as one let them have. He'd hated the Iron Throne from the first moment he saw it and was more than happy that one more bitter and blood-filled legacy from his father's house was gone.

Stannis was stunned. Entirely and utterly shocked.

_How could one man defy the gods in such a way?_ His thoughts scramble in his head.

It was madness, surely, to remove the very symbol of power that men and houses had fought over for three hundred years. Wasn't it? Wouldn't some protest, scream that Tywin was no King if he didn't sit on the Throne that he had taken by right of conquest?

But as Stannis watched Tywin gently cradle his wife's face and speak to only her, Stannis had an epiphany. The Great Lion was settling his legacy upon her shoulders.

It would be Sansa that would outlive him, surely, and have to guide the next generation of Lions.

It would be Sansa that would rule in her son's name if the King were to die before Tysan reached his majority.

It would Sansa that continue to unite houses from all corners of Westeros.

It was the Queen that held the future of Westeros in her hands.

All eyes were on them as Tywin cleared his throat, his arm linked with Sansa, and the Great Hall was once against quiet and still.

"Today we are here, free from the threat of the Night King and the Second Long Night, because six regions of Westeros banded together, to push back the dead; to fight against all that was unholy and unnatural, to kill what threatened us all. Many here today are far from their homes, far from what they hold dear." Tywin paused, his eyes gazing out at those before him. "It will take time to rebuild what was lost. Some of what we lost is irreplaceable, and those that sacrificed themselves will be remembered in song and poem for all time. I look across this Great Hall and see men from the North, the West, the South and the East all here. Rivermen and those from the great fertile lands of the Reach. Those from the Stormlands that love the sea, and those from the North that love the snow."

Tywin turned then and gazed at Sansa. "My wife is not from the West, nor the South. She is from the North, the blood of the first men, running through her veins. And yet, she is the best of us all. Logical, intelligent, compassionate and fair. She is the Queen that Westeros has long deserved and a woman I will rule beside for the rest of my days."

A cheer rose, _All Hail Queen Sansa_.

Tywin almost smiled when she saw how she blushed under the attention.

"My Lords and Ladies, the work we have started is not done. We have one region, in open rebellion, scores of lands to settle, and traitors to hold accountable for their actions. But the living of Westeros emerged victorious and on this day, and for the next ten days hence, we feast and celebrate until the great conclave of our time is upon us. In a fortnight, the future of Westeros will be decided, by the men and women of this land! We are no longer under the thumb of the Targaryen invaders, and we will not rest until our enemies are routed from this very earth in which we stand!" Tywin roared, and the cheer the accompanied his words was defending to all inside the Hall.

_Long live the King!_

_All Hail King Tywin!_

_To the King and Queen of Westeros! Long may they reign!_

It was when the chants began that Tywin took Sansa's hand and directed her to the new Throne. She gave such a look of happiness that he knew it had been worth every raven back to Ser Addam to get this done while they had been away. Lesser men would have simply taken what was offered, too scared to change anything.

But that was not Tywin Lannister.

He was not a caretaker king, but a man determined to see his house, his blood, his seed rule for generations. He would not blindly follow customs and adhere to symbols that had no place in his reign. He was not here to simply rule but to ensure his legacy was absolute and secure.

When Sansa was settled, Tywin finally took his seat, the new throne custom made for his frame. Then he settled in and allowed the adoration of realm to wash over him.

Tywin Lannister, the Great Lion, the most feared and powerful man in the realm, was finally in his rightful spot, and he had no intention of letting the absolute control he now commanded slip in this lifetime or the next.

He had never been a man content to rest on his laurels, and once the threats from Dorne and the two traitors in his family were dealt with, he would know that he had done the impossible; created a legacy that would last for a thousand years, ensuring his wife and children were in a position to rule long after the Stranger came for him.

And in spite of those lofty thoughts and ambitions, the moment Sansa's hand reached for his, Tywin's entire world shifted again and settled on her. He was a man that had done everything in his power to ensure his family name lived on.

And because of Sansa, it would. Because no matter how much power he had, even he could not stop time. Before long, he would be dead. And Jaime as well. Both of them dead, rotting in the ground. Tywin knew it was only the family name that lived on. Family. His family. His blood. His heirs. And all of that was because of Sansa.

When Tysan, more determined and slightly ahead of his brother broke from Jaime’s grip, the Lords and Ladies of the realm watched in utter fascination as the King came off his throne, and descended the steps to scoop his heir into his arms. Jason, not content to be left behind, bellowed for his father as well, and soon both Princes were in their parents' arms, sitting with them on their new thrones.

Jaime grinned and hooked his arm in Myrcella’s.

“Let’s join our family, shall we?” he said, winking at Jon, Arya and Rickon, who scrambled up the dais to stand beside Sansa and Tywin.

Myrcella handed Sansa her daughter, loving it as Serena curled into Sansa’s arms, content again to be held by her mother.

Then, as if they knew that they were part of this ever-growing ruling elite, the four direwolves stalked up the stairs, weaving their way in and out of the lions and wolves of Westeros.

It was a sight quite unlike anything seen in the seven kingdoms.

A King from the West and his Queen from the North.

Their three children; two princes and a princess.

The Golden Lion, the King’s beloved son, along with the King’s sister and granddaughter.

The cousin to the Queen, the last Targaryen, who was more wolf than a dragon, Jon stood proud but awkward in front of the full hall.

The Queen’s two remaining siblings, a sister and a brother, both crowded close to Sansa who held Jason and Serena.

And four massive direwolves; black, white, grey and the largest of all, the pregnant female that combined all three.

This was the family that would rule Westeros for the years to come, and not a single person present in the hall doubted for one moment the validity in that statement.

Tywin and Sansa Lannister were home, and the realm rejoiced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next:
> 
> There are two weeks to the main conclave/trials so lots of fun stuff in King's Landing:
> 
> \- To all those who ship Arya x Gendry- I think I've got it worked out :) I didn't want to rush things  
\- Finally and Jon and Dacey wedding  
\- Stannis and Shireen  
\- Jon and Sam  
\- Sam and Dickon  
\- A meeting with Lord Royce  
\- Rickon getting used to King's Landing 
> 
> So please bear with me- we WILL get to the trials and conclave and then Dorne- but first some good stuff.
> 
> And since it is the holiday season, life is busy so not sure when I'll be able to update again. 
> 
> So- happy holidays and may they be merry and bright!
> 
> T


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions galore in King's Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So it has been a while (5 weeks since the last update). To make amends, this one is quite long and a bridge between the emotions from the past few chapters. 
> 
> I hope you all are still with me because we enter the final phase of this epic tale.
> 
> Much thanks to Starlight for her always wise input.
> 
> To LC- this chapter is as much yours as mine. You went above and beyond. 
> 
> Any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.
> 
> Enjoy!

_ Sansa _

As much as Sansa appreciated everything her husband had done for her, and she realized the extent to which Tywin had elevated her in the realm hadn't fully sunk in yet, she was exhausted, and she wanted to retire to their rooms. She had, quite surprisingly, missed the Red Keep.

"Tired, love?" he whispered into her ear as they mingled amongst the lords and ladies of Westeros.

She nodded, leaning against him. How he found an endless source of energy was beyond her. Sansa knew that many in the realm viewed Tywin Lannister as cold, hard and cruel. But what they didn't realize was just how tirelessly he worked.

"You are the Queen, which means you may quit this whenever you feel like it."

Sansa smiled at him, cupping his face, uncaring that they were before their peers. By now, people were either used to their affection for one another or had stopped commenting on it.

"Will you come with me?" Sansa asked.

"Of course. There is a formal dinner planned for a week from now; we will be available to them then. In the meantime, let's get you and our children settled."

Sansa found herself practically giddy as she and Tywin walked purposefully from the Great Hall. She couldn't help but throw one last glance back over her shoulder just to confirm that the Iron Throne was truly gone. Tywin clasped her hand.

"No looking back, love. Only forward."

Sansa loved the sound of that, and she practically ran down the hallways to their chambers.

The Capital was more crowded than it had ever been; more lords and ladies from the realm were here now than ever before, and more were set to arrive in the coming days.

And yet, as they raced towards their chambers, Sansa only felt a deep appreciation that she was alive to see this place again.

They entered their suite of rooms to find the two princes happily playing with their nannies that had been left in the Capital, while a wet nurse had just finished feeding Serena. Sansa greedily asked for her daughter, sinking gratefully into a rocker in the nursery, cooing and singing to the princess.

Amused, Tywin loosened his doublet, loving that his family was safe once again. He wouldn't be able to stay; there was simply too much to do in the next few weeks before the conclave started, but he’d steal a few moments with Sansa now.

Top on his list was checking on the prisoners currently in the black cells, appoint Lord Royce as his Hand and hold his first small council meeting. Tywin also needed a report from Addam Marbrand on the state of King's Landing, and to check and see if any word had come from Dorne.

He thanked the seven gods that he'd pushed them hard to get them home, as he watched his wife relax with their children. He could scarcely believe how close he had been to losing everything; for this right here was his entire world. This was his legacy, his heart, his very soul.

She was a vision, Queenlier here with these little lions they had made than even in front of the realm, and Tywin knew the upcoming months would test her in ways that few things so far had. Her introduction to the harsh realities of ruling would be upon her soon enough. For now, Tywin brushed a gentle kiss over her forehead, laying a hand on his daughter's red hair as the princess of the realm cooed at her mother.

"Hurry back, love," Sansa said to him, and Tywin merely nodded at her and then left her side, knowing that work remained to ensure not only her safety but the safety of his children. Tywin would take no more chances with them. Oberyn's attack had highlighted the blatant reality that Sansa would always be a target. Tywin hadn't consolidated this much power in the realm to have what he loved most taken away, and he would work tirelessly to make life as safe as possible for Sansa and his children.

"I want my husband in my bed tonight, Tywin," Sansa called to him, and he turned back to look at her, eyebrow arched. "I know what you are doing, and I love you for it. But I will not have a cold and lonely bed, my lion."

Tywin grinned at her and gave her a slight bow. "Your wish is my command, My Queen."

Sansa nodded. "Good. Now go before I make a fool of myself and beg you to stay."

Tywin stalked back over to her and dropped to his knees in front of her, cupping her cheek, stroking a thumb across it. "My love, I only do what I must."

Sansa sniffed. "I know. But you are mine, Tywin and I will not have fear drive you from my arms."

This woman would never fail to stun him with just how much she loved him. "I plan on being by your side each day and each night wife. There are things I must do, things I must see to, but I will be here, in your arms, tonight."

"Good."

Tywin spent another precious moment with his wife and daughter before he finally slipped from their chambers. His sons, who seemed to have recovered fully from their ordeal, babbled happily when he stopped to spend a moment with them.

"There are guards outside the doors," he explained to the two nannies, women from the Westerlands.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

Tywin nodded to Jerrod, noting that Sansa's Northern guards were just outside the door. Addam Marbrand approached, and Tywin nodded to his loyal bannerman.

"Is she inside?"

"Yes."

"Can I go inside?"

Tywin nodded. "We do need to speak soon, Addam."

Addam nodded, choked up. "She is like the daughter I never had. When I heard, I thought I lost her…" Tywin could see the man struggling.

"Go inside. Sansa would love to see you. She thinks of you like family, Addam."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

Tywin felt better knowing that Addam would be with Sansa, and when he returned, he'd be able to speak with the man about security around King's Landing. Now though, Tywin had a date with the Master of Whispers. While his wife and children were safe, for now, Tywin would not take his eyes off his target. Dorne must pay for what they had done; their combined failure to send men and the outright attack on the Queen and his heirs. It was not something Tywin could let stand.

He strode down the hall, his heart full with love for his wife, but his brain was already formulating a plan.

* * *

_ Stannis _

Stannis could hardly believe his eyes when he saw what the King had done.

_Who in God's name demolished the Iron Throne?! _Stannis was speechless.

Then the King went even further, proclaiming his wife to have the same titles as him, making her throne equal to his and hanging her House banners beside his.

The sheer audacity of Tywin Lannister was unmatched.

_Didn't he recognize how much blood had been spilled to sit on the Iron Throne? How many wars had been waged? How much intrigue and backstabbing and betrayal for people to sit there? And to just be done with it?_

Now Stannis saw Tywin rest a hand on his wife's back as she gazed adoringly at him before the King leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Her bright smile lit the room, and then the King and Queen hurriedly left the Throne Room. It was impossible not to be jealous, seeing a love such as theirs. And for a man as stern and severe as Tywin to have somehow won the love of such a woman was equally shocking.

A soft, feminine laugh drew Stannis's attention, and he had to shake his head for a second time.

There was his daughter, holding court with other ladies of the realm, boldly speaking with them, not hiding her face. Stannis kept staring, watching as a young man in Baratheon colours stood guard over her. That must be Robert's bastard, Stannis thought. Gendry.

The man was devoted to Shireen but like a big brother. Stannis recalled when Sansa had first brought Shireen to court, the ladies of the realm had been cutting and mean to her. But now, as she stood beside Genna Lannister and Wynafryd Manderly, and several other noble ladies, they were hanging on her every word.

"Oh my dear, you do put us all to shame with your intellect. I'm sure now that the King is back, he'll look forward to matches of cyvasse." Genna roared, and Shireen beamed.

"Weren't they grand, the King and Queen?" Shireen gushed. Stannis knew his daughter held the monarchs in high regard and was a champion of them.

"I believe our girl is gaining quite the following here," Davos said, his smile warm for Stannis's daughter. They had always been close. "Perhaps it is time to say hello," Davos said, with little subtlety.

Stannis jolted a bit. His arm was still broken, he'd lost considerable weight, and he knew he looked almost nothing like when he'd last been here. He hoped his appearance wouldn't upset his daughter too much. He gave a curt nod to Ser Davos and then made his way through the small crowd until he was close enough to cough and gain his daughter's attention.

Shireen turned, and the look of sheer joy on her face almost staggered Stannis. He braced himself as Shireen threw all decorum out the window and embraced him warmly, crying when he awkwardly hugged her.

"The Queen wrote me about you. Telling me of your brave deeds and how you saved the realm, father," Shireen cried.

Stannis coughed again, slightly embarrassed. He hadn't 'saved' the realm; whatever had happened on the Isle of Faces had been the killing blow, but Stannis had played his part, of that there was no doubt.

"I promised I'd return to you, daughter."

"Oh, I am so happy you are here. And you as well, Ser Davos." She threw herself into his arms as well, and he hugged her hard.

When Shireen stepped back, her eyes were dancing as she noticed the sneer on her fathers face. She had always known it would be a hard sell to get him and Gendry to see eye to eye. Gendry hadn't said much, but he didn't have a high opinion of her father, and Shireen got the distinct impression that her cousin was sweet on Arya Stark, and if he had his way, he'd not be coming with her and Davos and her father to Storm's End.

"Father, Gendry saved the King's life. Tywin is in his debt."

It was still a wonder to Stannis that Shireen fit in so seamlessly with Sansa and Tywin.

Stannis held the man's eyes, a man he'd held in the cells at Dragonstone where he had been prepared to allow Melisandre to do whatever necessary to him to complete her blood magic. The shame that Stannis felt at his actions as they related to her coursed through him.

Ser Davos coughed and shuffled uncomfortably, most likely wondering what his punishment would be for setting Gendry free.

None, Stannis decided. He knew he had been in the wrong and that Davos had saved a life when he'd brought Gendry to King’s Landing. When Davos realized that Stannis wasn't going to punish him, he gave Gendry a rueful grin.

"So, rescuing the King? I thought I told you to keep a low profile?"

Gendry smirked. "They had him surrounded."

"I thought you hated the King?"

Gendry nodded. He'd spoken endlessly to Davos after his rescue going on and on about his time at Harrenhal and then the Brotherhood. He'd come to King’s Landing fully prepared to continue that hatred of the Great Lion.

And then he'd witnessed the changes in Flea Bottom first-hand.

"The King and Queen have worked miracles," he told both Ser Davos and Lord Stannis. "You wouldn't know it now, since this place is teeming with people, but back when there weren't thousands of extra people here, they were cleaning it up. Orphans were learning to read, and there were regulations for sewage and building and food. The number of brothels is down significantly, with the Queen giving those girls honest work in the Red Keep."

Stannis grunted, knowing that Sansa was a remarkable woman. She'd often talked about her dreams for reform, and it seemed she had put her words into actions. It was something that Stannis could stand behind, and once again highlighted how good she was for the realm.

He wondered briefly what his daughter's plans were for her bastard cousin, but something caught Gendry's eye in the Throne Room, and the young man excused himself. Stannis watched as he made his way quickly through the crowd, towards the Queen's sister. His smile was wide and genuine as Arya Stark threw herself into this Gendry person's arms, and Stannis thought that perhaps he might not be his problem after all.

* * *

_ Arya_

Arya glanced around the Great Hall, watching as her sister, the Queen, and her husband, the King, fooled no one by leaving their ceremony early.

Leave it to Sansa to want to be with her children and her husband more than she wanted to rub noses with all the snotty lords and ladies of Westeros. Her sister had taken to her role as wife and mother in a way that Arya respected. Sansa had a spine of steel, a brilliant mind and a vast capacity for love. Surprisingly, her husband, the very intimidating and very scary Tywin Lannister, indulged her, so that those closest to them had seen a remarkable change in the man in the past few years. Arya had no doubts that the Seven Kingdoms were well positioned with Sansa and Tywin at the helm.

Today had been impressive. Arya had never thought she'd ever see a King have the audacity to remove the Iron Throne from where it had stood for three hundred years. There probably wasn't another man in the realm that could make such a gesture and not have it backfire on him.

More impressive for Arya were the direwolf banners that now hung in the Throne Room. She'd never thought she'd see the day when such a sight existed, and it was a true testament to how much the Great Lion loved his wife that they flapped proudly beside the Lannister red and gold.

Also surprising was the entrance of the direwolves into the Hall. Cersei and Robert had hated them, and what had happened so long ago to Lady and Nymeria still festered in Arya like an open wound that never healed.

Still, Tywin had seemed to understand just how far the wolves would go to protect those he loved best; Sansa and his children, so now they were afforded a place of honour and given free rein.

Arya fucking loved that Nymeria was the largest of them all, although Grey Wind wasn't far behind. She smirked as those in the Hall instinctively shrunk back from the wolves. They had no idea about the bond between House Stark and their house sigil, and Arya overheard more than one whispered comment about ‘Northern Barbarians’.

"You like fucking scaring them, don't you?" came Sandor's raspy voice.

Arya grinned.

They'd been in the Great Hall once before, for Sansa and Tywin's first coronation – when Sandor had been released by Sansa to go North to help Robb. Now they knew they didn’t have to stay here, so being south didn’t grate quite so much. Luckily for them they'd both enjoyed their time sparring in the Capital and she vowed they would do so again this time around to pass the time in between the politics that had to happen. 

Arya knew that Sandor hated the south as much as she did, and she was happy that they were both scheduled to go home to Winterfell as soon as the great conclave and the trials were over. Arya didn't fit in here; she never would, and she didn't care to try to. This was Sansa's place, and Arya knew that the North needed a Stark and needed to be strong to support the King and Queen in their rule.

"It's hilarious how they think she's going to eat them," Arya snickered, sneering at a fat old lady that was weighed down with far too many jewels to be comfortable. People had been fleeing for their lives, and yet the powerful in Westeros had continued with their day to day lives as if little had changed.

Arya still wondered how they'd repopulate the North. A part of her hoped that the Wildings would stay; they needed the numbers, and really, what did they have beyond the Wall? Plus she had already thought about the perfect place for them to settle, should they want to: The Gift. Arya made a note to discuss it with Sansa and Tywin when she had the chance.

"She's tiring," Sandor grunted as they both looked towards Jeyne. She was surrounded by Jon, Dacey, Rickon and Jaime, talking with the Manderley's and Glovers. Thankfully, Grey Wind was there, leaning against Jeyne and giving her the support that she required.

"It's the pregnancy," Arya said.

When Sandor snorted, Arya punched him on his shoulder. He grunted in pain, and she felt a little bad, remembering that he'd taken a sword to guts for her a month ago.

"Sansa said the first few months are the worse," Arya continued, looking at her good sister. She would have loved to see Robb here, his expression of joy when the Stark banners had been unfurled. He had sacrificed so much to keep them safe, and his death was a constant ache in Arya’s chest, and her silent vow that she would step in to fulfill his place as best she could.

"She needs to take care of herself," Sandor grumbled, and Arya arched an eyebrow at him. She knew that Sandor and Jeyne were close, but this sounded like something more.

A discreet cough had both Sandor and Arya turning.

Arya's mouth dropped open before she let out a happy yell.

"Seven fucking hells, Gendry!" She threw herself into the man's arms, hardly able to believe that he was standing here in front of her.

Gendry caught her and swung her around, and something settled in Arya at being near him again.

When he finally put her down, he glanced nervously towards Sandor and Arya remembered that the last time he'd see the Hound, he'd defeated Beric in single combat to win his freedom. Shortly after that, Sandor had 'kidnapped' Arya when Gendry had refused to go with her and stayed with the Brotherhood Without Banners. It had been the last time she'd seen him.

"Arya, what are you doing with him?" Gendry asked, his voice not quiet enough that Sandor didn't hear.

Sandor snorted. "I'm her fucking family. More than I can say for you."

The craziest part was that Sandor's words were the truth. He was like her uncle or her father, maybe an older brother, or some odd combination of all three. The man refused to leave her side, first bringing her to Robb at the Twins, and then coming North with her. He'd rescued Rickon and then defended them from the Greyjoy attack. Sandor had marched south, again, to be by Robb's side during the Long Night. He'd more than proven his loyalty and his worth to House Stark.

Arya sighed. "It's a long story, Gendry. But he’s not lying; he’s my family now. I'm sure you have a story of your own."

Sansa had told her bits and pieces, Myrcella more, but Arya still wanted to hear it from Gendry.

"I do, My Lady." He smirked at her.

She rolled her eyes at him and his titles but realized there was a confidence about Gendry that she hadn't previously seen. It had to have come from rescuing Tywin in Flea Bottom and spending time with his cousin, Lady Shireen Baratheon.

"You look fancy." Arya said, noting that Gendry was dressed in the colours of House Baratheon, and like a knight.

"The King is a man that pays his debts. Your sister, as well."

Gendry blushed when he spoke of Sansa, and Arya wondered if there was yet another man in love with her sister. So far, Arya figured Stannis, Jaime and Sandor would all willingly die for her and that all three were somewhat in love with her. Not that anyone of them would do a single thing about it. Sansa had eyes only for Tywin.

As if Gendry knew where Arya's thoughts had strayed, the man blushed.

"Not like that, Arry," he said, slipping into her nickname.

"You sure? You wouldn’t be the first nor the only man in this room in love with the Queen.”

Gendry nodded. "I am sure. Your sister is the Queen the realm needs, but it is the King that stunned me the most. He gave me gold and armour and outfitted me as a knight. I train each day, My Lady."

At that, Arya's eyes brightened. The last time she'd been in King's Landing, they'd had an epic match with Ser Jaime, Brienne, Ser Addam, Tommen, Sandor and her. Of course, Brienne was locked in the black cells, and Tommen was dead, and with Sandor hurt, not to mention what had happened with Arya's arm, nothing was the same. But still. It was a good memory.

"Perhaps I'll see you there, in the training yard," Arya said, giving Gendry a sly grin.

"They'd let you?"

Arya scoffed. "Let me? You do know who the Captain of Sansa's Queensguard is, don't you?"

Both of them looked to where Jon was embracing Sam Tarly, Dacey Mormont standing proudly by his side, Ghost lurking around him.

Without warning, Rickon appeared at Arya's side, Shaggydog almost glued to his master.

"Arya, I don't like it here," he complained, and she took pity on her brother. Arya knew that they were sleeping in the King and Queen's quarters tonight. Sansa was like a mother hen with Rickon these days and hardly let him out of her sight. And this was quite a sight to behold. No wonder Ric was overwhelmed.

"Come. Let's take the wolves for a walk and then we will make our way to Sansa." Arya turned back to Gendry and gave him a light punch to the shoulder.

"See you around."

“See you, Arya,” Gendry said, watching her go.

Arya gathered Rickon, Sandor, Jeyne, and three of the four direwolves and made for the godswood to give the wolves and those from House Stark some air.

No one questioned the four of them as they made their way through the halls of the Red Keep, whether because Sandor Clegane stalked beside them, or because House Stark had been elevated to that of House Lannister, or because three massive wolves snarled at anyone who dared to look at them wrong.

Still, for the very first time that Arya had been back in King's Landing, she felt perfectly safe.

And she had her friend back. Arya didn't know what she felt for Gendry, only that there was something there. They were adults now, both of them, and they had survived the Long Night. She wondered if he would head to Storm's End with Lady Shireen, or if there was perhaps a chance he might want to come North. Arya knew his skills would be desperately needed, not only as a blacksmith but as a trained and loyal knight. They needed him in the North, that much was true.

Did he regret not coming with her when she left the Brotherhood? Had he thought of her, the way she had thought of him? Then, Arya blushed as she realized what she was doing. She was mooning over Gendry! The same way that Sansa mooned over Tywin and Jon did over Dacey.

"Seven fucking hells," she muttered and heard Sandor's amused snort.

He just smirked at her as they made their way outside with the direwolves before they went to find Sansa and their rooms for the next fortnight.

* * *

_Jon _

Jon was ecstatic to see Sam, who was standing with his brother Dickon and Myrcella Baratheon. Gilly, for some reason, was not in the Great Hall, and when Jon asked where she was, Sam confessed that he had sent her to Horn Hill when they had come south.

"I was worried we wouldn't win, and if the Night King wasn't defeated, I knew she'd be lost in the crush of people in King's Landing trying to escape," Sam said by way of explanation. That made sense, and Jon praised Sam for his wise choice.

Then, the two men embraced warmly, sharing a tear when they spoke of Ed Tollett and his noble sacrifice.

"So, what now?" Sam asked eagerly. "There's no Wall. No Night's Watch. I don't suppose the King would release us from our vows, would he?"

Jon threw his head back and laughed.

"Sam, the Night's Watch is done. The Wall is no longer needed. I assume some Wildlings will go back North to the Lands of Always Winter. Some will never fit in down south. But others?" Jon shrugged. "I can see them settling in the North."

"And where will you go?" Sam asked.

"Dragonstone, and here, I imagine. Perhaps North, to Winterfell if Arya needs help. I've been named Master of Coin, which I know nothing about, Sam."

Sam's eyes brightened considerably. "That's a position on the small council Jon!"

Jon shook his head. Sam had always been one of his best friends. "It is. And I could use a good council myself, Sam."

His friend swallowed hard.

With his father dead, and the Night's Watch gone, Horn Hill technically could be Sam's; if he wanted. But since Dickon was all but betrothed to the King's granddaughter, Sam somehow thought that wasn't ever going to happen, and Sam wasn't sure that was what he wanted. Gilly would never be a proper lady of the realm, and Sam was wise enough to know that the King and Queen needed strong and loyal houses in the Reach. Dickon and Myrcella would fill that void nicely.

Besides, there was a part of Sam that liked the idea of staying in King's Landing for a time; there were Maester's here, under which he could train, and he decided his future then and there.

"I'd be honoured to help in any way I can, Jon," Sam said truthfully, and Jon felt himself relax.

Jon knew that with Sam at his side, he might just understand the new role that the King had appointed him to after all. And the idea of having time with this friend, when they were not under attack when they were not being mocked or beaten, was heady and he rejoiced in it. Jon might only be half Stark, but seeing the direwolf hang in the Great Hall sent a fierce surge of pride through him.

"I am also getting married, Sam," Jon said gently, smiling at his friend. For so long, Jon had never wanted the shame of a child having his bastard name. While Jon still had issues with his parents, their choices, and the dark Targaryen history in Westeros, it _was_ a noble house of Westeros.

And the thought that he would soon have a wife, and if the gods were willing, a family almost staggered him. Jon Snow now had a name, a House and a legacy to build, and he'd do it all with his friends and family by his side.

* * *

_ Sansa and Addam  _

Sansa looked up when a figure appeared in the doorway. She knew that there were several layers of guards here, and while she half expected to see Rickon, she should have known it would be Addam.

"Your Grace," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Sansa choked on her tears, wonder that this man had come to care for her so much. She was so blessed with those that cared for her.

"Come in, and see the princess. She's changed since we've been gone," Sansa said, pointing to an empty chair beside her.

Addam sat down gingerly, leaning forward to look at the redhaired baby in Sansa's arms.

"Here," Sansa said, placing Serena in his arms. "Hold your granddaughter."

Addam sputtered but was helpless to say no, as he was suddenly holding the tiny baby. He stared down in her in awe, unashamed when the tears came to his eyes.

When he finally met Sansa's, he blurted out, "I thought I had lost all of you. When I heard the news, when I found out how close you had all come to death…"

The big man from the Westerlands shuddered, and Sansa placed a gentle kiss on his forehead while stroking his back.

"You are family, no matter what actions my mother took. I trust you, Addam, and you are very dear to my husband. I hope you will not be a stranger because I am sorely missing Kevan, and you and I have always had a strong relationship."

"I know my time with your mother was short, but I view you like a daughter Sansa. For as long as I live, you have my vow of loyalty."

Sansa nodded at the man from the Westerlands, who was gazing adoringly at her daughter as a grandfather would. Addam had lost so much. A wife, sons, and now, his second wife was being held on accounts of treason. Sansa wondered how the man bore such a burden. She would not abandon him, not now, not ever. Ser Addam Marbrand was as much her family as Myrcella, or Genna or even Lady Shireen. Family wasn't just blood, but action, deed and thought.

Sansa took a spot beside Addam as Serena napped, and gave him a slight smile.

"So Ser Addam, let me tell you a story about a brave boy name Rickon Stark," Sansa began, and delighted Addam with tales of her wild younger brother, knowing that he would take a keen interest along with Jaime in Rickon's training here in King's Landing.

Robb and Ned Stark might be dead, but Sansa swore that Rickon would have the very best men to mould him into the man he was destined to become. As she spoke, the bond between her and Addam grew, until when he finally took his leave, Sansa knew she had done all she could to welcome Addam back into their growing family.

* * *

_ Tywin and Varys_

"Varys," Tywin said, striding into the small council chambers.

The eunuch was waiting, resplendent in his robes. He bowed to the King, and Tywin snorted. Did they really need to stand on such ceremony?

"Where are Ellaria Sand and her bastard daughters?" Tywin demanded.

"They left the Capital before Oberyn made his move, Your Grace."

Tywin's eyes narrowed.

"You are positive?"

Varys nodded. "I am loyal to you and your wife, Your Grace. What happened to Lady Sansa, the attack and her and your children, is appalling. The work that the Queen has done in Flea Bottom is nothing short of miraculous."

Tywin would never trust Varys fully, but he did trust that their agendas aligned with one another. Varys was a champion for the people, much the same as Sansa was. Varys knew that Tywin brought peace and stability to the realm that Varys so craved. And Tywin had all but eliminated the brothels in King's Landing, further solidifying Varys' network of informants and not giving another man like Littlefinger a foothold.

"And what news of Dorne?"

Varys smirked at the King.

"Doran Martell is said to be furious. He has locked his daughter in a tower in Sunspear, keeping her a prisoner as she is his true heir. His oldest son, Quentyn, is said to be dead, while Trystane is his father's lackey. Some of Oberyn's bastard children are there as well, others with Ellaria."

"Will he welcome her back?" Tywin meant Ellaria. If she was refused entrance to Dorne, where might she go? She and her daughters would always be a threat to Sansa.

Varys cocked his head. "I'm unsure. His response to your summons to present himself to King's Landing went unanswered. He does not have the men to hold off a protracted battle, and he knows you have both military and naval superiority."

"Their stores?"

Varys shrugged. "The reports are conflicted, but none like what you have at the Rock."

Tywin arched an eyebrow at Varys knowledge of his home. Despite the crown he wore, the title he had earned, at his heart, Tywin Lannister would always be a lion of Casterly Rock first. And he hated it when anyone seemed to think they knew it’s secrets.

"I wasn't aware that the stores of the Rock were your concern, Spider," Tywin snarked.

Varys said nothing to that, instead of changing the subject. Tywin allowed it. For now.

"Your Grace, the most pressing concern with Dorne isn't that House Martell will be obliterated; it is who you mean to sit in Sunspear when that is done. Many noble houses are displeased with Doran and his brother, but they would support Arianne if she were to be placed as the Head of the House."

Tywin grunted. He trusted Varys to a point, but this was personal.

"Tell me of the prisoners, Lord Varys," the King said.

"Ser Daven arrived with Lady Catelyn…" Varys paused and frowned. "I am sorry, Your Grace. I do not know what to call her. Tully, Stark or Marbrand."

Tywin grunted at the truth of that statement. The woman had made an utter fool of him and his wife. While Sansa might not fully see it, Tywin did.

"Whatever her name, she's quite mad," Varys continued.

"And the other one?" Tywin could scarcely say Jaime's wife's name, his rage at her equally potent for what she had done to his beloved son.

"Less mad, perhaps, but equally entrenched in her viewpoint."

Tywin snorted. It was a euphemism to describe the stubborn black and white moral code that seemed to guide Brienne of Tarth.

"Is the Queen aware of what is to happen?"

Tywin nodded. "She is."

Varys winced in sympathy for his friend, for his Queen.

Tywin paced the small council room, running his hand over the chairs placed here. He knew he needed to gather his new council, and soon. Perhaps the day after next. He knew that he had some of the best men in the realm at his disposal, but for a moment, he could only see those not here.

Mace Tyrell.

Tyrion.

Kevan.

The ache he felt at his brother's loss, especially seeing the empty chair where he had sat, went deep.

"I trust you that there is no way for the prisoners to either escape, Lord Varys, or die by some other means. Oberyn Martell is known for his skillful use of poisons, and the man had made many, many 'friends' during his stay in King's Landing. I trust that your little birds will keep them all alive until they can face justice for their crimes."

Varys gave a curt nod and went to leave.

Before he reached the door, he turned back to Tywin. "May I ask how the Queen is, Your Grace?"

Tywin looked up from where he was glancing at the scrolls in front of him.

"She is better now that she is here. It was close, Varys. Too close."

Varys met the Kings' eyes. "She has my utter loyalty and devotion. I hope you know that."

Tywin knew it was as close as he would ever get to a sincere pledge for the eunuch. "I know, Lord Varys."

Before Varys left, Tywin's commanding voice rang out. "I need information on House Martell, Varys. Not tomorrow; today."

Varys nodded once again, and with that, the perfumed man slipped from the room, leaving Tywin alone in the small chamber room, filled with ghosts of his family and an ache deep in his heart.

He wasn't ready to go back to Sansa just yet; he needed this solitude to think and plot and grieve in absolute privacy. Soon enough, he'd need to perform for the lords and ladies of Westeros, but for now, he sat in the darkened room, allowing thoughts of vengeance fill his mind and soothe his battered soul.

* * *

_ Sansa and Rickon _

Once Ser Addam had left, Sansa changed Serena and wrapped her in a sling, and wandered out to tuck the princes into their crib. They still shared, cuddling up with one another, and she sat and read them stories, and then sang them both a song until they were asleep. She stood guard over them for a time, at peace now that they were home.

A presence at the door to their room alerted Sansa that someone was here. She looked over to see Rickon standing in the doorway and waved him inside.

Shaggy, very interested in the two princes he had saved, sniffed at her sons, and Sansa rubbed her hand on his massive black head. She laughed softly when Shaggy licked her. She missed the wolves and was so happy to have them here with her.

Sansa opened her arms to Rickon, who slid beside her and stared down at her sons.

"They are fine?" he asked Sansa, worry in his voice.

"They are, thanks to you, my brave boy," she told him. She squeezed him harder, delighted when he allowed her embrace.

"I'm glad, Sansa," Rickon said nothing for a time, watching the princes sleep. "I've been apart from you for so long that sometimes it feels like you are more my mother than she ever was." Neither of them would say Catelyn’s name. She had done so much damage to their family.

Sansa's heart ached to hear such a statement, although she could hardly refute it.

"I hope you give some consideration to staying in King's Landing with me, Rickon," Sansa whispered. He gave her a short, jerky nod, but didn't say anything.

Both Ric and Sansa took one more look at the twins, asleep in their crib. It still sent shivers down Sansa's spine when she thought about how close she had come to losing everything. She knew that she had a delayed reaction; after the attack, they had moved quickly to get back to the Red Keep. Now that she was here, now that she had time to process things, Sansa knew there would be some difficult times ahead. She was so thankful that she would have people here to support her and keep her feeling safe.

Tywin.

Jaime.

Jon.

Rickon.

Lord Royce.

Ser Addam.

Stannis.

Then there were the women who made up her court.

Genna.

Myrcella.

Dacey.

Shireen.

Wynafryd.

They had such a strong base of support, and it would be sorely needed in the weeks to come when the trials began for her mother and Brienne. The death of Oberyn Martell would barely even register to Sansa. The man had more than earned his demise.

But her mother and Brienne.

More than anything, their betrayal hurt.

Sansa was curled up in a chair, wrapped in Tywin's robe and cuddling Serena, Rickon by her side, with Shaggy snoring in front of the fire when Arya appeared.

"Sister," came Arya's voice as she dropped into another seat. Nymeria sniffed at Serena, and once the direwolf was convinced the princess was safe, she curled up beside Shaggy, snoring softly.

"So, Ric, what do you think of Sansa's living quarters?" Arya asked, and Rickon shook his head.

“I don’t know what to think,” he whispered.

When they had first walked into the main living room, Rickon's mouth had dropped open as he stared at the opulence here. Red and gold everywhere.

Sansa giggled.

"It's a lot, isn't it?" she said to him, and he nodded.

"Never thought I'd see anything like this."

Considering that Rickon had lived half-feral for several months with the Wildling Osha before making it to Last Hearth, Sansa could only imagine.

"Tell me what you think of the Capital?" Sansa asked as a servant brought in sweets and tea for them.

Hungry, Rickon began to eat.

"It's big! Bigger than I thought. Jon and Arya both tried to tell me, but I had no idea." He spoke with food in his mouth, no manners in sight. Sansa refrained from saying a thing, but Arya arched an eyebrow at him.

As her little brother sat there, stuffing his face, Sansa felt the warmth of family course through her body. She shared a smile with Arya as the wolves snored.

Then Arya barked out a harsh laugh.

"Seven fucking hells, Sansa, how on earth did we all end up back here?" Arya said, looking around at the lions and gold the decorated every surface.

"I know. It is so much. Before we went to Harrenhal, I was debating my husband's tastes."

"What taste?" Arya snorted through her laughter.

"I know, dear sister. It is so much. But he loves it.” Sansa shook her head, looking around. "Unfortunately, it is something that others expect."

"Still," Arya said, skeptically.

Sansa nodded. Then together, they said, "It's so ugly."

Laughing, the sisters were wiping away tears at their shared distaste for Tywin's preferred decorating style.

It was how Jaime and Tywin found them, all but doubled over as Rickon sat there looking bewildered at their mirth.

"Sansa?" Tywin asked, as Jaime took a seat next to Rickon, who was trying not to stare too hard at his idol.

"Oh, gods, I just…. I mean, I can't. It's too ridiculous," Sansa said, wiping away the tears and gasping for breath.

Tywin's face was amused, and Arya shook her head as Sansa handed him his daughter. Comfortable with holding the baby, Tywin adjusted Serena, so she cuddled up against his chest, and Arya and Jaime shared an amused look at the Great Lion and the picture he made. Seeing the King thusly was a sight few ever got to behold, and one that oddly warmed Arya through.

"It's just incredulous what we've survived, how we are here. That you are married to him, and that two massive direwolves are snoring before your fireplace, sweet sister," Arya said.

"I never thought I'd ever see the day when direwolves were welcomed in the Great Hall," Sansa agreed, missing Lady acutely.

Both families had lost key, essential members.

Both Houses weren't quite what they had been.

But somehow, against all the odds, they had survived.

"I wish father could have seen Robb, as he was when he took on the White Walkers," Arya said softly.

"I wish he could have seen Bran," Jaime added quietly.

"I wish I could have seen Robb, one last time," Sansa said, giving a little sob.

"I wish Kevan could have met my daughter," Tywin added.

"I wish Tommen could have seen the dragons, and especially Tyrion on his. He would have loved that," Jaime murmured.

"I wish I knew if father would be proud of me," Rickon said finally.

"Oh gods, Rickon, of course, he would. You saved me. You saved my children," Sansa cried and tugged him into her arms.

He went willingly, burying his head in her shoulder, his slim shoulders shaking. Sansa brushed back his curls and cupped his cheeks.

"You have a home here with us, and you have one in the North with Arya. I hope you'll stay with me, Ric, because I feel like we've had so little time together. But never forget you are the son of Ned Stark; that you are a wolf and a Northman. We have the blood of Kings in our veins, little brother, you as much as I."

Rickon nodded and glanced towards the King, who simply nodded his head. It was so different seeing the man thusly; relaxed and with his family.

"I'd like to stay. I'd like to train with Ser Jaime," Rickon said, and Jaime coughed and nodded.

The five of them were quiet for a time, lost in the fire and the comfort of the room.

"When do you think she might whelp her pups?" Jaime finally asked, glancing at Arya.

Arya cocked her head. "Soon," was all the dark-haired Stark sister said.

Tywin met Sansa's gaze as talk between Arya, Jaime and Ric turned to talk of training.

Their world had evolved so much, was so diverse now, so integrated, that the Great Lion knew he'd made the right call with the Stark banners hanging in the Great Hall. When he'd sent Kevan North with Ice, Ned Stark's Valyrian ancestral blade, he had hoped to secure an alliance with the Northern region. Tywin had no idea how critical that alliance would turn out to be.

Without Bran Stark and Jon Snow and Robb Stark, they never would have stood a chance against the White Walkers and the Night King. The Second Long Night would have swept over a warring Westeros and devastated humanity.

"I love you," Sansa whispered to her husband, awash in contentment.

"I love you," Tywin mouthed back, and the Queen smiled, looking around the room at her family that was gathered close, safe now after so many trials and tribulations.

* * *

_ The Lannisters  _

The next morning Tywin summoned all the Lannister lions currently in the Red Keep to his study. Sansa knew this was about Kevan, and she stayed by his side, as Genna, Jaime, Myrcella and Joanna all entered.

Sansa and Tywin had spoken at length at what to do with Jaime. His state was fragile and that what he needed more than anything right now was family.

Myrcella might be betrothed to Dickon Tarly, but the Reach Lord would be sent home to Horn Hill for a time. Jaime's daughter needed to be in the Capital since she still had a lot to learn about ruling a household.

Sansa and Tywin had also had a frank discussion about baby Joanna.

Sansa loved Tyrion's daughter with her entire heart, but she knew what the right course of action was. If Jaime were given her to raise, along with his duties to take Rickon on as a squire, it would ground the Golden Lion and help him heal.

And Sansa feared that there might be tension between Tywin and Tyrion's daughter. The Queen was not blind to her husband's faults, and loving and accepting Tyrion had not been one of his strengths. With their own family growing, Tywin was, rightfully so, focused on Tysan, Jason and Serena. Sansa did not want to jeopardize those relationships.

Jaime might never have the chance to raise a child; the man had been devastated twice in his romantic pairings, and while Sansa held out hope that one day Jaime might find someone to love the way that she loved Tywin, if he did not, then he had a second chance to raise a child as his own with Joanna.

When the Lannister's had gathered, Tywin explained what had happened at Harrenhal; Kevan's sacrifice as he understood it, and his decision to send his brother back to the Rock to be buried in the Hall of Heroes. Genna openly wept, thinking of Kevan doing his duty, and how he'd remained loyal to Tywin until the very end.

"As for Tyrion's daughter," and Tywin saw his sister's face light in anticipation. His plan for Genna and her Frey husband was to send them to the Twins, to take their place at that crucial crossing to guarantee that the King always had safe passage North, and the North to the South. "The Queen and I have decided the Jaime should be the one to raise her."

Jaime startled, hearing his name, while Myrcella clapped in joy.

"Oh, that's a lovely choice," she said excitedly, while Jaime was still stunned. Sansa laid a comforting hand on Jaime's shoulder.

"You won't be alone, Jaime. She is a Lannister," Sansa told him gently. "But I think this would be good for the both of you."

Jaime glanced around at his family, his eyes landing on his father, who nodded. "She needs someone, Jaime."

Jaime swallowed hard and nodded slightly. "I'll try."

"And me?" Genna all but screeched. Tywin sighed. His sister had been a godsend since she'd arrived. Her and Sansa had bonded quickly, and his sister had guided Sansa through the intricacies of the court life. But now Tywin had a new purpose for his sister.

"The Twins," was all Tywin said, and Genna blanched.

"Do you hate me so much?"

Tywin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, Genna, I don't. But I need to rebuild a Kingdom. Sansa's sister is going North to Winterfell, Jon to Dragonstone. Daven and Lancel will be at Casterly Rock. I need people I can trust, sister."

Genna stormed out of the room, leaving the rest of the Lannister's staring at one another.

"I will deal with her," Tywin said, sinking into his seat, tiredness seeping through his body.

As if sensing that they needed privacy, Jaime, Joanna and Myrcella left the room, and Sansa cuddled onto Tywin's lap. He snorted, but his hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her close as he nuzzled at her neck. He inhaled deeply, lemons and lavender and felt his body settle.

Sansa rubbed at the tense muscles in his neck, loving as he nipped at her.

"There is so much to do, Sansa," Tywin sighed.

He felt the pressure to get things correct, to protect her, to keep the realm safe and to ensure his sons and daughter had a strong kingdom to inherit. Never in the past thirty years had Tywin felt comfortable enough with anyone to reveal his worries. But he could with his wife.

"I know, my lion." She said nothing else, just sitting with him in the quiet. "It's the right choice, Tywin. We need Genna at the Twins. And we need my sister at Winterfell. We have an entire kingdom to rebuild, love."

Sansa brushed her lips against his, loving when his hands tightened around her.

"What is next?" she asked.

"The North."

* * *

_ The North _

Tywin and Sansa had summoned Arya, Sandor, Jeyne, Ned, and Rickon, to their private chambers to discuss the situation in the North. They entered soon after the Lannister's had left, and Sansa hoped this went better than their previous meeting.

Jeyne looked exhausted, and Sansa hugged her good sister. She felt guilty that she hadn't been able to spend more time with her. Since their arrival at Harrenhal, Sansa had been consumed with her duties as Queen. Then the attack had happened, and Sansa had concentrated entirely on her immediate family.

But this woman had been loved by Robb, and she carried his baby in her tummy.

"How are you?"

Jeyne sniffed and leaned into Sansa. "Truthfully? Between my grief, my pregnancy and the sheer horror of what has happened, I am a wreck, Sansa." Jeyne blushed. "I mean, Your Grace."

"Jeyne, stop. This is family. Here I am Sansa."

Jeyne nodded and then sank gratefully into a comfortable seat, Grey Wind by her side, as one of their servants got her a cup of tea, while she cradled the sleeping toddler. When Jeyne was settled, Sansa turned her attention to Sandor, who stood by the doorway, as if not wholly trusting his place even though things had long been settled between him and Tywin.

Rickon took a chair, while Arya sat on the couch with Jeyne.

"The North," Tywin said, looking at the four people gathered. The last true-born Starks were all in this room.

"I'm going to Winterfell," Arya announced, almost defiantly to the King.

He glowered at her, but his glare had long ago lost its potency with Arya.

"Yes, you will. Arya Stark will be named Regent of Ned Stark until he comes of age. Jeyne and Sandor will accompany you, while Rickon Stark stays in King's Landing, to be raised by Sansa and me."

Sandor straightened as that announcement was made. "Jeyne Stark is Robb's widow and the mother of Ned Stark, the true born heir to Winterfell."

Tywin nodded. "She is. She is also a woman of the West. Arya is the next trueborn Stark. The North will respect and follow a Stark, more than they would Robb's widow." Tywin glanced at Jeyne and gentled his tone. "I am sorry, but this is the truth."

Jeyne nodded and looked reassured. "To be honest, Your Grace, I am relieved. I love Winterfell. It is my home, and I know I will feel closer to my husband when I am there. But I also understand the North. I welcome Arya’s regency there."

Tywin cleared his throat. "I understand the pain of raising children when you have lost your partner, Lady Stark."

Jeyne’s pretty eyes filled at the compassion the Old Lion was showing her.

"I know. I grew up on tales of the Great Lion, Your Grace. You are so beloved in the Westerlands, and we are so happy you are our King. But the North is my home now; my children's home. I can feel Grey Wind wanting to be there, and with Arya by my side, I know we can rebuild it to its former glory."

"You are a true, noblewoman of the realm, Jeyne Stark, and I have confidence you will do us proud."

Jeyne sniffed again, her emotions heightened from her pregnancy.

"Clegane, the North is where you want to be?"

Sandor nodded and cleared his throat. "It is."

Tywin settled his gaze on Arya. "You understand the responsibility this places upon you?"

"I do."

"And you are ready for it?"

In the past, Arya would have bristled at such a question, thinking it an insult and a challenge. But now she understood the trust and confidence the King placed in her. "I am, Your Grace. I believe I am ready, and I will do you and Sansa proud."

Tywin gave a curt jerk of his head before he turned his attention to Rickon.

"And you, Young Wolf."

Rickon straightened, and Sansa was so proud of him how he didn't cower before her husband.

"You want to stay in the South? With Sansa and I?"

Rickon bobbed his head. "I do, Your Grace."

"Very well, then."

Tywin looked at the small group before him.

"Tomorrow, I will call a small council meeting. Arya, you will not attend. We are going back to a true small council for now. I shared power in the past, and while that may have served our needs at the time, now I need to rebuild Westeros. I cannot appease each region, as I did when I first came to power."

Sansa squeezed her husband's hand. Perhaps in time, when things were settled, with Dorne, with the Reach, with the Riverlands, they might revisit the idea. But for now, they needed to be strong and united.

"Sansa and I will share these plans with the council, and announce them to the entire conclave when all the nobles have arrived. Until then, I don't have to remind you about discretion. If anyone has any questions, they can answer to me. Especially the Northern nobles.”

Everyone agreed, and Tywin was just about to take his leave when Arya coughed.

"Yes?"

"I think that Gendry might not feel welcome at Storm's End," she blurted out and then coloured.

Before she'd come to the King and Queen's chambers, she had spent time in the yard, sparring with him, and it had been fantastic. They'd been grinning at each other by the end, and Arya knew she wanted her friend in the North with her.

"Come to Winterfell, Gendry," she said, her mouth for once running away from her.

Gendry looked slightly stunned, and then he nodded. "I'd like that."

"We can use men like you," she told him.

He frowned. "A blacksmith?"

"A friend to House Stark."

His smile had returned then.

Now she had stepped into it by mentioning him to the King. Tywin arched his eyebrow at her. "Is there something between the two of you?"

Arya shook her head and met his eyes. "No, Your Grace. We are friends. And House Stark needs friends."

Tywin finally nodded. He crossed the room to kiss Sansa and murmur he had things to see to before the small council meeting tomorrow.

"I'll be back for dinner, my love," he told her before taking his leave.

Sansa watched as Sandor fussed over Jeyne, asking if she was okay and if she needed anything. Jeyne waved her away as Sandor took a spot next to Jeyne and helped her settled Ned.

"What is that?" Sansa whispered to her sister.

Arya shrugged. "He cares deeply for her, San. I'm not sure if it's anything more than friendship, or if Sandor will ever acknowledge what he feels. Hell, he's been in love with you for years, sweet sister and never admitted it. But he's loyal to a fault, and he will never let anyone harm her or Little Ned. He'll stay by her side in the North until the day he dies."

Sansa looked closer at Sandor, who had Ned in his arms, the heir to Winterfell only a few months older than her children.

"Oh my," She said, a bittersweet feeling sweeping through her.

She ached that her brother was gone; here was his widow, with his young son and another babe yet to be born that Robb would never meet. He'd been denied so much, sacrificed so much at Harrenhal.

But the possibility that perhaps, one day, one of her dearest friends might finally find love filled her with hope. She knew there was no better man to help raise Robb's children, besides Sandor. The man had formed such a strong bond with her brother, that Sansa knew this was the best way forward for her family.

"I want him to be happy, Arya," Sansa whispered and her sister squeezed her hand.

"So do I, Sansa. So do I."

A huge grin split Sansa's face. "So, tell me about Gendry," Sansa demanded, laughing when Arya groaned and blushed.

"There is nothing to tell. We are friends, Sansa."

"He's quite handsome. Young. Wealthy."

Arya rolled her eyes, but Sansa swore her sister's dark eyes went a bit dreamy at his name. Sansa cupped her sister's cheek.

"You're beautiful, Arya. Strong, smart and resilient. It doesn't make a woman weak to love the right man."

Arya looked at her sister. In some ways, Sansa was the most powerful woman that Arya had ever known. She had more real power than Cersei had ever had, and her husband worshiped her. Jeyne and Robb had been another couple that had taught Arya that a marriage could be loving. Jon doted on Dacey and didn't stifle her in any way, proud of her accomplishments and her role as Sansa's Queensguard. Perhaps it was possible to have a marriage where a woman didn't lose all her independence.

"I am a Stark, Sansa. And that is the role that King has placed me in until Ned comes of age."

Sansa winked. "I think Gendry wouldn't object to being a Stark, Arry."

Arya seemed to contemplate that.

"Lady Shireen will most likely be facing a similar situation. She is the heir to Storm's End. Whomever she eventually marries will need to take the Baratheon name," Sansa pointed out.

"True."

Sansa hugged Arya, as she heard Serena's cry. "Just promise me you won't close yourself off to the possibility – whatever that might be, sister."

"I promise," Arya said, looking at Jeyne, who had fallen asleep, while Sandor and Rickon discussed the best way to gut a man.

She was headed home, to Winterfell, with people she loved and those that loved her. Arya would miss Sansa, but she was ready for this role that had been thrust upon her. She was a Stark, and Winterfell was her home. It was time to rebuild the North and make it strong once again. And Arya was the woman to do it.

* * *

_ Small Council Meeting _

Tywin had been serious when he'd told Arya Stark that he was done with the experimental small council. There had been a time for it, when his power had been new, his position still shaping itself.

But now, that was over.

He was the King of the Seven Kingdoms, and with his wife by his side, with his Sansa, he planned to rebuild a robust and stable realm, where the lions of Lannisport and the wolves of the North ruled for a thousand years.

This had always been Tywin's goal; to leave a legacy for his children and to create a dynasty for his house.

Gathered with him today was Sansa, of course, Jon, Dacey, Jaime, Addam, Varys, Royce, Poole, Stannis and Jerrod.

"For reasons that are both apparent and obvious, this room has seen its fair share of appointments to the small council over the past few years. Since Robert's death, there had been no stability, no adherence to the rule of law, no dedication to good governance, and no willingness to ensure that the Seven Kingdoms are strong and united."

Each person was held entranced by the King, especially Sansa. She loved watching Tywin thusly when he leaned fully into his role as teacher, leader, mentor and King. She knew she had softened him slightly so that his edges weren't quite so sharp. His brilliance, though, was never more evident than when he spoke eloquently in front of people, and Sansa could listen to him for hours.

"Personal agendas, bitter feuds, and revenge have plagued us for too long. It is a miracle we survived the Second Long Night, and we owe a debt of gratitude to those in the room, as well as those that died at Harrenhal, fighting the Night King."

A murmur of agreement carried.

"The realm requires peace. The realm needs time to heal, to repopulate, to grow strong and replenish our people, our crops, our gold. We have one Kingdom that remains in open rebellion and will be brought to heel," Tywin roared, smashing his fist on the table. A cheer rose then, and all eyes were on Sansa as she watched her husband.

"You are aware of the titles and power the Queen holds. We will rule together, our goal to bring stability to Westeros, to allow people to prosper once more, to break the wheel that ground us under the Targaryen rule for far too long."

Tywin held the gaze of every person in the room. "That begins here, with the work we do as members of the small council."

He received nods in turn.

"To our loyal guards, Dacey and Jerrod, your positions on the small council are afforded due to the exemplary work of both as head of the King and Queensguards."

Both bowed to Tywin and Sansa.

"Lord Varys, you have worked tirelessly with the Queen, to bring true reform to those in Flea Bottom. Your network of spies is legendary, and I have responded by not allowing a single person to take the position that Petyr Baelish once held."

Varys nodded his head at the King and smiled at Sansa.

"You will remain as Master of Whispers."

"Thank you, Your Graces, I am honoured to serve two such as yourselves."

"To a man more loyal and truer than almost any other I have known. You will always have a place at our table, Ser Addam, and you remain Head of the City Watch."

"I swear my undying loyalty to you both, Your Graces."

Tywin had elevated Maester Poole, the one who had helped Sansa birth the twins to the role of Grand Maester. Pycelle had been relieved of his duties and sent back to Old Town, seen as a liability by Tywin now, given his advancing age and his thirst for power. Pycelle had been willing to do anything to maintain his position of Grand Maester, which meant he had been a weak link. Tywin would have no weak links in his small council.

The younger Maester thanked the King profusely, pronouncing his undying loyalty to both monarchs.

Tywin's eyes swung to Jon.

"Jon Targaryen, you came to your true name and heritage later than most men. You were raised a bastard for most of your life. Your uncle made great sacrifices to protect you," Tywin said, looking directly at Jon, who squirmed slightly. "You pledged yourself to the Night's Watch, forsaking most things that normal men would kill for. A wife. A family. A home. And in doing so, you gained a loyal following, men that would die for you, and a Wildling army that would fight for you."

"Now, it is time to leave that man behind and embrace your new role. You are the last of your House, Jon, both a wolf and a dragon. You have proven, beyond a doubt, your loyalty to your family and the people of Westeros."

Jon gulped and held the King's gaze.

"Jon Targaryen, you are the Master of Coin."

“I will serve you loyally, Your Graces,” Jon said, still unable to believe the life he was living.

Tywin turned to Jaime, who had a contemplative look on his face.

"To my son, who has proven him loyal and daring over these past few months, who had faced danger and betrayal, and who now wishes to stay with his family, and support Houses Lannister and Stark with our reign, you will be the Master of Laws."

Jaime just jerked his head; he'd known this was coming.

"You will work with Sansa and Addam, Jaime, to continue their reforms in Flea Bottom."

Tywin gazed at his wife. "And Sansa has many, many ideas that require the support of your new position throughout the kingdom."

"I am honoured to serve, Your Grace," Jaime said, playing the game. Everyone knew nepotism ran rampant when Kings formed small councils and Tywin was no different. He could hardly be faulted for relying on those he trusted.

Royce coughed, and the King's green-gold eyes swung to the Vale man.

"Is there a problem, Lord Royce?"

Royce nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. He is the Kingslayer." Before Tywin could argue, Royce held up his hand. "We've heard his reasons, and while many believe Ser Jaime's actions justifiable, is he not a liability in such a position?"

Sansa laid a hand on Tywin's arm. This was why Royce was a perfect choice for Hand, with Stannis set to leave to take on Dorne. Tywin needed people who would challenge him.

"Perhaps you are correct, Lord Royce," Tywin admitted, holding the man's gaze. "I expect that my Hand will need to keep the other Masters in line, to guide and help them in their new positions and report to me when they lack in their duties."

Tywin smirked at the Vale man paled, glancing towards Sansa, who was smiling at him.

Before this entire Long Night, Tywin had never been close with the Vale man. Ned Stark had, and so had Jon Arryn, of course. Royce had never had much time to come down from his perch in the Eyrie and embroil himself in the politics of Westeros, even when Jon Arryn had been named Robert's hand.

The man was fair to a fault, steadfast and loyal.

And unafraid to speak his mind as clearly just demonstrated.

"But I thought…" Royce trailed off, looking at Stannis.

"Lord Royce, you have proven your loyalty to Sansa and I time and again. You answered the call for men and marched to the Wall and back down again."

"But what of Stannis?"

Tywin looked at a man, perhaps the only one in the room who might one day be his equal, should he ever be able to relax. There was no denying that Stannis was cold, brilliant, calculating and loyal. The man had such tenacity, such dedication to duty, that all others fairly paled when compared to him.

But he was also stubborn and set in his ways and unable to bend. More than anything, Tywin had learned from Sansa that there were times for compromise.

"We have not yet discussed what my response will be towards Dorne. For now, the task of rebuilding the Royal Navy, blockading Dorne, dealing a crippling blow to the Iron Born, while bringing the Redwyne fleet into the fold, will remain with Stannis Baratheon as Master of Ships."

Stannis nodded. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"Your sacrifice, your bravery, your loyalty have not gone unnoticed, Lord Baratheon. Lady Shireen is your heir, and Storm's End will always belong to a true born Baratheon noble."

Stannis swallowed hard. It is what he had always wanted. His home and the respect of those he served loyally.

"There is no other man that I trust to avenge what was done to my wife, to my family, Lord Baratheon. I place upon you a terrible burden, to bring Dorne to their knees, to bring me the news that every last Martell is dead and gone so that I might finally rest again."

"I willingly take up this cause, Your Grace and will execute my duty faithfully," Stannis said.

Tywin nodded before adding quietly, "I know."

"Which leaves the matter of my Hand, Lord Royce."

The Vale man sputtered, almost blushing at being considered for such a position. He and Tywin Lannister were not close; they had become allies due to extraordinary circumstances.

Tywin slid the pin, on a pillow down the table, where it sat before Royce.

Royce looked at it, then at Sansa, and around the room, to the small council, Tywin had formed. There were those here that were nothing more than green boys who knew nothing of the positions they were given. But Jon Targaryen was as much Ned Stark's son as any man Royce had ever met, and now he was being given a chance to help him in his new role. Royce loved Sansa as one of his daughters, the Queen being everything Royce thought a monarch should be. The idea of having influence, of having a say here in King's Landing and indeed throughout the realm as it was rebuilt, was too tantalizing to pass up.

"I accept," he said, taking the golden pin.

"Good," was all Tywin said, finally taking his seat and giving everyone a moment to adjust as he scanned the room for reactions.

Tywin smirked as both Jaime and Jon appeared uncomfortable in their new roles. They had much to learn, and Tywin found himself oddly excited by such a prospect. Dragonstone was close, and with Jon taking his proper name and place, it gave Tywin another person to bring sufficiently into his orbit of influence.

Poole seemed scared but excited.

Varys was calm and composed.

Stannis congratulated Royce and then both men discussed Dorne. Tywin knew the addition of them to his small council was what would make this small council one of the strongest in recent memory.

"Well done, my lion," Sansa said, taking his hand in hers beneath the table.

Tywin adored having her here, watching her learn, seeing her quick and agile brain absorb everything. She was an excellent Queen, a loving mother and a passionate and devoted wife. She was his entire world. Tywin had long known he was a man that was easily and quite willingly ruled by the woman that he loved. He had just never expected to find that twice in his lifetime and knew he was a lucky man.

He leaned closer, and brushed his lips across her ear, earning a slight shiver from her. “I love you, Sansa.”

She turned, her brilliant blue eyes, filled with love for him. “I love you, Tywin.”

Then he grinned. “Now, are you ready for our first meeting with our new small council?”

Her answering smile was everything. This woman would rule by his side, being a helpmate and source of joy for the rest of his days.

“I am.”

“The let us begin,” King Tywin, first of his name and the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms said to his Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next
> 
> Small council meeting, a wedding, a feast, then the trials and the conclave.
> 
> I have no timeline for a new update but I hope it won't be as long. 
> 
> Comments are always welcome and appreciated!


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small council meeting, a wedding and a celebration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I did not get to the trials. But they are next, I promise!
> 
> Also Sansa's crown is based on the Stuart Diamond Crown, part of the Dutch Crown Jewels. IT IS AMAZING!
> 
> Huge thanks to starlight and LC!!! They are a support system unlike any other!

_ Small council meeting_

With the small council appointments made, Tywin thumped his fist on the table and began the business of the meeting.

First, the North. Several issues required attention. The announcement of Arya Stark as regent for Ned had been met with nods of approval. Jon and Royce were especially keen on the King and Queen's decision to instill Arya in such a position.

"She has indicated she wishes to take Gendry Waters with her North," Tywin said, looking to Stannis, who only nodded and grunted his acceptance of such a decision. Stannis wanted nothing to do with Robert's bastard, so sending him North made him happy.

"That leaves the issue of resettlement and the Wildlings," Tywin said and looked to his wife.

She nodded at him and then looked at their small council. "With no more Wall, no Night King, there is no need for the Night's Watch. We will issue an official decree releasing all those still alive from their vows."

"And Castle Black, Your Grace?" Jon asked, leaning forward.

Sansa held Jon's gaze. "The North was depleted more than any other region, Lord Targaryen," Sansa said, using his official title. "Any Wildling wishing to stay in the south can resettle in The Gift. Tormund Giantsbane will be given Castle Black. All other castles that belonged to the Nights Watch will be destroyed, and Eastwatch by the Sea will become a trading post."

Jon's grey eyes went wide, then he smiled, and Sansa couldn't help but return it. "Fuck me, San, he won't know what to do."

Sansa arched an elegant eyebrow.

"There are stipulations, Jon. He must bend the knee, both to House Stark and House Lannister and follow all the laws and rules of Westeros. Castle Black is NOT beyond the Wall. If he wants to live that way, he must return to those lands, and we will find another worthy family to take his place there."

Jon nodded, knowing that was fair.

"Also, free passage is to be given to those wishing to travel between the Lands of Always Winter and the North," Tywin continued.

"So trade with the Wildlings is acceptable?"

Tywin's eyebrow arched. "Do they have anything worthwhile?"

Jon nodded eagerly. "There are many things beyond the Wall that would have value, especially in the North. With Arya at Winterfell, it would make sense to engage with the Wildlings."

Tywin knew that in times of peace, trade thrived, and the idea of an entirely new region, rich with resources that could not easily be found in other parts of Westeros, was tantalizing. He gave Jon a curt nod, but inside excitement brewed.

"I will look to my new Master of Coin to help develop these new trading partnerships," Tywin murmured, and Jon nodded eagerly.

"With no more Night's Watch and no more trials by combat, the Dreadfort will be turned into a prison," Tywin announced. "Jaime, Addam, and Sansa, you will work to codify a set of laws with clearly defined consequences to be implemented throughout Westeros. Failure to comply will result in a sentence to be served at the Dreadfort. A similar prison will be established in the Capital and the Westerlands."

Tywin paused and then continued. "Trial by combat is still outlawed. Those who commit a crime must face justice." The King gazed at those in his small council.

As predicted, Stannis was the first to react. The brilliant man leaned forward, his eyes almost dancing in excitement.

"This is a monumental change you are proposing, Your Grace. Am I to understand that you want a system of law and order that is codified and universal throughout Westeros?"

For so long, the only options in Westeros to those that had committed a crime were trial by combat, trial by seven or taking the black. Since Tywin had outlawed the first two, and there was no Night's Watch, a new system needed to be developed.

"It is. I understand that various regions have their ways, but with nowhere to send those found guilty of a crime, we need something new."

Stannis nodded enthusiastically. "I'd like to help with this reform, Your Grace."

Pleased, Tywin nodded.

"That would be most welcome," the King said. He could only imagine the battles that Stannis and Jaime might engage in, but with Sansa's calm and reasonable logic, Tywin knew that whatever system they developed would be balanced and fair. The North, the West, and the South.

"I'd be interested as well," Royce said, and Tywin allowed a rare smile through.

Now he had the East; four major regions would work to bring law and order to Westeros. He looked to his wife to see what her reaction was. Sansa gave a slight nod, and Tywin knew she was pleased. His wife had big plans for this country that she was now Queen of.

When Tywin thought of the next issue, his blood heat and his hands curled into fists. It happened each time he thought back to how close he'd come to losing Sansa and his children.

"We must discuss the issue of House Martell," he said, and immediately the entire feeling in the room changed.

Tywin knew so many, not just he, loved his wife. Jaime, Jon, Stannis, Dacey, Jerrod, Varys and Royce. Their entire small council felt she was a good and just Queen. What had happened to her and his children was not just an insult to House Lannister, but to all those that supported Sansa. It was an insult to all those that loved Sansa.

"Harrenhal will be taken apart brick by brick, and a monument erected in its place to commemorate the great sacrifices made there," Tywin began.

The Crown's coffers were more than healthy to build something grand and to befit to those that had given their lives in the fight against the Night King.

"As for Dorne, I will send a raven immediately demanding that Ellaria Sand and her daughters, along with Doran Martell and his son Trystane present themselves before the court to stand in judgment for failing to send men to fight the army of the dead."

Tywin paused and saw everyone was listening.

"Because we know that none of them will present themselves before the court, they will be declared traitors to the Crown. When that happens, Stannis will sail with the Royal Navy to the southern region. A blockade from both sea and land will commence after the Great Conclave, as Stannis takes an army and pushes into Sunspear. Daven Lannister will take the Lannister army and push down through the mountain passes. Doran Martell will answer for his failure to send men, and for his role in the actions of his brother."

Varys cleared his throat and met Tywin's eyes.

"Your Grace, it is said that House Martell's heir, Arianna, is locked in a Tower. No one knows if she is still alive, but it is clear that her father is not pleased with his heir. Perhaps there is an opportunity to keep a power structure in Dorne while appealing to the other houses in the region. My little birds tell me that many noble houses in the South are unhappy with Doran's reign but would support his daughter."

Tywin grunted. He'd been rolling the idea of Arianna Martell around in his head for the past few days. A part of him wanted them wiped from the map. But he was a pragmatic man, and utter chaos in the south did not appeal to Tywin either.

"There will be conditions, Lord Varys, that she must meet," was all he said, voice low and tight. It grated on Tywin to allow any Martell to live, but he needed to create the best possible future for his wife and heirs.

Varys nodded. "Of course. Perhaps repartitions and clean up by the Dornish, for the mess that is Harrenhal?"

Tywin nodded. "Perhaps. Let us not get ahead of ourselves, Lord Varys. The Dornish attacked my wife and children, meaning to kill them all. They must pay!"

Tywin said, slamming his fist into the table. He felt Sansa stiffen and dared not look at her, wondering if she was thinking him the monster he was. He'd been tempered during their marriage, but what had happened at Harrenhal threatened to unleash the man that he was, and there was a part of Tywin that worried his wife would turn away from him, should she seem him at his coldest.

"And the smallfolk? The regular people who had nothing to do with Oberyn and his quest for vengeance?" Jon asked, meeting the King's eyes.

Tywin had to give him credit, very few men had ever stood up to him the way Jon was now doing. Tywin knew this was Sansa's most significant concern.

"They are not to be harmed, unless they are in the way, Lord Targaryen. But House Martell must answer for their crimes."

Jon gave a short, jerky nod. "Fair enough."

Tywin didn't give a single fuck about being fair. What he wanted was to destroy House Martell so that it's very existence was wiped from the map of Westeros the way house Reyne and Tarbeck had been. And their crimes had been far less grievous against him and the Lannister name.

This was his beloved wife that had been attacked. His children. His blood! Everyone, from the Wall to Sunset Sea, knew what Tywin felt for Sansa.

But.

Tywin was a married man, and he liked having a wife that loved him, that looked at him like he was some type of hero. He liked having her warm and loving presence beside him in bed each night, and he knew that she would be pained should his revenge include those who had nothing to do with Oberyn's actions. Should Tywin punish the entire region, he risked having his wife turn from him. Even slightly would be too much.

"The trial for Oberyn will be separate from that of Lady Catelyn and Lady Brienne. While their trials will be closed and not open to the full court, I expect the entire small council to be there. Keeping this a closed trial is to spare our family and my wife more humiliation at the actions of our family members."

Sansa reached and squeezed Tywin's hand at that announcement, and he knew he'd made the right decision. The relief in Jaime's eyes was palpable, and Tywin would do anything within his power to spare his family more humiliation at the hands of those two women.

"Edmure Tully will also be there, along with Arya Stark. The judges for their trial will be me, Stannis and Lord Royce."

It was apparent why neither Jaime nor Jon was chosen, and the two men nodded. "The outcome will be announced at the conclave."

Tywin felt his wife tense, and he wished he could spare her the pain and embarrassment that her mother had caused her, but there was no way. She reached down and clutched at his hand, and Tywin stroked his fingers over her hand, loving how she turned to him always.

"Oberyn Martell's trial, however, will be open for the full court. Everyone needs to know what actions he took against the Crown. The same judges will be used for both trials," and Tywin saw Jaime let out a relieved breath.

No one dared argue Tywin on his decrees, sympathy for both Sansa and Jaime ripe in the room, while the need to hold Oberyn publicly accountable for his actions was a foregone conclusion.

The last matter to discuss was decidedly more pleasant and involved both Jon's wedding and the celebratory feast. After some debate, it was decided that the two events would be combined. There was a hum of excitement that a house once thought almost extinct was back and enough Targaryen loyalists that Jon and Dacey's wedding had become a spectacle in and of itself.

Jon looked decidedly uncomfortable at the turn his wedding had taken, and Tywin simply smirked at the man. He'd stood in front of the entire realm and happily married Sansa in the Great Sept; her cousin could do the same. Besides, Tywin had a plan to ensure that while Jon and Dacey had their moment, all eyes of the realm would be on his wife.

Content with the progress made, Tywin dismissed the inaugural small council. When they were alone, he pulled his wife into his arms, her breath hitching.

"I wish there were some way to save you this pain, Sansa," he whispered to her as she shook slightly. Her muffled cry was swallowed up by his chest, where she had pressed her face.

"I want it done. I need to move on," she finally said, and he massaged her neck and then titled her head. He stroked her cheek and kissed her gently.

"I blame myself for my Uncle's death, Tywin. Had I just banished my mother when she first pulled a dagger on me, none of this would have happened," she said, devastation in her pretty blue eyes.

Tywin shrugged philosophically. "Or perhaps something worse would have. We cannot know, Sansa. You made a choice, and you were betrayed by a woman who should have always supported you."

"I know how you dislike anything that brings shame and dishonour to our House, Tywin."

"Hush, love," Tywin said, kissing her again. "You have saved House Lannister Sansa. Your mother's actions are not a reflection on you, my little wolf."

Sansa's entire body warmed at the endearment and then she gave a pained grimace.

"What is it?"

"My milk. I need to find your daughter, Tywin."

His grin made Sansa shake her head. For some reason, Tywin delighted in her nursing his children and could watch her for hours when she did so.

Clasping their hands together, they finally took their leave from the small council room to find their children and steal a few moments for just them.

* * *

_ Wedding and Celebration Feast  _

Sansa hummed softly to herself as her handmaiden put the finishing touches on her hair, which had been styled up for Jon's wedding today and the celebration feast tonight. They had decided to combine the two events, although both Jon and Dacey were slightly overwhelmed by the attention their wedding was now receiving.

As Sansa settled into her role as Queen, she'd found her style to be a blend of her Northern roots, her exposure to various southern styles in King's Landing and things her husband preferred.

Sansa knew if her hair were up, Tywin would press a kiss to her neck, most likely just below her ear, and not care who might see him loving her. She would never have imagined him to be so demonstrative, especially in public, but secure in their positions, Tywin indulged his need for her. Personally, Sansa thought that Tywin liked shocking people with his open affection for her. He revelled in the fact that they were a love match and ruthlessly used it to his advantage.

As Sansa sat patiently with the woman worked, she thought about the business of the past week and helping Jon and Dacey get ready for their wedding.

After the inaugural small council meeting, Tywin and Sansa had dined with their family in their massive dining room. Even with so much death during the Second Long Night, their ranks had swelled.

Jeyne, Sandor, Arya, Gendry, Rickon, Dacey and Jon from the North.

Addam, Myrcella, Genna, who had calmed down, and Jaime from the West.

Shireen had been there, along with Stannis from the Stormlands.

Lord Royce was the lone attendee from the Vale, but he was like an Uncle to Sansa, and she'd come to rely on his pragmatic insights.

The babies were all being looked after in the nursery, leaving the adults free to socialize and giving Shireen and Rickon a chance to speak.

Interestingly enough, Rickon and Shireen had become close. At first, Shireen seemed unsure of Sansa's youngest brother, and Sansa has been nervous, wondering if they were too different.

Shireen was brilliant and had been raised now at court for the past year, while Rickon had almost been raised in the wilds of the North. They didn't have a damn thing in common, except that they both loved Sansa, and they were the same age.

Sansa had hovered when she'd left them alone in the solar, earning her a funny look from Tywin.

"You can't force them to be friends, my love," he said from his study as Sansa tried to hear what they were saying.

"Shhhh," Sansa said, waving a hand at the King who rolled his eyes at her. The King turned back to the raven he was working on.

"How long have you known my sister?" Ric asked, looking directly at Shireen.

Despite how good Shireen had gotten at not being bothered when people avoided looking at her face, she was unused to someone seeming to not care about it at all. Ric didn't even seem to notice the greyscale. It staggered her.

"Uhmmm, a year. I came with my father, from Dragonstone."

"Did you ever see his dragon?" Rickon asked, eyes lighting. He was still young enough that the dragons had been heroes in his mind. He'd loved seeing Jon on Rhaegal.

Shireen nodded and took a seat next to Rickon, eagerly imparting her knowledge about dragon lore with Ric. Shireen had read an endless number of books on the subject.

His eyes narrowed. "How do you know all that stuff?" he asked her, and she blushed.

"I love to read. And the King challenges me with new facts," Shireen told Rickon, prepared to be mocked.

"Sansa told me I need to take lessons while I'm here, but I'd rather be sparring."

Shireen grinned. "I can help. With lessons, not sparring," she clarified.

Rickon smiled. "You would?"

She nodded. "Yes."

Then she let out a little 'eep' as Shaggy bumped his massive head against her hand.

"Oh my," Shireen stuttered. "Who are you?

"It's ok," Ric said, running his hand over Shaggy's head. "He won't hurt you. His name is Shaggydog, and he's my direwolf."

Everyone in the capital had heard about the direwolves, including Shaggy, who'd been a hero in helping save Sansa.

Tentatively, Shireen reached out and stroked her hand down Shaggy's massive head, laughing when he licked her.

"Oh, I've never had a pet before," she exclaimed. "You're so lucky."

Rickon smiled back at her. "He saved Sansa's life when she was attacked. Took a sword to the guts."

Shireen melted into the wolf. "What a brave boy," she purred, and Shaggy scooted closer to her, his massive head resting on her lap as Shireen grinned.

Stannis, who had been speaking with Royce, found Sansa hovering at the edge of the room.

"What is going on?" he asked, prepared to enter the room to find his daughter when Sansa reached out and stopped him.

"Look. I think they are friends," she said, pointing to the three of them – Ric, Shireen and Shaggy.

Stannis gaped. His daughter was laughing with Sansa's brother, while the large direwolf was gazing adoringly at her, while Rickon was sharing stories of Stannis and his heroic deeds from the Long Night.

"Lord Baratheon was amazing," Stannis heard Rickon say, and Shireen hung on him every word. "He took to the skies with Drogon and killed so many of the dead. When he crashed, we all thought he'd died, but somehow that didn't even stop him."

Stannis and Sansa stood there, knowing that both children were odd, outcasts, despite their noble births. And Stannis had never been the hero in any story. Not like how Rickon was presenting him.

"I love how brave my father was," Shireen said, eyes bright and shiny.

"He was a hero, Lady Shireen," Rickon told her, completely serious.

Stannis blushed but felt warmed by the boy's praise of his deeds.

When Rickon had finally run out of stories of Stannis's heroics, Shireen cocked her head.

"Why doesn't my face bother you?" she asked him boldly, and Stannis made a motion to intervene. He would make the boy pay if he hurt his daughter.

"Give him a chance," Sansa murmured, putting a hand on his arm, stilling him. Stannis looked down at her and then nodded.

Rickon shrugged. "It's just your face. Why should it bother me? What is it?"

"Greyscale. Most people die. My father brought in healers from across Westeros to save me," Shireen said, almost proudly.

Ric nodded. "Then it's almost something to be proud of then, isn't it?"

Shireen frowned. "What do you mean?"

Ric shrugged again. "Well, if most people don't survive and you did, then it means your stronger than most."

Stannis shoved his hand into his mouth to keep from making a sound. He'd tried to convince his daughter for so long of this very fact!

Shireen held out her hand. "I like you, Rickon Stark. I do believe we shall be friends."

Rickon looked a little lost, and then he shook Shireen's hand. "I like you to. You're smart, and you know things, unlike most girls. You're sort of like Arya and Sansa combined."

Shireen shook her head. "I'm nothing like Lady Arya. She can use a sword."

Ric nodded. "She can." He paused. "You should learn."

"To use a sword?" Shireen said incredulously.

"Well," Ric said, taking in Shireen's skinny arms. "Maybe not a sword. But a dagger at least. That way, you can protect yourself if you had to."

Shireen seemed to contemplate that. "Alright. I help you with your reading lessons, and you teach me how to use a dagger."

"Well, I'll have to learn myself. But when I do, I'll teach you."

"Then it's a deal."

Ric nodded and then Sansa heard his stomach rumbled. She turned to Stannis. "They're friends!"

Stannis nodded, relief evident on his face. He knew how brave Rickon Stark was, and honourable as well. Stannis trusted Sansa to raise him properly, and he liked that someone other than him saw his daughter as a survivor and not a victim of her greyscale.

"Satisfied wife?" Tywin's murmur came, and Sansa turned. He'd crept up behind them.

"Yes." She all but threw herself into her husband's arm, light and carefree in their private rooms with those closest to them present.

"Come on, let's feed the masses," Tywin grumbled, kissing her passionately before grasping her hand, and directing them to the large dining room where a feast awaited them.

Dinner had been a jovial affair, with the appointments to the small council celebrated, along with the wedding of Jon and Dacey. Other, darker and more pressing matters were left out of these rooms. There would be a time and place for those to be discussed but not here.

The following days saw a flurry of activity to get ready for the wedding. Sansa, Cella, Genna, Arya, Wyn and Shireen had all helped Dacey with her dress, while Jaime, Sam and Jon had worked on a new house sigil and colours for Jon.

When Jon and Dacey had shown Tywin and Sansa their new house sigil, both the King and Queen approved. It was a green dragon's head on a white and grey banner in a square background that came to a peak at the bottom. With his new house colours decided, Sansa had flown into getting Dacey the perfect wedding gown commissioned; green with grey and white accents.

Dacey's two youngest sisters were in the capital as well, having survived the Long Night and evacuation of the North. Alysane and Lyanna were just as fierce as Dacey herself, although not nearly as pretty. Sansa thought that Lyanna might even give Arya a challenge when it came to defiant women. They had been spending countless hours in Sansa's solar while they prepared for the wedding, and Lyanna Mormont had an acerbic mouth on her.

Alysane was as different from Dacey as Sansa and Arya were. It made Sansa wonder, as she thought of her daughter if she were to have another if they would be so different as well. It seemed to be the way of sisters.

Sansa had overhead Alysane berating the youngest she-bear more than once, as it seemed nothing in the South was to Lady Lyanna Mormont's liking.

"I don't see why I need a new doublet," Lyanna hissed at her older sister, who cuffed her on the back of the head.

"Hush," Alysane snarled at Lyanna. "It's our sister's wedding. She's marrying a proper lord and the Master of Coin. You can't show up looking like a beggar from the North."

Both of the younger Mormont women did not have Dacey's natural beauty and grace, although they loved their sister.

Their looks were so at odds from Dacey that when Tywin had met Alysane, he'd muttered to Sansa that it was a good thing Jon had chosen the first one. Sansa had smacked her husband on the chest, but he'd arched an eyebrow and snorted at her.

"Please. Neither of the other two would be a proper match for your dear cousin wife," Tywin disdained.

Sansa had to admit that Alysane was a rough woman, short and stocky, although Tormund seemed to have taken to her. When Sansa pointed that out, Tywin barked out a harsh laugh.

"Gods, the North," he said, shaking his head, earning a cold glare from his wife. As much as Tywin loved her, Sansa knew he still felt the North was uncultured and rough.

Sansa had ignored him the rest of the day, until he'd finally produced several lemon pastries and kissed her neck, apologizing for mocking her people.

"I just forget that not everyone is blessed to have a wife as beautiful as mine," he told her when they were in bed that night. Sansa rolled her eyes at her husband.

"That does not appease me, husband."

He gave her a look. "And what? You expect me to change? I won't apologize for liking beauty, Sansa. No man should."

"Is beauty not in the eye of the beholder?" She asked as he opened his arms and she snuggled into them. It was almost impossible for her to stay mad at him even when he was an arrogant arse.

He ran his hand down her back and settled it on her arse, stroking lightly. Sansa was wearing a light shift, and he could see all her womanly curves. His cock ached these days from having to keep his distance from her.

"To a certain extent, but there are agreed-upon standards of beauty, and even you cannot deny that. While emotions may allow us to see the one we love in a different light than others, not a single man in the kingdom would argue with your beauty, my love."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "Flatterer," she muttered.

Tywin gently grabbed her chin and tilted it to him. "I am truthful, Sansa. You are a stunningly beautiful woman, and even if a man were to prefer blonde hair," he said, giving her a look, "Or brown, there is no denying your attractiveness."

Sansa nodded and gave him a small smile.

"Just like there is no denying that Alysane Mormont is, unfortunately, an ugly woman."

Sansa just laughed at her husband as they got themselves comfortable. Tywin nuzzled at Sansa's neck.

"I miss you," he muttered into her ear, and he stroked her stomach. It was much slimmer than it had been since Serena was a month old, but still not as firm as it had been when they first wed.

"My body doesn't bother you?" Sansa asked again.

Now when they were alone, in their bed, she couldn't help but voice her insecurities again.

"Gods no, love. If anything, it makes me want you more, knowing that you were built to bring forward life. Lions, Sansa. You've given me a prideful of children," Tywin said, cock hard and aching.

Sansa giggled softly as he thrust gently against her.

"Perhaps if you weren't to spill inside me, we could…" Sansa blushed and didn't finish the sentence.

She knew that the Grandmaester mostly wanted her body to recover after birthing three children in two years. He'd told them no coupling for at least six weeks.

Tywin sighed. "No, my love. We'll wait. You are more precious to me than anything, and I will not risk you. Not even to sate my hunger."

Before Tywin could do anything more, Sansa had twisted, a gleam in her eyes.

"But there are other ways, aren't there?" She knew there was, and she and Tywin had coupled so often that her husband had shown her how she could get him to spill his seed with her mouth and hands.

"Sansa," he said, his green-gold eyes all but glittering with love and feeling.

Smiling wickedly, as only a woman who knew her power could, Sansa shimmied down his body, taking him in her mouth, working him with hand and tongue until he was grunting and panting, the King of the Seven Kingdoms at the mercy of his wife, willingly submitting to her, as he finally spent and came in a bellow, filling her mouth and throat with his salty seed.

That night, Tywin had more than returned the favour, fixing his tongue on his wife and making her peak twice before she finally begged for a reprieve.

Sated, they curled up in each other's arms, the keen edge of hunger, satisfied for now.

Now, with the final fitting for Dacey's wedding dress happening in the Queen's solar, Tywin had wandered in and was observing the proceedings.

With no male heir, and her mother dead, Tywin had decided he would present Dacey to Jon in the small godswood where they were scheduled to marry first before they would do it all again in the Grand Sept of Baelor. Tywin had been firm that they needed both ceremonies.

"You're not just a Northern Lord, Jon," the King had told his new Master of Coin, and Dacey and Jon had relented to his demands.

Because of that, Tywin had wanted to make sure preparations were on schedule for the wedding. Jon was an essential member of his small council.

Little Lyanna Mormont was still complaining about everything in the south, and today it was the food. Tywin found her most annoying.

"It's spicy and foreign and not what we are used to in the North," she whined, as Alysane tried to shush her. Lyanna raised her eyes towards the King, disdain evident in them. "I bet it's him; his choices for the food we have to suffer."

Then she'd made a sarcastic comment about lions.

"It's the West. The lions have too much arrogance and pride," Lyanna sneered.

Tywin snorted and stared the girl down, finally fed up and needing her to be put in her place.

"You are in my castle now, little bear. Be very careful," the King said, glancing at his wife, who shrugged. The girl could stand to be taught a lesson; the chip on her shoulder was large.

Lyanna had stuck out her chin, while Dacey glared at her to shut her mouth.

"You don't scare me."

Tywin had risen, all leonine grace and stalked towards her, drawing his dagger quickly before anyone could react and holding it under little Lyanna Mormont's chin.

He leaned down, his green eyes meeting her brown ones. "I should. Ask Obara Sand how much she should fear me."

Lyanna's eyes went wide. Everyone knew the King had taken her head without breaking a sweat. The story was all but legend now.

"Manners, little bear, while you are in the presence of the King and Queen. I'll not have you disrespecting my wife or me simply because of who your sister is."

"Robb Stark was our King," she said, chin quivering as Tywin sheathed his dagger.

Tywin rocked back on his heels, eyeing the girl up, while the other women of Sansa's circle watched, utterly fascinated. Arya leaned over and whispered to Dacey, "Watch this."

"Robb Stark was a King, and it was a short-sighted move that almost cost him, and his alliance their lives. He gave that title up to gain his freedom to go home."

Lyanna's shook her head. "You tricked him!"

Tywin barked out a harsh laugh. "I did no such thing. I married his sister and secured an alliance. Part of that alliance was a pact that should Sansa and I take the Throne, he would give up his ridiculous claim of Kingship."

"We choose him. We choose him as King in the North!"

"And now you have something better. A northern Queen of the seven kingdoms, not just that frozen land you call home."

"The North does not bow to the south," she shouted.

Tywin assessed her, coolly, and she al but shrunk in front of him.

"You have heart, and I'll give you that. But you lack a fundamental understanding of politics. Lady Shireen has learned much, being at court." Tywin glanced at his wife, who gave a slight nod and smile as if to say she supported him.

"You will stay here and learn," Tywin said, turning on his heel to leave.

He almost got to the doorway when Lyanna Mormont's shriek stopped him.

"You can't make me stay here! I hate the south," she argued.

Arya was clutching at her side in laughter as she remembered such conversations with Tywin at Harrenhal.

Tywin turned back to Lyanna.

"I once told my odious grandson that any man who must say _I am the King is no true King_. My power does not come from this crown or those words. That was a lesson to him, and let it be a lesson for you." Tywin paused and looked her straight in the eye.

"I am the King, Lady Lyanna. I say that to you to remind you of the powers that a King does have. I do not need to discuss my whims or my wishes with you. Your behaviour here today has been abominable and will not be tolerated when you are in the Capital. I suggest you learn this lesson quickly, to make your time more pleasant here."

"Sister, you won't agree with this, surely?" Lyanna asked, glancing towards Alysane, expecting her to come to her defence.

Whereas Dacey was tall and beautiful, Aly was short, chunky and muscular. And she knew her little sister would be a pain in her arse. She shrugged. Dacey was in the south, and Aly trusted the Queen.

"He is the King."

Tywin smirked at Lyanna, whose face was red with indignation.

"The first lesson; a King's word is the law. In this case, so it a Queen's. I won't put up with this type of behaviour again."

With that, Tywin spun on his heel and was gone, and sure he'd left his wife to deal with the chaos he'd brought through that exchange.

When he heard soft footsteps, he turned and saw Sansa chasing after him. He stopped and was slightly surprised when she all but threw herself into his arms, kissing him passionately. He responded in kind, missing being with her physically.

"My love?" he asked when they finally drew apart to catch their breath. "What has gotten into you?"

Sansa bit her lip and blushed. "I love it when you act like a growly lion," she told him, almost shyly.

Tywin had had this woman in more ways and times than he could even count. He knew every inch of her body, and yet, she remained delightfully demure.

Tywin smirked. His ego loved how much his beautiful wife wanted him; how much she loved him. She was without a doubt the most beautiful woman in the realm, and yet, he knew, with certainty that she wanted only him. And she accepted him for exactly who he was.

"I love you," he told her, nuzzling at her neck.

Their intimacies the other night had only fuelled their desires more, and they could barely keep their hands to themselves these days. Even Jaime, who had seen more than his fair share of his father pawing at his wife, had rolled his eyes at them the other day.

Tywin couldn't have cared less. He loved his Queen and was determined to show her just how much every day.

Sansa moaned and arched closer to him.

"I wish I could spend the afternoon with you," she told him, loving it when he brushed his hand against her breast, her nipple responding immediately.

Tywin was meeting with Addam, Royce and Jaime to discuss security for the wedding.

"Send word when you are done," he told her, and she nodded eagerly.

"I will."

Sansa went to turn, and Tywin tugged her back to him.

"And send word to the Grandmaester and your midwife. I want a word at when we can resume our full married life, Sansa."

His wife's blush never failed to make Tywin feel like he was the most attractive and virile man in the realm. So many handsome and powerful men and yet, Tywin knew, she wanted him. Truly, sincerely, wholeheartedly wanted him.

"I will," she told Tywin, and he could see that Sansa was as enthusiastic as he was to couple again.

"Go wife, and be a good sister, or cousin or whatever title it is. I will find you shortly," the King told her and Sansa finally turned to go back into their apartments, where she spent countless more hours preparing for Dacey's wedding.

Now the wedding day was upon them, and Sansa's excitement was palpable. She was eager to watch her friend marry her cousin. She'd never seen Jon so happy, and she hummed quietly to herself as her handmaidens put the finishing touches on her preparations for today.

As if connected by some invisible force, Sansa knew when her husband arrived in their rooms without even seeing him. They were so attuned to one another that they always knew where the other was. When Sansa took the time to think about her marriage, she knew that what she had with Tywin exceeded any of her expectations. She could never have imagined being loved as she was by him.

Her handmaiden finished securing Sansa's hair, curtsied to the King and then quickly left them alone. Sansa remained seated, as Tywin came and dropped a kiss on her bare neck. Sansa shivered at the feel of his lips on her skin and wondered when they might be intimate again.

Sansa was wearing the Lannister choker today and knew he would have it with him to help secure around her neck.

"You are the most stunning woman I've ever seen," Tywin said, voice solemn and filled with such love that Sansa's felt it down to her toes.

"Tywin," she said, twisting to face him, drinking him in. He had his crown on, as was his custom now with any formal event. The entire realm's eyes would be on them as much as Jon and Dacey today, and they both knew it.

"Let me," he said, producing the velvet case that held the Lannister choker.

Sansa turned back and allowed him to put the necklace on her. Sansa had such fond memories of the jewelry, remembering when Tywin had given it to her before their wedding. His long fingers brushed her skin as he secured the ornate piece around her thin neck. Sansa touched it, seeing it in the looking glass.

"My crown?" She asked, loving how he always put it on her. Her direwolf crown was one of her favourite pieces of jewelry, but by the smirk on her husband's face, something was up.

"Tywin?" Sansa twisted again and saw he held a box from the royal jeweller.

"What is that?"

"This, my love, it a crown fit for a Queen," he said, a real smile on his face as he opened the box and watched as Sansa's jaw dropped.

It was the most extravagant piece of jewelry that had ever been commissioned in Westeros, of that Tywin was sure. The crown, or tiara, was a masterpiece.

Commissioned entirely out of white Lannister gold and diamonds, Sansa had never seen anything so beautiful in her entire life. The center diamond was massive, and she tentatively reached a hand out to touch it.

"This is now the Lannister diamond," Tywin stated, somewhat proudly, but the man had the jewels to back it up. "It is over forty carats, and it the largest diamond in the known world. The other, smaller diamonds range in size, with over nine hundred diamonds used to make this tiara, my love."

"Tywin," Sansa gasped, wondering how she might even put such a priceless piece on her head. It was larger than her direwolf crown and unlike anything she'd ever seen. "How?"

Tywin shrugged. "Since the moment you agreed to become mine, I've spent hours thinking about the jewels I wanted to drape you in. While rubies are typically associated with our house, I find that diamonds suit you, my wolf."

"It's incredible," Sansa said, still unable to believe he'd commissioned such a piece.

"The craftsmanship is truly one of a kind, Sansa. No one else is even near this level of expertise, and the intricacies of such work take time and skill that only one man is capable of."

Tywin had personally brought him to the Capital from Lannisport. It had been a long-known fact that the Great Lion had commissioned many pieces for his late wife, Joanna, but none of those could be given to Sansa. Instead, Tywin had all of Joanna's jewels sent here for Jaime to give to either Myrcella or Joanna.

Tywin had overseen every step of this crown for his wife, and he explained it in detail to Sansa, who was still stunned speechless at her husband.

He brushed his lips across hers. "And despite its beauty, it still pales in comparison to you, Sansa."

"Tywin," Sansa said, wiping away tears.

This man! The wildest part was, Sansa knew he spoke the truth. This man loved her, unlike any other, and the depth of those feelings staggered her. She tugged him back to her, barely noticing his red doublet that matched her dress.

"I love you, Tywin, more than I have words to express," she whispered against his lips. "You are more than I could have ever dreamed of for a husband, and I thank the old gods and new that our paths came together with the way they did. I could not imagine my life with another."

Tywin stroked her cheek, her skin so rosy and flushed, smooth and delicate. But he knew his wife had a core of steel in her and such a deep capacity for love.

"It is no less than you deserve, Sansa."

Tywin called her handmaidens back, to fix her hair so that the tiara had a place to 'nest' on her head. It was heavier than she imagined, and as it was placed on her red hair, it sparkled brighter than anything Tywin had ever seen. Coupled with her ruby necklace and the red dress she wore, Sansa was a vision of Lannister wealth and her position as Queen.

Tywin didn't tell her that he was working on more pieces for her. He quite liked the idea of his wife having several crowns to wear, whenever the occasion called for it, and he knew that everyone in the entire realm would be in awe of her. And the Lannister wealth was on full display.

Tywin helped his wife rise and linked their arms. They would start in the small godswood where Sansa could often be found praying. Today the others would take care of themselves; Tywin wanted Sansa and himself on full display as the King and Queen. Rickon would be with Arya, Jeyne and Sandor, while Myrcella with Jaime and Genna.

None of the children would be with them. They were firmly ensconced in the King and Queen's chambers with nannies and guards. The crush of lords and ladies today meant that neither Sansa nor Tywin wanted to take any chances with their safety.

"Ready?" Tywin asked, just as they reached their doorway.

"I am," Sansa said, her smile as bright as the massive diamond in the new crown she wore.

Tywin knew it ostentatious, something that only a man like himself could pull off. But he would not apologize for who and what he was.

"Your Grace, you look lovely," Jerrod said, bowing to Sansa. She blushed prettily and thanked their loyal guard.

They made their way into the hallway, the Lannister falling in around them; they walked through the corridors of the Red Keep towards the godswood. Tywin hadn't missed the look on Jaime's face at Sansa's new crown, and he smirked at his son.

"She is worth it," was all Tywin said, watching they passed the Northern lords and ladies' of the realm as they entered the godswood. The other lords and ladies from the regions of Westeros would be in the Sept of Baelor for the second ceremony.

There were gasps at Sansa's crown, but his wife had eyes only for her cousin, and as they made their way to the front of the small godswood. Sansa approached Jon, pulling him in for a quick hug.

"How are you doing?" she asked, and he gave her a small smile.

"Good, Your Grace," he said, and Sansa rolled her eyes, smacking him lightly.

"Seriously?"

"That's quite the crown, sister," he said to her and Sansa blushed prettily.

"It's my husband," she said, glancing back to Tywin, whose gaze hadn't left hers. "He's ridiculous in the best possible way."

"He loves you, Sansa."

"He does. And soon you'll have a wife, Jon," Sansa said, turning the conversation back to his wedding.

"Aye, I will." Jon rested a hand on Ghost's head as they both glanced over to see Arya with Nymeria, Rickon with Shaggy and Grey Wind standing beside Jeyne.

Sansa left Jon after pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and went to her family.

"What the fuck is on your head, little bird?" Sandor asked, looking almost offended.

"A new crown," she told him as if he were a particularly slow child.

Sandor snorted. "Fuck your husband's a cunt," he said as Jeyne elbowed him in the guts.

"Sandor," she hissed at him. "He's the King."

Sandor rolled his eyes, but Sansa saw his grey eyes danced with mirth.

"Sansa, you look pretty," Ric said, and Sansa saw he was in the new doublet she'd had made for him with their house sigil on them.

"Thank you, Rickon. You are looking quite handsome," she told her little brother.

Usually, a marriage ceremony in a godwoods in the North would happen at night, but because they still had to do another service in the Sept, this was happening in the day.

Northern lords and ladies lined the aisle as a hush went through the small crowd, and Dacey appeared, escorted by her two sisters. Her gown was gorgeous, her dark hair long and curling down her back. She smiled at Sansa, and the Queen couldn't help the tears that flowed down her face. Dacey had been so loyal, so fierce in her protection, and had come to her aid when Sansa had been attacked. Now, she would be part of Sansa's family through marriage.

Sansa glanced at Jon and saw he looked at Dacey with pure awe and love. Sansa clutched at Tywin's hand.

SmallJon Umber, who'd been close with House Mormont, was prescinding over the ceremony, and he called out, "Who comes before the Old Gods this day?"

Aylsane responded. "Dacey, of House Mormont, comes here to be wed. A woman, true and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"Jon, of Houses Stark and Targaryen, heir to Dragonstone, a man trueborn and noble. Who gives her?"

"Alysane of House Mormont, her sister."

Dacey pressed a kiss to her sister's cheek and then stepped up beside Jon.

"Lady Mormont, do you take this man?" SmallJon asked.

Dacey's smiled at Jon. "I take this man," she said without any hesitation. A cheer went up, and Jon kissed Dacey. When they'd finished kissing, SmallJon instructed Lord and Lady Targaryen to kneel in front of the godswood and pray, and everyone was silent.

Sansa felt her husband's hand on her back and leaned into him. When Dacey and Jon rose, another cheer rose, and they were surrounded by family and friends to offer their congratulations. Tywin held his weepy wife and, for the first time, wondered if she missed not having a northern ceremony.

When he asked her, she shook her head. "No. We married as we needed to, and you don't believe in the Old Gods. It would have been tempting fate."

In truth, Tywin didn't believe in any gods, old or new. He believed in himself.

While they would have liked to linger, soon Dacey was being hurried into a carriage, while Jon and the Starks were in another. They would all make their way to the Great Sept of Baelor, and as Tywin helped Sansa into their open one, she settled herself against him.

The streets to the Sept were lined with more people than had even turned out for their wedding, but considering most of Westeros seemed to be in the capital these days, and it made sense.

Sansa waved at the crowd, who threw flowers towards them, and Tywin observed her.

"I am sorry if our life has stolen something from you, Sansa," he said suddenly, realizing that they'd lived their entire life according to southern ways.

Sansa turned and looked at him, seeing the worried look on her lion's face. She cupped his cheek and stroked it. "Do not apologize, husband. Our place was here." She paused. "But promise to take me to the West. I want to see your home. And north. I want to show you Winterfell Tywin."

"I promise," he said, meaning it. He, too, wanted to see her at his beloved Casterly Rock.

The Great Sept came into view, and both Sansa and Tywin were lost in their thoughts, recalling their ceremony.

"This was one of the best days of my life," Tywin told her, his green-gold eyes flashing.

"Mine as well," Sansa said, her smile loving and warm. She'd gained such a loving husband and partner, one who had the strength to keep her safe and loved.

"I was the envy of so many. I'll never forget seeing you for the first time in your gown, Sansa, walking towards me. I never thought I'd have a second chance at love."

She moved closer to him, uncaring about the display there were creating as Tywin's arm came around her, and he nuzzled her neck, along with the Lannister choker.

"I dreamed of a husband that would give me great love, Tywin. And you have exceeded all those dreams," she told him.

Her new crown caught in the sunlight, and as the Stark's and Lannister's made their way into the Great Sept to take their places, Sansa heard the crowd gasp as they got their first look at her. Tywin preened, his chest puffed out in pride as his influence and wealth were on full display, guiding his wife into the Sept.

They were the last to arrive, and all the eyes of the realm were on them as they took their place at the front of the Sept. The whispers had started almost immediately, and Tywin knew that this day was as much as him and Sansa as it was Dacey and Jon. He made no apologies for that, and in fact, knew that Jon would be thankful.

The Septon began his prayers, and then Dacey appeared, once again escorted by her sisters. Lyanna Mormont had kept her distance from Tywin ever since their little discussion, and Tywin and Sansa watched as Jon draped Dacey in his cloak, a gasp going up from the crowd as they saw the new sigil for House Targaryen.

Sansa was weepy as they Septon led them through the now-familiar ceremony, recalling her vows to the man by her side.

"I would swear these vows to you again, right here," Tywin whispered in her ear as Jon and Dacey repeated the familiar words. Sansa couldn't tilt her head much, because of her new crown, but she nodded vigorously.

"As would I, Tywin."

They watched as Jon captured Dacey's lips, and they were now wed, before the Old Gods and new. House Targaryen now had its first mistress, and she was a she-bear from the North. Then Jon and Dacey were crushed by family and friends, well-wishers from across the Kingdom who were pleased with their union.

Jaime embraced Jon warmly, truly happy for his friend.

"I'm married," Jon said to the Golden Lion, who threw his head back and clapped Jon on the back.

"You are."

While marriage had not worked out for Jaime, he'd seen what it had done for his father and how happy he was. Of course, Arya and Rickon were there, followed by Sansa and Tywin, and soon the celebration moved towards the gardens.

In between the two wedding ceremonies, the princes and the princesses, along with little Ned and baby Joanna, were brought to where Sansa and her family had gathered.

The celebration ceremony that took place afterwards was an expansive affair with several gardens having tables set up. The members of the small council, those in Tywin and Sansa's family, the North and those that were closest to the King and Queen joined them in the central garden.

Jaime's cousin Ser Daven was happy to join in, having realized his revenge would never be fulfilled against House Stark with the death of Robb at Harrenhal. Tywin and Jaime had a stern talk with him and explained what had happened with the Night King, and that long-held grudge was finally buried.

House Manderly having grown quite comfortable in King's Landing all but held court over the other Northern Houses, until Arya stepped up and took her place, demanding that Jeyne be afforded the best seat as Robb's wife and the mother to the heir to Winterfell. A hush fell over the crowd until the Northern Lords bowed their heads in respect to Robb Stark's widow and young son. It helped the Grey Wind stalked beside Jeyne Stark, and Sandor hovered protectively.

Tywin gave Arya a smirk and a slight nod, pleased to see her come into her role fully. Tywin knew when he announced her place as Ned's regent at the conclave, no one would question his decision. They'd come a long way from cupbearer and lord at Harrenhal.

Shireen and Rickon were inseparable, laughing and japing at the entertainment that had been arranged, while Shaggy hovered around them. Both Davos and Stannis had taken to Rickon, promising to teach him what he wanted to know about fighting, although Ric remained fiercely loyal to Jaime and Jon. Sansa half wondered if Lyanna Mormont would join them, but the little she-bear sulked in her seat most of the night.

At one point, Sansa watched as Wynafryd found Jaime, laying a gentle hand on his arm. Jaime shook his head at her and gave her a sad smile, before turning and joining Sansa, taking the unoccupied seat on the other side of the Queen.

"Are you alright?" she asked, and Jaime nodded, glancing over to see Genna with baby Joanna.

"I am. I'm not ready for anything like that, Sansa. Hell, even though my father annulled my marriage to Brienne, she's still alive." Sansa's heart ached for Jaime, and she gave him a quick hug.

Dacey and Jon were also at their table, the newlywed couple unable to keep their hands or lips off one another. Sansa had rarely seen Jon so happy, and she was excited for them to begin their life together.

When the night began to fall, and the torches were lit, Tywin finally rose to address the assembled crowd. A hush had fallen, and all eyes turned to him and Sansa, who had her daughter cradled in her arms, while the princes were eating lemon cakes on either side of her.

The Great Lion, the fearsome, incomparable Tywin Lannister had succeeded on a scale that few men could ever hope to achieve. While he had not been on the battlefield at Harrenhal, his alliance system had allowed him to field the greatest combined army that Westeros had ever seen to defeat the Night King and push back the Second Long Night.

He'd seized the Iron Throne when the previous King had been murdered, stopped the war of the five kings, destroyed the pretender Queen in Essos, and had produced heirs to ensure the stability of the realm. His Queen was beloved by both commoner and noble, and he had six of the seven kingdoms in the palm of his hand.

Tywin's eyes fell to Sansa, who smiled so warmly at him that he felt his chest swell before he turned his attention to the crowd before him.

"We owe our lives to those that made the ultimate sacrifice at Harrenhal, from the lowest peasant to the highest born, men and women died to stop the menace that was the Night King."

A great cheer erupted from the crowd.

"There are too many gone to name them all here, tonight, but both the Queen and I know your pain. My dear brother Kevan bravely fought and died, along with the Queen's brother, Robb." Tywin paused, emotion choking him. "They are but two of the men we remember, we honour, for their heroics so that we might continue forward, with a united, strong Westeros!"

Another cheer went up, and Tywin held his glass high as the chant began All Hail King Tywin and Queen Sansa.

"Tonight, we also celebrate the joining of Jon and his wife, one of my wife's most loyal guards, Dacey. Together, they will forge a new path for House Targaryen."

The cheer for them was loud and long, and both shifted uncomfortably but waved at the crowd.

"Now, eat and drink and keep those who died safely in your hearts!" Tywin roared and downed his goblet of wine, before once again taking his seat.

With that, a parade of food began to make it way through the gardens and onto the table. Both Sansa and Arya had their eyes glued to Sandor when three chickens were placed in front of him. Arya had told Sansa late one night when they'd been speaking about Sandor's love of chicken.

He frowned, looking down at them now sitting in front of him, and then found their eyes. The two Stark sisters burst out laughing, howling at the look on his face.

"Fucking hell, you two," he muttered, shaking his head before tearing into them. "I'm going to eat every last fucking chicken, wolf bitch," he told Arya, who clapped him on.

"You really do get along well with him, don't you?" Gendry said, watching Arya and Sandor.

She shrugged. "He's family."

"Gendry, are you excited to go to Winterfell?" Sansa asked, eating daintily as she held Serena.

Gendry fumbled for an answer, not quite sure how he'd come to sit at the table with the Queen.

Arya rolled her eyes. "She's just Sansa, Gendry."

"She's the Queen," he hissed at her. "Show some respect."

Arya smirked and shook her head at him. "She's my sister. And I'll tell you something else. She's a pain in the arse to share a bed with. She moves all the time."

"I'll say," Tywin agreed, making Sansa blush and Arya throw her head back in laughter.

"It's used to drive me crazy when we had to share in Winterfell."

Sansa huffed out a breath. "Well, your feet are always cold, so watch out for that, Gendry. Make her wear socks to bed."

Everyone stilled as if they realized what Sansa had just said before Tywin gave her a look, and Arya and Gendry were suddenly focused on eating their food.

"Well done, wife," Tywin whispered into her ear as she smacked him.

"Help me," she pleaded, her face red. He thought her adorable. To her horror, Tywin glanced at Gendry.

"Sansa has cold feet as well. Always keep socks nearby." he winked at Gendry, who didn't look like he knew what to do.

Tywin chuckled as his wife smacked him, plucking his daughter from her arms and brushing a kiss against her lips. "Eat," he commanded softly.

"You're evil, husband," Sansa said, taking a bite of food, but melting when she saw Tywin with Serena.

The princes, tiring quickly, were hurried out of the feast after kissing their parents. The crowd adored them, and they knew it, waving sleepily as they were carried back inside the Red Keep.

Jaime had settled with baby Joanna on his lap as she snuggled in his arms, and he looked content as Jon sat down beside him with a goblet of wine in his hand. There would be no bedding ceremony, and Dacey was talking with some of the Northern lords, so Jon took this chance to be with his family. They all knew with the upcoming trials, the issue with Dorne and the Conclave, this would be the last chance at some lightheartedness for a while.

"Hard to believe when we were on the Isle of Faces that we'd end up here," Jon said, sipping at his wine, happily buzzed and enjoying the warm night. He'd been cold for so long, that being in the south was nice.

"I agree," Jaime said, rocking his adopted daughter in his arms, watching as her eyes closed. Jaime was fast getting used to the weight of a baby in his arms and understood when he found his father with one of his children in his care so often.

The two men gazed around, the sheer scale of humanity on display before them. They knew that everyone here owed their lives to Bran Stark, and to them - three blades, three bloodlines, three houses. They had come so close to failure, and yet, they'd survived. Jon placed a hand on Jaime's shoulder and squeezed hard. They had an unshakable bond these days, and nothing could come between them.

"I'm happy for you," Jaime told his friend, who could only nod back at him.

When the music started, Sansa passed Serena to Genna and drug her husband out for a dance. Jon and Dacey were there, along with Arya and Gendry, while others joined them, and the nobles of Westeros pressed up against them.

Tywin found he enjoyed having his wife in his arms in such a display, now that he didn't have to worry about Joffrey cutting in and saying something nasty to her. When she leaned her head against his chest, his heart swelled.

"Happy?" he asked her, swaying slowly.

"I am," she said, and it was enough for Tywin to hear those words for now. He had given her this moment, and he hoped it would be enough to carry them through the challenges ahead.

In two days, the trial of Lady Catelyn Stark and Lady Brienne of Tarth would begin, and Tywin knew it would be difficult, if not impossible, for his wife. There was no way that either woman could live, and everyone knew it. But Tywin also knew that Sansa needed to confront the two women that had betrayed not only her but both their house. Confront them and hold them accountable for what they had done. And none of that would be easy.

When Sansa began to tire, Tywin excused them from the celebration, and finally got her settled in their bed. She groaned in relief when the diamond crown was eventually taken from her head and then settled in to nurse Serena in their bed.

She was the most powerful woman in the realm, a force, unlike any Tywin had seen. And yet she was happiest thusly, here with him and their growing family. The princes had woken upon hearing their return and clamoured into the bed so that when Tywin joined them, he was surrounded by his family.

He reached for a book, the one he'd given to Sansa as his first gift to her so long ago, and read them stories about the Westerlands until their little bodies stilled in sleep. Putting the book down, Tywin retook Serena as Sansa scooped thee, boys, up and brought them to their beds, before placing Serena in her bassinet and then coming back to their bed.

Cuddled in his arms, Tywin leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her neck.

"Good night, my Queen."

"Good night, my King."

Then they fell asleep, wrapped up in each other and content with the choices they had made and the love and family they had grown between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next
> 
> Trials and Conclave


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fate of the three traitors is discussed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> First many many thanks to everyone who commented on my update about a week ago! I appreciate it! I took that 'old' chapter down so this all flows better, story wise. 
> 
> This story had been difficult for me to finish and I'm pushing through to try to get an 'end' product that is worthy of this epic tale. So to LC and SA many many thanks. There were legit tears people!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this installment! 
> 
> Please stay safe out there!

_ King's Landing – The Private Chambers of the King and Queen _

"Where is your mind at, Sansa," Tywin's voice murmured in her ear.

"Hmmm?" Sansa queried, turning her head to lock eyes with her husband.

They were in bed, wrapped up in each other, taking a few moments before their busy days were about to start.

One of his long, elegant fingers, one that had a golden lion ring on it, stroked down her cheek. Sansa shivered at his touch; loving, warm, powerful. Desire bloomed, delicious, warm and welcome through her at his touch. She ached to couple with him again, knew that there was a closeness that they both longed for again. Perhaps this was her body's way of telling her it was time.

"What is my beautiful wife thinking?"

Sansa shifted her body, so they lay together, facing one another.

"My family. My brother and sister and what this trial for my mother might do to them."

Tywin was silent, knowing there was nothing he could possibly say to make it better. Her mother had committed treasonous acts. Her life was all but forfeit. She'd almost jeopardized the entire realm with her rash actions and continued distrust in him, in Sansa.

"Would it help to speak with young Rickon first?"

Sansa would have giggled at Tywin's name for her brother, had the matter not been so serious. She loved how formal Tywin was sometimes.

"Do you think he should even be there, Tywin?"

"Love, he faced down Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper."

"But it's our mother, Tywin."

His lips found hers, gentle, but sure. "I know. And it hurts more when it is family, Sansa. I will not lie. Parents are supposed to protect their children, to guide them and to be wiser than they are. It should not fall to children to clean up the mess their parents make."

She gazed into his green eyes, rimmed by gold. Too late, she remembered what Tywin had to do to his father to save his house from ruin and embarrassment. If anyone understood what she was going through, it was her husband. He'd had to take over the reins of House Lannister long before he should of, due to the complete incompetence of his father.

"Advice, husband?"

"It is better to have your siblings with you than against," he told her. "Speak with Rickon and learn what he wants. Perhaps, with all of you by his side, he'll want to be there."

Tywin paused. "I am glad you will be there for Jaime. I worry for him as well, Sansa. This is such a distasteful business."

Sansa thought on Tywin's words as her husband's hand stroked down her back. It was more than distasteful, and they both knew it. It was embarrassing, and painful and would re-open old wounds and force people she loved to relive the betrayal of those they loved.

Rickon.

Arya.

Jaime.

Addam.

Her.

And for what, she thought.

"I wish…" then she stopped talking. Wishing never got her anything. This was the world they lived in.

"What is it my wife wishes?"

Sansa shook her head. "Even this is beyond your power, husband."

Tywin scoffed and arched his eyebrow at her.

"Tell me, wife," he said, nuzzling her neck, making her giggle and moan at the same time.

When he stilled, they were so close she could feel his breath on her face.

"I wish we didn't have to have a trial. I wish we did not have to put out family through another horror, another spectacle. I can't help but think, to what end? There is no black to take, no option for a trial by combat. We all know the verdict. All the trial does it expose our business to the realm."

Because she was so close, Sansa saw the exact moment that her husband, her brilliant husband, worked the problem through his mind. His eyes were rimmed with gold, the green even brighter if possible.

"And why can't we?"

"What?"

"Why can't we, Sansa? Forgo the trial."

"But… it's a trial."

"And I am a King. You are the Queen. Their rebellion was open, and the entire realm knows what they have done. Your Mother, Brienne, Oberyn." Tywin spat the last word. His rage had still not cooled when it came to Dorne.

Sansa's mouth gaped open, and then she forced herself to think. She scrambled back, sitting up against the headboard, thinking if they could do such a thing.

"We need to reform the entire system," she muttered, as Tywin rested his large hand on her stomach.

"We do. But now is not the time for that. Now is the time to vanquish our enemies, Sansa. To hold those to account that either wronged us or openly rebelled against us. Now is the time to solidify our rule."

She stroked a hand down his cheek, her fingers playing with his whiskers.

Her lion.

Her mate.

Her King.

"It would protect so many we love, Tywin."

It would mean that Jaime and Addam would not have to stand there, in shame and listen to their wives try to justify the choices they had made. It would save Rickon and Arya from listening to her Mother spit her venom on why she had kidnapped her children rather than allow them to come to King's Landing to be with the Queen.

"It would."

His entire life, Tywin had done everything in his power to protect his family. This was simply one more thing, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't relish giving the verdict and then being done with the three traitors.

"It is not asking too much of you?" Sansa asked.

Gods, this woman, and how much she loved him. Had anyone ever cared for him as much as she did? Not even Joanna had taken such concern over him. With them, it had always been him in charge, and he'd loved her in the best way a young man just coming into his power could. But now, just past his sixtieth name day, with Sansa, it was so all-consuming that Tywin knew she could utterly destroy him should she so ever choose.

"Never, Sansa."

She nodded then and sunk back down, taking his lips in a fierce kiss, hard and bruising. "Then, yes. I will stand by your side as we open the conclave and make our decision known. I will always be by your side, my love."

"My wolf. My wife, my Queen," he growled, and desire roared through her blood.

"You are mine, husband."

Before Tywin could move, Sansa pushed his shoulders down, pressing her knees on each side of his body, her hands by his head. There was lust and love Tywin's eyes that Sansa knew was reserved for only her. No one set her blood roaring the way this man did.

His hand came up and brushed a lock of her long red hair back.

"Gods, I love you." There was a thickness to his voice, and so much need, she was unable to deny either of them. Sansa crushed her lips to his.

"Then have me, husband."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Without any more encouragement needed, Tywin's hands were tugging up her sleep shift, pulling it over her head, so she was gloriously naked in front of him. She went to cover herself, because despite what her husband said, her breasts were still full of milk and the veins more prominent, while her stomach hadn't quite regained its pre-pregnancy form. There were silvery little lines on it as well, and her hips had widened.

"Don't," he said gruffly, his eyes so hot she stilled her hands and put them on his chest. His eyes drank her in, and there was nowhere to hide from his heated gaze as the morning sunlight spilled into their room, bathing her in a warm gold colour. Winter's grip lessened by the day, and life returned.

He traced the little lines that were there on her stomach.  
  
"You're a true lion, Sansa. Look. You bear the marks of a warrior Queen, my love."

She felt her core dampen, knew he'd find her achy and wet. And that was before his hands gripped her and placed her weeping core right over his greedy mouth. Sansa went to protest, but then his tongue speared into her, and all she could do was hold onto the headboard as she rode Tywin's mouth to her first peak, unashamed of how quickly she came.

She would have collapsed, but he was there, placing her on her back so that he rose above her. He made no attempt to clean himself, instead, wearing the wetness of her desire like a proud badge that he had earned. She smirked and shook her head at him.

"Come, husband, surely you can do better than that," she purred, running her hands down his body to grasp his hardened cock. He was weeping; he was so ready for her, and Sansa used the moisture to stroke him until he growled, grabbed her hands and locked eyes with her.

"Leg's around me, Sansa. I'll try to go slow."

It had been over two months since they'd last coupled, so while their need for each other ran hot, she appreciated his gentleness as he worked himself back into her body. But once there, once she was filled, she couldn't help but cant her hips up, seeking more.

"Harder, please," she begged and finally saw his legendary control snap. His hand tunnelled into her hair, and he titled her neck back, nipping at her and marking her as he thrust deep inside her, again and again, until finally, she felt herself tighten.

"Tywinnnnn," she screamed into the room.

Sansa was lost in their passion, uncaring that their pants and moans were loud, that the slapping of their skin and the sweat that slicked them was clear evidence of their desire for one another. She was lost in what her husband was doing to her, and she tightened on him, seeking her end.

"Fucking hells, Sansa, what you feel like," he muttered into her ear before his fingers found her nub and stroked her over, pulling him so deep inside her, she felt the warm seed coat her womb. He collapsed on top of her, as much of a mess as she was, and Sansa welcomed his weight. He loved how she wrapped her body around his, her soft, supple frame safe in his arms. 

Eventually, his lips found hers, gentle and probing.

"Good?" he asked, and she laughed, smacking his arse.

"Of course, it was good. You know it was."

He had the audacity to wink at her as he drew her from their bed, wrapping her in his robe and leading her towards the bathing rooms.

"I'll have to be quick," she said about the bath. "Your daughter needs to break her fast."

Tywin glanced down at his wife's magnificent breasts and all but purred as she rolled her eyes and swatted him.

"You're lucky I didn't feast on you, Sansa."

She blushed, but he saw her eyes heat and a look of interest there.

_Thank the gods they could couple again_, Tywin thought. The only problem with producing heirs was this interminable wait after they were born.

"Honestly, you're insatiable."

Tywin's chest puffed out as he watched his wife disrobe and sink into the warmest tub. She was mad if she thought herself any less attractive these days. If anything, the changes in her body made her even more beautiful, and as he sunk into the tub behind her, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her lips.

"I love you, Sansa."

Her eyes misted, and she stroked his whiskers again, just as he loved.

"And I love you, Tywin."

It was everything, those words that were so freely exchanged between them, and he would cherish her forever, this brave wolf that had come into his life, and given him everything back. 

* * *

_ King's Landing – The family solar of the King and Queen _

It was mid-morning by the time her little brother was escorted into the central family solar by Jaime. They sparred each morning and with Jon newly married, and it had fallen to Arya and Jaime to keep Rickon occupied. Sansa spent what time she could with him, but her life, with three young children and an entire kingdom to put back together, was busier than ever.

"Lady Sansa," Jaime said, brushing his lips across her cheek.

Sansa frowned at Jaime's appearance. 

_He appeared too pale and somewhat thinner than usual,_ Sansa thought.

She worried about him as well. Jaime's life had been one blow after the other. She hoped this news that Tywin would give him would ease some of his burdens. Jaime had been through soo much in such a short period of time and lost more than most. 

His hand.

His sister.

His son.

His second son.

His brother.

His uncle.

His wife.

So much loss and grief surround him that Sansa thanked the gods that there was Cella, baby Joanna and Rickon, along with her and Tywin.

"He's in his private study, Jaime."

"Thank you."

Before Jaime could take his leave, Sansa stilled him with an arm on his. "How is Rickon? You train with him daily, Jaime. You're as close to him as anyone. He is your shadow."

Jaime looked towards her little brother. "He puts on a brave face, Sansa. And I thank the gods for his wolf. But he's merely a child and his life had been one turmoil after another. He needs stability."

It was as if Jaime were speaking of himself, Sansa thought, wishing there was something more she could do.

"He is not a bother to you?"

"No, Sansa, he is not."

What Jaime could not say, even to Sansa, was that it was only Rickon, Cella and Joanna that gave him any happiness these days. He was a broken man in so many ways, and his family his only anchor point in these turbulent waters.

"Alright," she said and let him go, turning back to her family.

Rickon and Arya were happily eating at the table, when Jon entered, a swagger to his gait that Sansa had not previously seen on him. But she saw it on Tywin, often. Men, she thought. They were more similar than she'd ever realized.

"Lord Jon," she said, grinning at him.

"Your Grace," he replied, popping a grape in his mouth as he ruffled Rickon's hair. Ric grimaced and swatted at Jon, but Sansa could tell he liked it. He'd settled in well to the capital, and she loved having him near her. It was as if he were her own, more adoptive son than a little brother, and she ached with what she was about to tell her family.

Sansa poured herself tea, sweetened it as she liked and then took a seat at the table with the others.

"Rickon, has anyone spoken to you about what is to happen to Mother?" Sansa began, her voice soft, yet authoritative. Shaggy whined and moved closer to him, resting his massive blackhead against Rickon's side. Sansa saw her brother dig his fingers into his fur.

"Not really."

He looked worried like he'd missed something he was supposed to know.

"That's fine. We have time. That is why we are here today," Sansa told him. She looked him directly in the eye.

"You understand that when mother took you, took you and Arya and Bran, that she was putting you in danger, right?"

"Yeah, Sansa. I know you had sent for us. Arya spoke to Bran and me about the Red Keep."

"Yes, that's right, Rickon. I had sent for you and Arya. I wanted you here, in King's Landing with Tywin and me. You were to be safe, far away from the fighting. You were to be safe, with family." Sansa had to push aside her rage that she felt for her mother for what she had put her siblings through.

"Instead, Mother kidnapped you."

Rickon pushed his plate away and looked uneasy.

"I'm sorry."

Sansa's blue eyes widened, and she couldn't help it, she reached for him. He hesitated for a single moment and then he was in her arms.

"Oh my sweet boy, no," Sansa said, holding him close. "None of this is your fault. I wanted you here, Rickon, with me. Since the moment Tywin told me that you had been found that you were back in Winterfell, I have ached to see you, and Robb, and Bran," Sansa said, voice hitching.

She'd never again seen her two brothers after she left Winterfell with her father and Arya those many years ago. She mourned their loss deeply.

A sob escaped her throat, and the tears fell, thick and hot down her cheeks.

"I was greedy, Rickon, wanting you and missing you and thinking of having you here. I missed my family so very much. And I thought only of your safety, sending for you."

"Truly? Mother said you didn't want us - that you had a new family. That you were no longer a wolf."

Sansa's rage for her mother grew. How dare she say something so vile and so clearly a lie. And no matter how much Sansa was part lion, she was still part wolf. Even her husband, the very proud Tywin Lannister, understood that.

"When, Ric? When did she say that to you?" Arya asked, her voice with an edge to it. Arya's eyes slid to Sansa, and the Queen knew her sister had no idea just how deeply Catelyn Stark's betrayal had been.

"Not when you were around. She told me you had been… corrupted by Sansa. That she was more lion than a wolf, and that you were just like her. She told me if I went to King's Landing, Sansa would never accept Shaggy."

A sharp sound of distress drew both Arya and Rickon's eyes back to Sansa.

"Rickon, I would never deny you your wolf."

He looked miserable and young and so lonely that Sansa's heart ached.

"Brother, look at me," she said gently, leaning forward to cup his cheek. When his eyes met hers, Sansa spoke again.

"I would fight a war for you, Rickon. I would do anything to keep you safe, to see you happy. You are a Stark, a true son of Ned, and one day a knight with a wolf's heart."

He said nothing, but his chin wavered, and then he launched himself into his arms. She hugged him close, holding him so tightly so that he knew how much she loved him. Rickon was hers.

"I believe you, Sansa," he said. He was gangly and awkward, but Sansa loved all his angles and lithe form as she hugged him tightly.

"You are mine, Rickon. Mine, do you hear?" She had his face in her hands, so he had to look her in the eyes.

"I hear you, Sansa."

"Good."

When they settled back into their seats, Rickon appeared infinitely more at ease. He was once again shovelling food into his mouth, only occasionally remembering to use a fork.

"Tell me about the trial," he said, and Jon and Sansa exchanged a look.

"It was treason, what Lady Catelyn did," Jon said gently.

"Which means she's dead," Rickon said, swallowing hard.

"Because she is guilty," Arya said, her arms folded across her chest.

Sansa nodded. Then she cleared her throat and looked at her family.

"Uhmmm, there is not going to be a trial."

"What? Why not?" Jon asked, confusion marring his handsome features.

"Because we all know what they did. We all know they are guilty. There is no Black to take, Jon. And Tywin outlawed trial by combat ages ago." Sansa sighed and sipped her tea. "It would simply be a spectacle. And at the expense of our family. We do not need to relive their betrayal."

"Who decided this?"

"The King and I," Sansa said, tilting her head. She looked to Arya first, who only cocked her head and then nodded once. Jon simply grunted an agreement.

"So, what will happen?" Jon asked quietly.

"When Tywin and I open the conclave, they will be escorted into the Throne Room. There they will be told of their guilt and their fate. Then the conclave will begin. Tywin will name the small council publicly, and the issues facing the realm will be discussed."

"You'll hear no argument from me," Arya said, and Jon and Rickon both agreed as well.

Relief coursed through Sansa that those she loved best would understand the role she was required to fulfill; that her husband had to meet. What good was all this power if they could not save the ones they loved from more pain?

"Thank you," she said. Then she looked at Arya and Rickon. "I have one more question for both of you."

There was silence in the room until Sansa spoke.

"Do you want to see her? Before the conclave is to begin. To say something? Anything?"

Both Stark sisters looked to Rickon, who looked between Sansa and Arya.

"I am, Rickon. I need to see her one last time. I wish, desperately, that I had been able to see Robb and Bran again. If I could, I'd visit them in Winterfell, see him with his son. I wish I could hug Bran once more, for it feels like an age since I have seen him. I have such deep grief that they are gone, but when it comes to Mother, I feel like I have a few things left to settle with her."

Neither Arya nor Ric said anything for a time.

"I wish I knew why she left Bran and me alone in Winterfell." Sansa's heart ached for a little boy that must have felt like his entire family had abandoned him.

"Would you like to ask her?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. No, I don't think so, Sansa. I don't know that there is anything she could say that would make it right. She was a stranger to me when she had us. I thought she'd be happy, at least, since it was her that kidnapped us. But she wasn't…"

"She wasn't Mother. She hasn't been Mother in a long, long time," Arya said, exchanging a meaningful glance with both Sansa and Jon.

There was nothing else to say. Arya was right. The Catelyn Stark that the three remaining Stark siblings mourned was not the woman currently in the black cells.

* * *

"Father," Jaime said, walking into the private sanctuary that his father, the King often worked from. The large desk, reminiscent of the one that occupied a similar spot in Casterly Rock. How many times had Jaime come across his father working, when he'd been a child? So often he'd hoped that Tywin would have laid down his quill and simply played with him. Thankfully, there was Sansa who never let his father get too deep into his correspondence before pulling him away to tend to her and their new children. 

Tywin grunted, and Jaime sank into a chair opposite him. He remembered so many fraught conversations with this man, and yet, through it all, Tywin was the one in the end who was still here for Jaime.

There was such weariness to Jaime these days, so much he had to think on, think about, to mourn.

"Jaime," Tywin finally said, setting down his quill. There was a steadiness, a depth to his father now, that Jaime never remembered being there before. While his father was demonstrative with his wife and his new children, there was, as they said, too much water under the bridge between Tywin and Jaime for that to ever change.

What was different, what was welcome, was the understanding and compassion that seemed to radiate from his father's eyes, as if he knew and understood the burden Jaime was facing. Perhaps, in some way, he did.

"The trials are set to begin tomorrow," was all Tywin said, allowing Jaime to absorb the news. Jaime barely reacted, resigned to the humiliation of having Lady Brienne speak in front of the realm.

"But, the Queen and I have decided that there will be no trial."

Jaime's eyes widened, and he wondered for a brief moment if he'd heard his father misspeak.

"No trial?" he said slowly, trying to see if this were a jape. But no, this would not be something that Tywin Lannister would jape about. Not something so serious.

"No trial. There is no need to put our family through more humiliation, Jaime. No need to have the entire realm know all our secrets, all our defeats, all our humiliations. There is no Black to take and no option for a trial by combat. There is only a guilty or innocent verdict, and everyone, from the Wall down to Sunspear, know what the three traitors did. I will not put my family through more pain and more shame to appease some of the Lords of the realm."

"Father, I…" Jaime was at a loss for words. The Great Lion rose and prowled towards his son, cupping his face.

"You may have passed your fortieth-second name day Jaime, but you are my son. You will always be my son. And I will always put family first."

The sacrifices this man had made for him, Jaime thought, humbled by the depth of his love. Tywin Lannister was not an easy man, not a kind man, not a forgiving man. But time and again, he'd done everything in his power to elevate his house to advance his family.

"We are Lannisters, Jaime. We are family."

Their foreheads touched and for a moment, all was right in Jaime's world. He still had so much.

His father. Sansa. His daughter. A niece to raise as his own. A new squire that sorely reminded him of his son. Friends. A position in the small council. And his name back. They parted, but there was a noticeable ease between the two men.

"Thank you."

"Thank Sansa."

Jaime chuckled, taking his seat. "And what did my lovely mother have to do with this?"

Tywin smirked. "She simply asked why we had to have a trial at all. Which leads me to your next endeavour. The trial system we have is broken. There is no black, no trial by combat and no need for a trial by seven. We need reform, Jaime. And in your new position as Master of Laws, I will look to you and Addam to lead this reform."

"What did you have in mind?"

Tywin smirked. "Prisons, Jaime. A codified system of laws throughout the realm with the same consequences for when a law is broken. And a system of judges whereby these matters are settled regionally."

"And how do we ensure that a corrupt judge does not allow his friends to go free?"

"They rotate."

Jaime's eyes bugged out. "I'm sorry… what?"

"They rotate. A man will have to have a certain skill set to become a judge, sit before a panel and be deemed worthy. Then he will be sent to a region to oversee it. There will need to be checks and balances, Jaime. I'd imagine reforming such a system will take years."

Jaime groaned at the sheer amount of work his father had just heaped upon his lap. Secretly though, he was thrilled. It was a good distraction and one that would keep him occupied in between training bouts with Rickon.

When Sansa appeared at the door, she smiled at Jaime, relieved to see that he was smiling. She took a seat.

"How did they take it, Sansa?"

"Good, Ty. They've decided against seeing my Mother."

"And you?"

Sansa held her husband's gaze. "If you would join me, I have a few things to say."

She rose and clasped Jaime on the shoulder. "Will you speak with Lady Brienne?"

He shook his head and glanced up at her. "No, Sansa. I've said my bit at Riverrun. We are done."

"Fair enough."

Sansa took her leave. With the conclave set to begin in two days, she knew that it would be soon when Tywin would come to collect her to visit the black cells. She needed time to prepare herself for what she might say to the woman that had birthed her and betrayed her family, time and again.

This would be one of the most challenging conversations that Sansa had ever had, even more so than when she'd been alone and friendless and approached Tywin.

She would have thought it impossible for her mother to break her heart even more, but she had, time and again. Now it was time for Sansa to be the Queen she was to protect her family from any who might harm them. And that included Catelyn Stark and Lady Brienne.

That night, when Tywin joined her in bed, Sansa almost pounced on him, so eager for him to chase away the horror of the next few days. Afterwards, he held her close.

"Tomorrow morning, after we break our fast. I will be with you the entire time, Sansa."

She knew his words were true, knew he'd never waver in his love for her, never shy from standing beside her during the worst moments of their life. He was her heart, her family and the love she had always dreamed of.

"You are mine, Tywin."

"Yours wife. Always and forever yours."

* * *

_ King's Landing – The Black Cells _

His wife's back was straight, her spine like steel as they walked down the dank, dark steps to the black cells that were rooted in the bowels of the Red Keep.

Tywin had barely slept last evening, his anger and humiliation keeping him awake for hours. For so long, he'd done whatever necessary to keep those he loved safe, and with one insanely foolish decision, the sheer grief and angst that Lady Catelyn and Lady Brienne had caused for his family was staggering.

Jaime had stated unequivocally that he had nothing more to say to Brienne, and while his son had repeated some of what had been said between them, it wasn't enough as far as Tywin was concerned. This woman had married the most eligible man in the realm and then broke her vow to him. Not only that, but she had also broken her promise to Sansa, his wife, the Queen, by choosing to follow Lady Catelyn on her ill-timed attempt to stage a coup against his family.

How anyone couldn't see that Sansa loved her family deeply was beyond Tywin's knowledge. It was an insane accusation and one which made Tywin want to rip Catelyn's tongue from her mouth.

His wife would never allow anyone, including him, to hurt her those whom she loved. And Catelyn Stark knew that. She herself had been the beneficiary of Sansa’s loving heart when Sansa had convinced Tywin to stay his hand against the woman for her actions against his wife in Flea Bottom.

None of the other Starks were with Sansa today. They'd come to terms with their Mother's fate when she had been captured at Riverrun, and they stated they had nothing left to say.

That just left Sansa.

"I need closure; from both of them," was all she said, and Tywin could hardly argue with that, even though there wasn't a single part of him that wanted this confrontation for her. If he could, he’d save her the pain of more disappointment that her Mother seemed to excel at. How many times could Catelyn Stark break Sansa’s heart?

"Where do you want to start, Sansa?" Tywin asked, voice low as they stood at the entrance to the Black Cells.

"My mother," she said, chin jutting up in a determined angle.

She squared her shoulders as one of the goalers accompanied them with the torch. Even though Tywin had ordered basic necessities for the prisoners, it still stank like piss, shit and despair. Almost no one that spent time here ever gained their freedom.

Sansa shuddered, remembering her father had been held here.

"Love?" Tywin asked.

"Both my parents have been held here, Tywin. One was guilty of her crimes, the other not."

Tywin grunted, having nothing to add. He'd never advocated for Ned Stark's death; at the time, he'd thought it ill timed and short-sighted.

Catelyn Stark was an entirely different matter. The woman deserved precisely what was coming to her.

They stopped outside her cell, and even Tywin could not hold back his shocked gasp when he looked upon the shell of a woman that was Sansa's mother. The woman was almost skeletal in frame, her hair matted and dirty, her eyes vacant and staring.

"Mother?" Sansa said softly as she stepped closer to the bars on the cell door.

It took a moment before Catelyn responded, turning to look at Sansa. Her face twisted into a cruel, mocking smile.

"Come to say goodbye, daughter?"

There was a meanness in her Mother's eyes, a madness there, and Sansa knew she would not get any answers, nor satisfaction from this conversation. In fact, it was most likely pointless. In whatever narrative her Mother had constructed in her mind, Sansa was her enemy. There was no reason, no negotiating, no anger even. Instead, Sansa firmed her voice.

"I want you to know that I still love you, Mother. I wish I didn't, but I do. Even after everything you have done, the choices you have made. I love you, but I don't forgive you, nor will I forget. I won't forget that your choices to trust Lord Baelish led to my father's death, and I won't forget that you held a knife to my throat."

Cat's eyes narrowed into slits, but for once, she said nothing.

"I won't forgive you for trying to turn Bran and Rickon against me, Mother. I love them. Rickon and Arya, Jon, Jeyne, Little Ned. They are my family, Mother. The family you threw away and the one you rejected."

Catelyn hissed, "You stole them from me. You and your lion."

Sansa shook her head and stepped back, into Tywin's warm embrace.

"No. You did this, not me. Rickon is mine, Mother. I love him, and both wolves and lions will raise him. Goodbye."

With that, Sansa turned away from her Mother, dismissing her from her life. She would grieve her death, mourn what she had become. But she was done with Catelyn Stark. Tywin said nothing as Sansa's mother glared at him. He would quickly render his guilty verdict for all to hear when the conclave opened.

When they came to Lady Brienne's cell, Tywin couldn't help the snarl that broke loose. Sansa didn't blame her husband for his wrath. There was hardly a man in Westeros as devoted to his family, his legacy, his house as her lion. Those in the West had canonized Tywin's deeds in song, sung whenever the Great Lion did what he did best - protect the Lannister name.

Brienne of Tarth had not only betrayed his beloved son, but he'd broken her vows to Sansa, Tywin's beloved wife.

For Sansa, she was deeply hurt, confused and … exhausted. She was exhausted in dealing with women like her Mother and Brienne. People like Olenna and Margaery Tyrell that has sought to use people that Sansa loved. Rickon, Bran, Arya, Jaime, and Tyrion. People that were her family.

Sansa was done with those who thought that she didn't know how to rule, that she didn't know her place as Queen, that Tywin Lannister had somehow corrupted her. She was tired of giving people a second chance, only to have them betray her time and again.

They didn't see who or what she was; that she had been able to match wits with her husband since the moment she'd met him. They didn't see a woman, who had been alone, defenceless, at the mercy of those that had hurt her, humiliated her, tried to manipulate her and who had emerged victorious.

Sansa had forged herself into something powerful, one half of a couple that had more power than any in recent memory. She understood her husband's anger well. And she did nothing to try to dissuade him from his ire. They were both due it.

"Lady Brienne," Sansa said, voice cold and hard.

Brienne stood, stripped of her armour and now clad in breeches and a tunic. She was thinner than Sansa had ever seen, hair dishevelled, and her face a ghostly parlour. It moved Sansa naught.

Unlike her mother, Brienne's blue eyes did not look mad or cruel or even disdainful.

They were haunted and broken, and Sansa's heart ached for her former friend and sworn shield, that she had made the choices she had, that had lead them here. Her heart ached, but not enough to bend. Not on this.

"Your Grace."

Sansa snorted and shook her head. "Now I'm Your Grace? Perhaps that would have been something remember when you drugged and kidnapped my family."

Brienne, if possible, stood even straighter. "Your Grace, I had a vow to your Mother. A vow to deliver Arya Stark safely to your Mother."

"She is an adult, Brienne. She did not need saving. She was on her way to me."

Brienne's eyes flicked to Tywin, who up until this point had remained quiet. Now he moved his power and grace on full display.

"It was me. Me that you objected to."

Brienne's chin tilted. "I know the type of man you are, Your Grace. I've always known what type of man you are. From the moment I arrived back with Ser Jaime, my oath was to save the Stark sisters and deliver them safely to Lady Catelyn. I never understood your marriage, but it was clear that Sansa would not be dissuaded from her decision to marry you."

Brienne's face soured as if the very idea of their marriage was distasteful to her.

Gods, Sansa wondered why she had never seen it before. Brienne would never be able to understand how she could not only marry but love a man like Tywin Lannister. Her rigid moral code would not allow for that. And Sansa was done justifying her marriage to the likes of those like Brienne of Tarth.

"Finish your tale," was all Sansa said, but she was already done with Brienne.

"When Lady Catelyn found me at Harrenhal, she reminded me that my vow to her had not yet been fulfilled."

"You made vows to my wife, my son," Tywin spat, almost shaking in rage.

"And my first vow was unfulfilled."

Tywin snarled and shook his head. "Gods, you are a loathsome woman. I was right about you from the start. You aren't honourable- you simply wear it like a shield to justify your actions and your moral code. You're not better than any of us, than me. Your actions almost destroyed humanity. Do you understand that? Do you have any idea what you almost did?" Tywin raged.

Brienne frowned and shook her head. "We only took the Stark children to Riverrun."

Tywin scoffed and shook his head. "Bran Stark was needed to end the war against the Night King, you daft fool."

Brienne's eyes went mutinous. "It was lies!"

"MY BROTHER DIED! MY WIFE’S BROTHERS DIED! " Tywin roared.

His chest heaved, and he felt Sansa reach for his hand. Her presence there was the only thing that was preventing him from reaching out and snapping Brienne's neck.

"They died to defend humanity, to kill the dead that was coming for us all. You were never good enough for my son, never good enough for the Lannister name. You are a disgrace to everything you claim to stand for." 

Tywin spun away, vibrating in anger.

Brienne's eyes went to Sansa, her head shaking.

“No, it can’t be…. It’s not possible.”

“What, Brienne? What is not possible? That the Night King came, with his army of the dead? Or that good men, men we loved, died to defend us from his wrath?” Sansa’s voice was cold and hard.

“It’s just… your Mother, Sansa. She said…” Brienne looked lost, shaken to her very core. A part of Sansa ached for this woman. She knew that Brienne held herself to an almost impossible standard. But her rigid inflexibility made it so that she could not see when she was wrong.

“My mother was not from the North Lady Brienne. Your own husband lost his son to this monster. How could you deny what had happened? You saw Jaime,” Sansa seethed, rage on behalf of Jaime consuming her. She stepped closer.

“You saw what Tommen’s death did to Jaime. You knew, Brienne.”

Her blue eyes were wide, almost pleading with Sansa. “But it’s impossible, Sansa. A dead army?”

“Like dragons? Or direwolves? Giants? Are these things also impossible?” Sansa countered, giving no ground.

“You are a fool,” Tywin snarled, coming to stand beside Sansa. “Did you never ask yourself why a man such as myself would rouse the greatest army Westeros has ever seen? Do you think I would do so on a whim? Why did you not think before you acted?”

Brienne’s head went back and forth, her mouth gaping open and then closing with no sound coming out.

“I didn’t… it all seemed like a jape, Your Grace,” she finally whispered and Tywin snarled and turned away from her.

Sansa suppressed the sigh. She was so tired from this conversation; this hurt, this humiliation, this betrayal.

As had happened before in her life, Brienne chose someone else over her. And that hurt never truly went away.

Like Robb had when he never traded Jaime for her, forcing Sansa to come up with a plan to save herself. Ultimately, it had led to her approaching Tywin, but the initial shock that she had not been worthy of saving in Robb’s eyes was an old hurt that had never fully healed. Sansa missed her brother, would always love him, mourned his death, but there was always a part of her that ached he’d never chosen her over his vengeance.

That ache did not even compare to what Sansa felt when it came to Catelyn Stark. Time and again, her mother had chosen someone else over Sansa. With Petyr Baelish, with her brother and his need to avenge Ned Stark’s death, with Brienne. And now, even in the end, even with the sheer madness that had taken hold over Catelyn, it hurt that her own mother could ever think that she would harm her own siblings.

Sansa looked to her husband who was pacing the confines of the black cells like a trapped lion. How could she have ever known the love and lengths this man would go to for her? He was the only person who had ever chosen Sansa, time and again. And she knew deep in her very soul, that he always would. There was nothing that Tywin would not do for her.

"I defended you; when you tried to prevent my wedding when you hesitated when my Mother threatened my life. I defended you, Brienne. When Jaime was hurting, I thought that you would be good for him, that you saw the man he was attempting to become. That you would support him, love him, and accept him. All parts of him. Because that is what you do when you love someone. You accept them, you love them, even though the hard, ugly parts, Brienne. You don't destroy them."

Brienne looked utterly lost and for a moment, a brief second Sansa’s empathy surged. Deep down, Brienne was not a bad person. Inflexible, intractable, stubborn to a fault, and oddly judgmental, but not truly evil, not like some that Sansa had known. But in this, there could be no quarter. She had endangered the lives of millions by participating in the kidnapping of Bran Stark and had gone expressly against the orders of her Queen to return Rickon and Arya safely back to King’s Landing.

There were consequences, and they were grave indeed.

Sansa stepped back from the cell, done with this. There was nothing left for her down here; nothing but despair, madness and misery.

And that was not her life, not her future, not the Westeros she was Queen of. Sansa had worked too hard to reform Westeros, to bring regions together that had been at war for years to allow these three people to define her.

When they opened the conclave their fates would be decreed for all to hear. Then it would be done, one more ugly chapter finally behind them.

"Come, husband. We are done." Sansa wrapped herself around Tywin, whose face was as harsh as she had ever seen it. It was only his legendary control that was staying his hand right now.

"She is not worthy, Sansa. She was never worthy of Jaime.” Sansa’s heart ached for both Tywin and Jaime. Her husband loved his son and had only ever wanted what was best for him. Sansa knew it was only her that could soothe Tywin’s anger, his bone-deep hurt, his utter humiliation at what Brienne had done to Jaime. Her hand rested on his doublet, and she felt him clutch her to his side.

How anyone thought this brave lion did not feel was beyond Sansa. Her husband felt things greatly, and when he was hurt, that pain threatened to consume him.

"I know. And we are done, Tywin. This is done."

He looked down into her face, which Sansa hoped conveyed what she was feeling.

His green eyes glittered, and then he gave a short nod.

They exited together, not even stopping when the shouts of the three traitors that had betrayed them echoed after them as they ascended towards the light; as they made their way towards the future, which had never looked more secure for Houses Stark and Lannister. Tyrion's words had indeed been prophetic, those many, many months ago. The Lions and Wolves ruled Westeros, and the realm was infinitely better for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two or three chapters to go and then this main story will be done.
> 
> I have plans to update the lives of those in this tale through a series of one-shots that are part of this world. I am going to push hard to get this story done hopefully by the end of April. 
> 
> Up Next:
> 
> The Conclave and the future of Westeros is decreed!


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Conclave begins and the future of Westeros is decided

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. The penultimate chapter of this massive story. I must confess, I never intended for this to be so long, and to be honest, I still have so much more to write about these characters and their lives AFTER they have created this new world for themselves.
> 
> But that will be done as one-shots or short stories. 
> 
> For now, we've almost reached the end of this epic tale!
> 
> For those that have stuck by me through this, I have no words, other than thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> For LC and SA - many, many thanks for pushing me through to the end of this one!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

_ King’s Landing – The Conclave _

Tywin adored the care his wife put into selecting the gown that she would wear to open the conclave. Currently, he stood in the doorway, observing her and the two handmaidens she had, working her hair to a complicated braid to best showcase her direwolf crown.

Today, they had agreed, she must look every inch the northern Queen she was and so her gown was a deep grey in colour, accented with red weirwood leaves and the outline of a red direwolf. She was wearing the white gold and diamond snowflake necklace he had made for her, that reminded her of home. Tywin preened at seeing her wear his jewels, even if it wasn’t his colours.

He could recall with perfect clarity what she looked like the first time he saw her in her wedding gown, on the arm of Kevan, her brilliant smile telling him that she eagerly anticipated their marriage. Almost three years later, Tywin was still astounded at the changes that had come to his life because of this one woman.

When her handmaidens had finished with her, they left, allowing Tywin to place her crown and the gold and rubies around her neck. It gave him a chance to press a kiss to that soft, perfect skin that he had loved so often he knew her body as well as he knew his own. There was no part of her body that Tywin did not know.

When they were finally ready, Tywin in Lannister red and gold and Sansa in Stark grey and red, they met their family in the main chamber, where they were gathered. Together they would enter the Throne Room, which was teaming with nobles from across the realm. Even the direwolves would accompany them today, for it was critical that the realm saw the support that Tywin and Sansa had gathered.

Jaime, with Myrcella, Joanna and Genna made up the Lannister contingent. Tywin felt Kevan’s missing presence acutely and knew that he would have been right there by his side as they opened this conclave and set the future for Westeros.

Arya, Rickon, Jeyne, Little Ned and Sandor Clegane made up the Stark contingent. Grey Wind rarely left Jeyne or Ned’s side these days and along with Shaggydog and Nymeria, the three full-grown direwolves were an impressive sight to behold.

Jon and Dacey, who were not to be outdone, had Ghost with them. The white direwolf with his gleaming red eyes was almost as large as Grey Wind.

Their children, their heirs, would also be before the court today. These were the children that Oberyn Martell had tried to slaughter, and Tywin knew how to work a room to his greatest advantage. Seeing Tysan, Jason and Serena, the realm would be aghast at what the man from Dorne had almost done.

Thankfully, Sansa had agreed, else Tywin knew he’d have a mother lion to contend with. His wife was fiercely protective of their offspring, and it was only because the situation required such a show that she allowed it.

He’d spoken of course, with both Yohn Royce and Stannis Baratheon about the change in plans. Both men had expressed their concerns for the unilateral power that Tywin and Sansa were exercising, wondering what precedent it might set. But they had the assurance of the King that reform of the justice system was one of his top priorities.

Considering Tywin’s legendary reputation both men recognized the restraint the Old Lion was showing in dealing with Dorne and the two women that had betrayed those closest to him. There was still a part of Tywin that longed to crush Dorne into dust and wipe it from the map. But he stayed his hand, for Sansa and the good of the realm.

Still, Dorne would pay; if not in blood, in reparations and the dismantling of their ridiculous need to call themselves Prince and Princess. Those titles would only belong to the Royal Family in Westeros – Tywin’s family.

His children with Sansa would be the only ones who were bestowed with the title that was rightfully theirs.

Tywin and Sansa paused before entering the Throne Room, his hand settling on her back, as Sansa turned and nodded at him. He loved the way they communicated; no words needed. He paused for a moment, recalling when they’d entered so long ago to challenge Joffrey and Cersei, all eyes of the realm on them then. For so long Tywin had fought, tooth and claw to maintain his family’s standing in Westeros. Never would he have imagined that a wife would help him achieve every dream he’d ever had.

Swept up in the moment, in the change that was happening before his eyes, he leaned down to kiss Sansa.

“Tywin,” she whispered against his lips.

“Sansa.” Their eyes held and they were caught up in each other. Then she nodded and he knew it was time. He settled his face into the stoic countenance required as King and nodded to the Maester who would announce them to the room that was packed with nobles from across the realm.

Sansa took a moment to observe her husband. She knew what those inside the Throne Room would see. Tywin’s reputation before their marriage had been legendary. Now? He must seem almost godlike to those gathered. He’d defied all odds to emerge victorious in the game of thrones, against lies, deceit, betrayal and war.

He was the most powerful man that had governed the realm that did not rely on dragons. Through marriage, alliances, sound decisions and sheer will, he’d lived up to his fearsome reputation and a fierce bolt of love and pride roared through Sansa. This man, this incredibly commanding and impressive man whom would be canonized in song for what he accomplished was hers. To those waiting, he was formidable, intimidating and downright scary to some.

But to her, he was the love of her life and she was almost undone by her good fortune to know a love such as his. As if he knew what she was thinking, he turned and gave her a quick wink, a slight twitch to his mouth and she bit back her own grin.

This man! Then the Maester cleared his throat and began to call out their many titles.

As before, when their titles were read upon them entering the Throne Room, it gave Sansa a sense of almost disbelief. She was still a bit overwhelmed by what Tywin had done. Just as seeing the two new thrones brought a sense of disbelief. The banners of both wolf and lion still hung, for all to see and know that this was a Seven Kingdoms ruled by both King and Queen.

There were gasps of delight as they made their way forward, their royal family truly one that those in Westeros had fallen in love with, and exclamations as the two princes, and the princess were seen. It was rare when either Tywin or Sansa let them be this close to the court, and as if they knew their role, her sons smiled and waved, while toddling along with Sansa a child in each hand.

_Long live the King and Queen!_

_King Tywin and Queen Sansa!_

_Rulers of the Seven Kingdoms!_

The chants rolled through the Throne Room, reminding those that might not be as enamoured with Tywin and Sansa about their influence. Men like Edmure Tully and Willas Tyrell, who were not quite as taken with the monarchs as others, but who none the less, understood their place.

As they approached the dais, their children were settled, along with their family in the front, while Tywin himself helped Sansa ascend the steps to their thrones. Sansa took in the three chairs that had been placed for the traitors, seeing her mother, Oberyn and Brienne sitting there and schooled her features to betrayal no emotion. Her heart might be racing to be so close to the man that had almost taken her life, but she’d give him nothing outwardly to show that he might still affect her.

Surprisingly, Catelyn’s eyes strayed to her daughter, Serena’s brilliant red hair shining in the bright sunlight that streamed through the windows, and for a brief moment, it must have been as if Catelyn were seeing Sansa herself reborn, for the princess was a replica of her mother.

After she was seated, her husband took his seat next to her and then turned to face the crowd. The chant began again and the showman that he was, Tywin allowed it to build to a crescendo, before he finally held up his hands and bellowed, “Silence!” into the hall, where the nobles quieted at his brisk command.

“Lords and Ladies of the realm, we are gathered here today to celebrate our victory against the Night King, and honour the fallen. Six regions, once at war, banded together, to bravely battle against a monster from legend, that had but one goal – to end humanity.”

Tywin’s eyes gazed at those assembled before him. Wildings, Northmen, Rivermen, men from the Vale, from the Reach and West. All manner of men and women, who had, against all odds, headed his call. All but one. Tywin did not even look at Oberyn, instead seething inside at Dorne.

“The Queen and I welcome those from across the realm to King’s Landing. There are many heroes of the Second Long Night; many that we could only wish were hear with us today. We know your pain; our own family paid in blood and death, as did so many in front of us. We know that now is the time remember our fallen heroes, in deed, song and poem, to canonize them so they are never forgotten.”

A great cheer rose at this, and Tywin knew that there would be many heroes spoken of in villages and towns, castles and septs throughout the realm when those before him returned home. The only blessing from the Night King and his army was that they’d taken no crops, burned no homes and stolen no gold. Many would return to some type of dwelling. With spring upon them again, the shortest, yet most brutal winter in recent memory had lost it’s icy grip and meant life would return with the people.

“In the days to come, the future of Westeros will be decreed. A new era of peace, and prosperity is before us.”

The King’s eyes looked the room.

“War has ravaged us these past years, since the death of King Robert. Those here, those that pledged themselves to our cause will reap their reward, in a realm that can finally rest with our enemies vanquished.”

Those in attendance were riveted by the King’s words. “Reform will come to Westeros, change that is long overdue.”

That, Tywin saw, had some shuffling their feet.

Many remembered how he’d all but ruled with an Iron Fist when he’d been Hand to Aerys, and while Tywin Lannister had never been a champion of the smallfolk, many in the room prospered under his governance. His wife, a brilliant woman, would be an asset by his side for years to come. He’d have, gods willing, years to prepare his children for the important roles they would occupy in Westeros when the Stranger finally came for him. 

Others who might not be quite as sure of their standing with the King, exchanged worried looks. Tywin glowered at Willas Tyrell and Edmure Tully. Both men were on shaky ground as far as Tywin was concerned.

Willas Tyrell could at least take some pride in the fact that his father Mace had fought bravely in the Long Night. And not just Mace, but many others from the Reach. They had held the line, manning the trebuchets that had launched the first volleys against their enemy.

Lord Willas had married Talla Tarly, Dickon and Sam’s sister. Both men were linked to his family, with the bond only strengthening when Myrcella married Dickon.

Baelor Hightower had also proven himself loyal and steadfast in the Second Long Night, ensuring provisions had flowed steadily into King’s Landing.

The Hightowers also had a respectable navy and with the Greyjoys still a bothersome pest, Tywin knew it was high time that the Redwyns from the Arbour bent the knee and provided ships to help rebuild the royal fleet.

The Reach felt well in hand, if the relationship was somewhat tense between the King and Lord Tyrell.

It was the Riverlands, other than Dorne that bothered Tywin the most.

There were so many deep wounds, so much pain and hatred, between the Rivermen and those from the West. Tywin had no illusions that Lord Tully trusted him; he only hoped the Riverlord understood how powerful the Great Lion was. It would hurt Sansa were Tywin have to march into the Riverlands to make Edmure Tully respect his rule.

And none of those mistrustful feelings would be helped along with what was about to happen.

Tywin knew that the moment he condemned Catelyn Stark to death for her deeds, Edmure Tully would be lost to him. The man might bend the knee, but he’d never trust Tywin or Sansa again. It was a price he was willing to pay to rid them of Catelyn Stark and her constant betrayals.

“The heroes of the Long Night will be named, read allowed in a ceremony to commemorate their sacrifice. But,” Tywin said, his voice dark and grim.

“There were three that through their actions almost caused the realm to fall. Lady Brienne of Tarth and Lady Catelyn Stark Marbrand, kidnapped Bran Stark, Rickon Stark and Arya Stark.”

He paused allowing his words to be absorbed by those in the Throne Room.

“Their actions forced Lord Jon and Ser Jaime to pursue them across the Riverlands, to take back Bran Stark, so he could play his pivotal role at the Isle of Faces. With them was Lord Brynden Tully, who bravely fought his way back into his family home, to help liberate Riverrun. It was Bran Stark’s brave and ultimate sacrifice, that helped destroy the Night King. Without Bran Stark and his unwavering belief in his destiny, humanity would have been lost.”

All eyes were riveted to the King. He glared as Brienne and Catelyn were encouraged to their feet.

“Lady Brienne and Lady Catelyn, you are found guilty of treason, of betraying the King and Queen of Westeros. For your roles in this treachery, you are both sentenced to death, to be administered via the poison sweet sleep.”

Tywin’s jaw clenched. It galled him that such a painless end would come to those that hurt people he loved. But it was for those very people that he had conceded to such a course of action.

Both Jaime and Addam, standing side by side, looked stoically at Tywin and not to their wives. The only outrage, as predicted, was the slash of anger across Edmure Tully’s face. His wife and she was an asset to him, rested her hand on his arm and he settled, but not before Tywin knew the Riverlands would be a region to watch. Carefully.

His emerald eyes flicked to Sansa and he saw she was wearing the mask of the Queen, betraying nothing to those that they ruled. Her hand flexed once on the arm of her throne and Tywin knew that the hurt ran deep in her at this betrayal and the end of her family.

When he gazed at the Starks, their faces were also grim, barely sparing a glance towards the woman that had birthed them. Tywin knew Catelyn was dead to them all. It was done. The poison would be given later, privately, and then Lannister and Stark business would no longer be something to be gossiped about around the Red Keep.

Now Tywin surged to his feet, his anger propelling him forward. His rage barely concealed, he allowed his gaze to land on Oberyn Martell. The man was shackled and heavily guarded, and for one brief moment Tywin entertained the thought of torture; at the very least a beheading. But he stayed the course, remembering what he and Sansa had agreed upon. He faced his subjects.

“There were six regions that answered the call; that provided men, weapons, food and armour. There were six regions that bled to save Westeros.” Tywin paused and the silence was deafening. “And one that did not.”

He stalked to the edge of the dais, to glare at Oberyn. The Red Viper appeared a broken man, as if he knew what his rash actions had wrought not just on him, but his family, his house, his people and his region. 

“Dorne refused to come when called, even though in this very room, that man bowed and bent the knee. Oberyn Martell pledged himself to House Lannister. And Oberyn Martell, deliberately and with supreme malice, attempted to murder the Queen, her infant daughter and the two Princes of the Realm.”

Even though the story was well known throughout the capital, and the brave deeds of Rickon, Jon and Dacey had been told time and again, none had heard King Tywin speak of it.

And they would not. What happened to Sansa and his children, was private and not for their consumption.

“Oberyn Martell, you are hereby sentenced to death, to be administered via manticore venom.”

The slight smirk on Oberyn’s face vanished in an instant and Tywin saw the confusion and then the fear there.

The King’s grin was a sight to behold and not one that many would soon forget.

“Your arrogance, even now, astounds me. You think you have secrets, Prince Oberyn?” Tywin sneered. “Do you think those in your household would not betray you? I am the King. I know all your dirty little tricks.”

Tywin held up a vial containing a dark liquid and saw the man from Dorne shudder in fear.

“I believe your loyal companion, when persuaded, confessed that this poison is particularly nasty. Something about the effects taking hours and being one of the most painful ways to die.”

“Your Grace, no,” Oberyn whispered, sweat now pouring off him.

“You dare! You who attacked my wife, my sons, my daughter! Do you understand that you are utterly friendless and alone? The consequences of your rash actions will see your house destroyed! I will wipe House Martell from the map, rooting the entirety of your bloodline from Westerosi history.”

The whites of Oberyn’s eyes had gotten even larger. Tywin shook his head.

“Perhaps it is apt that you know what I shall do. Lord Stannis will go by sea, and Ser Daven by land. Together, they will crush Dorne, either through sword, starvation or subjugation. Not a single member of House Martell will be left; not your brother and his children, not your lovers, not your bastard daughters. If it takes the rest of my life, I will kill them all. I will tear Sunspear apart, set flame to your water garden and raze the palaces your call home.”

There wasn’t a single person in the entire Hall that did not believe every single word that came from the Great Lion’s mouth. With a flick of his hand, Tywin motioned for their guards to remove the prisoners. The poison would be delivered by Tywin himself, later in the black cells. As the three traitors were removed, Tywin turned back to Sansa.

Her face might be slightly paler than he liked, but that was only because Tywin knew her so well. She had held up shockingly well as he’d sentences her mother to death.

There was a break, with chatter and shuffling of feet, as Tywin drew Sansa out of her throne.

“Sansa?”

“I am fine, Tywin.”

He gave a small nod and they turned as one, as one of their stewards arrived with special pins that they had commissioned together. It was a snarling direwolf and roaring lion, in Lannister gold, heavy and ornate. These pins were to be bestowed upon those that Tywin and Sansa named the Heroes of the Second Long Night.

The crowd, sensing a rare moment, murmured amongst themselves. Tywin and Sansa shared a soft smile. No one but them had known about this.

“Lord Stannis Baratheon,” Tywin called, and the man from the Stormlands startled, only to come forward, ascending the steps where he bowed to both the King and Queen.

“For your bravery in leading the charge against the army, on the back of a dragon no less. You killed thousands, Lord Stannis, after leading the gathered army in months of preparation. You helped evacuate the North, the Riverlands and saved thousands of lives. We present with you the honour of Hero of the Second Long Night.”

Tywin knew that the Stormlord was not a demonstrative man, but he was shaking slightly and bowed again.

“Your Graces, I am humbled and honoured to serve the realm.”

Tywin pinned the heavy broach to his doublet, and Stannis, a bit stunned, turned and walked towards Davos and Shireen. His daughter beamed at him and threw her arms around him when he returned to his place beside her.

Next called was Tormund Giantsbane and his role in battling the White Walkers, followed by Sandor Clegane.

Sansa did the honour of pinning the broach to his quilted doublet, as he grumbled.

“Not a fucking hero little bird,” he snarled, but there was no heat.

“Stop, Sandor. You protected my family. You are a hero.”

There were others, men like Lord Royce and Dickon Tarly, SmallJon Umber and Ser Davos, who had gone above and beyond, until finally, only Jon and Jaime remained. They were standing side by side and shared a look before Tywin cleared his throat.

“Lord Jon Targaryen and Ser Jaime Lannister, your actions went above and beyond mere duty. Your willingness to sacrifice yourselves, to stand before the Night King himself, to do whatever was necessary to end his reign of terror, will be known throughout the realm.”

Both men together ascended to stand before Sansa and Tywin. The Queen had tears in her eyes, looking upon two people she loved dearly.

“This isn’t necessary,” Jon said, shuffling his feet, while Tywin shook his head in disagreement.

“It is merely a token of our thanks and a symbol of your bravery,” Tywin said, pinning the broach to Jon’s chest, while Sansa did it for Jaime, the choice deliberate. This was their family: lions, wolves and dragons. A great cheer erupted again.

When that ceremony had finished, Tywin cleared his throat once more.

“There are four additional people that we must recognize today. Four that stood, bravely and valiantly to defend the Queen and her children in the face of overwhelming odds.”

Sansa and Tywin had different gifts in store for these four_._

“Lady Myrcella Baratheon,” Tywin called and watched as Jaime’s daughter blushed and looked startled. She glanced at Jaime, who was grinning and then darted up the stairs a smile on her face. She curtseyed to them.

“Your Graces,” she dipped her head.

“Myrcella, beloved granddaughter. Your keen eyes and quick actions alerted those in the proper position to save the Queen and our children. We will forever be in your debt. Please accept this humble token of our thanks to you.”

Tywin produced a purple box from the Royal Jeweller and inside sat a stunning golden necklace, with an emerald shaped like a teardrop in its center. Myrcella gasped and then, forgetting all protocol, threw her arms around both Tywin and Sansa. It took some time to settle her, and the crowd adored her and her unabashed joy and sunny disposition.

“Dacey Mormont, now Targaryen,” Sansa called into the room. Dacey started a bit and then hurried up the steps, to bow before Sansa.

“Rise Lady Dacey, my most loyal guard.”

Dacey stood so she and Sansa were facing one another, and Sansa felt the warmness flow through her that they were now related by marriage. Her cousin could not have picked a better woman to be his wife.

“Since the moment you arrived, you have pledged yourself to my service, Dacey. A fellow woman from the North, a loyal bannerman to House Stark, you have served me proudly and well. You answered the call when I was under attack and fought those that sought to harm us.”

“It was my sacred vow, Your Grace. One I willingly would honour time and again.”

Sansa knew her words to be true and she smiled as the new armour and sword, with a pommel that was somehow both dragon and bear was presented to Dacey. The woman’s mouth dropped open and she was, for once, Tywin thought, at a loss for words.

She thanked them, before turning to find Jon. Sansa smiled as her cousin tucked his new wife into his side, brushing back a lock of dark hair, a look of such love and happiness on his face it warmed Sansa.

“Lord Jon, if you would,” Tywin said, and Jon grinned as he came back up. There was a grin on his face until Tywin handed him a piece of parchment. As Jon read it, Tywin’s voice carried.

“My wife is your family. House Rosby is without an heir, Lord Jon. It is a castle that is close to King’s Landing, and provides most of the food for the capital, making it an important ally of the ruling monarchs. From this day on, it is yours.”

Jon was stunned. He’d always assumed the most he could ever hope for, which was more than he thought his due, was Dragonstone. He looked to Sansa, who beamed at him and then hugged her tightly.

“Thank you,” he said, shaking his head in wonder as he made his way back to Dacey.

Tywin’s tiny cough brought Sansa’s attention back to the last person they would honour here today.

The Throne Room had heard of the deeds of Rickon Stark but now was his moment.

“Lord Rickon Stark of Winterfell and his brave companion, Shaggydog,” Tywin’s voice rang out. Sansa would have snickered at hearing Tywin say Shaggy’s name, except that she was fighting back the tears.

A nudge from Arya, a slap on the back from Jon and a gentle hand on his shoulder from Jaime, and Rickon almost ran up the dais to stand before Sansa and Tywin. Sansa longed to reach out for him, but he gave her a look and she knew he wanted this moment to be as formal as the others.

“Lord Rickon, your bravery, your quick thinking and your skills, prevented the death of the Queen, and our children.”

Rickon nodded, his face serious as he gazed at the King.

“I am told you were prepared to give your life in defence of hers.”

“She’s my Queen, Your Grace. Mine to defend, even if that means I die doing so.”

Tywin nodded gravely. “Such bravery must be rewarded. Ser Jaime, please join us.” 

Jaime all but bounded up the steps, a grin across his handsome face as he stood next to Rickon. There was movement on the dais and then a steward appeared with a gleaming sword with a direwolf pommel.

It was Ned Stark’s sword, not Ice, but the one that he strapped to his side each and every day. This was the sword that Ned had used to fight Jaime himself, here in King’s Landing. And it had been waiting for its next owner.

Sansa beamed, having heartily approved when Tywin had discussed his plans with her, Arya and Jon.

“Lady Jeyne Stark, Arya Stark and Jon Targaryen, perhaps you might join us as well,” Tywin called and Jeyne with Grey Wind, Jon with Ghost and Arya with Nymeria joined the others in front of the realm. Rickon’s family surrounded him, proud of the choices he had made, of how brave and true he had been even in the face of overwhelming danger.

“The Queen and I approached Lady Jeyne after your deeds were known Rickon. Through your direwolf, through your blood, you are the last trueborn son of Ned Stark. She felt it imperative that Ned’s son has his sword. Ice now belongs to Eddard Stark, Robb Stark’s trueborn son and heir to Winterfell, but this sword, your father’s, is yours to wield Rickon Stark.”

Rickon, for once, appeared too stunned to speak.

“Along with this sword, Lord Rickon is a pledge for you to squire with Ser Jaime. I cannot knight you today. There is training you must do. But as long as your bravery does not ever desert you, I feel it is only a matter of time before you proudly add a Ser before your name.”

Rickon gave a slight bow and said, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Before anyone could react, the direwolves surged forward, surrounding the Queen, and Tywin stepped back, allowing this moment to bloom in front of the assembled lords and ladies of Westeros. Sansa praised each wolf, rubbing their heads as they licked her hands and face, the sight unlike any seen before in this room. When she eventually laughingly dismissed them, the wolves went back to their bonded human and Tywin was left in awe of his Queen.

“Can I have my sword now?” Rickon’s voice startled Tywin who laughed and nodded at Sansa’s brother.

Laughter rang the hall, as Rickon hugged Jeyne and then Sansa, before finally picking up his new sword. Sansa heard him exclaim how sharp it was. Of course, he ran a finger up the edge, drawing blood. She gave her husband a look. Tywin shrugged. Boys had to learn sooner or later the perils of the steel they wielded.

Their family surrounded Rickon, who was grinning like mad and talking Jaime’s and Jon’s ears off as they once again descended to give the dais back to the King and Queen. Sansa gave her husband a small smile, feeling the great pendulum of emotion that the day had wrought. The high of seeing her family and friends rewarded for their loyalty and bravery, to the low of realizing her mother’s death was imminent. It was enough to make her head spin.

“Before we call the first day of the conclave to a close, the small council will be named publicly,” Tywin stated. Their names were called, although they kept their spots in the crowd.

Master of Coin – Jon Targaryen

Master of Laws – Jaime Lannister

Master of Whispers – Varys

Master of Ships – Stannis Baratheon

Grand Maester – Poole

Lord Commander of the City Watch – Addam Marbrand

Hand of the King – Yohn Royce

Finally, with those appointments made, Sansa and Tywin exchanged a look, which had Jerrod narrowing his eyes. He'd served his lord well since they'd been in King's Landing, guarded Sansa with his life, and took a great deal of pride in protecting the newest little lions.

"For many years, there has been a Kingsguard, a group of loyal men, dedicated in their vows to protect the King, his Queen and their family."

Sansa was grinning as she looked at him, and Jerrod's eyes narrowed further.

"To protect my wife, a Queensgaurd of loyal northerners was formed, solely dedicated to ensuring her safety. Those men and women have loyally served my wife. As have my Kingsguard."

There was a cheer again for those that wore their distinctive cloaks.

"But the title of Kingsguard is misleading, for these brave men and women do not just serve me. They protect the Royal Family. The name harkens back to an era of dragons, and lions and wolves now rule the Seven Kingdoms!" Tywin roared.

When the cheers died down again, he motioned Jerrod forward. His loyal man's eyes never left his. "Kneel Ser Jerrod and remove your Kingsguard cloak."

Shocked, Jerrod could only mutely obey, until he felt the King's hand on his arm. "Rise now, as the Lord Commander of the Royal Guard, tasked with serving the entire royal family, and ensuring their safety."

The new cloaks were deep purple and contained the same snarling wolf and roaring lion that were on the broach of the heroes of the Long Night. It would be the new emblem that would come to represent the reign of King Tywin and Queen Sansa; as two houses that ruled together over Westeros.

"Your Grace?" Jerrod said, voice wavering slightly.

"We are in your debt, Ser Jerrod. Do you accept this position?"

His back straightened, and his eyes locked on Tywin's.

"I will faithfully and honourably serve you, your Queen and your family, Your Grace, until the breath leaves my body, and I am no longer able to hold my sword."

Tywin simply hummed and nodded and then draped Jerrod in the new cloak, the gold edging signifying his elevated position.

It was late in the afternoon when Tywin finally dismissed the conclave. Tomorrow would come soon enough, with more matters to discuss and then a feast for those present. By weeks end, things would be decided, and those present would be free to return home, knowing that the kingdom was safe and that peace had come to Westeros at least.

* * *

_ King's Landing – The Black Cells _

Jerrod and the new Grand Maester Poole accompanied Tywin as he once again descended the steps into the Black Cells. He had been adamant that no one that he loved would accompany him, and their token protests had been superficial.

The goaler simply moved aside, handing the torch to Jerrod as they approached Lady Brienne first.

Tywin said nothing, taking the vial and dumping the sweet sleep into the wine before handing it to Brienne. Bitterness at what this woman had done was still potent inside him.

She took the goblet, hands shaking only slightly.

"I have but one request, Your Grace."

Tywin grunted.

"Once I am dead, please send my body back to the Sapphire Isle. It will be difficult for my father to understand, but I believe this will give him some measure of comfort." 

Tywin held the woman's gaze and nodded once. "It will be done."

She jerked her head and then swallowed the wine in three large gulps, and then handed the King back her goblet.

"I did love your son, as best I could," she said quietly and then turned and went to sit on the pallet that formed her bed in the cell.

Tywin dismissed her from his mind as he went next to Lady Stark.

He said nothing, noting that she wouldn't even turn her head.

"It can be easy or hard, Lady Stark. A goblet of wine with sweep sleep or a dagger tipped with Wolfsbane, but either way, this is your end."

It took several moments before she finally chose the poisoned wine, gulping it down while her eyes shone with hatred for him.

"I will never forgive you for stealing her from me."

"And I will never forgive you for breaking her heart, again and again."

With that, Tywin was done with Sansa's mother.

As he approached Oberyn, the Grand Maester swallowed nervously. "He has been prepared, Your Grace. Are you certain?"

Tywin knew the Red Viper's skill with a blade, and while he was willing to give the sweet sleep to both Catelyn and Brienne, Oberyn's death needed to be painful. The man had cut his wife, made her bleed and had almost killed his children.

The Prince from Dorne was strapped to a table, a gag in his mouth, naked save for an article of clothing around his cock. His dark eyes glittered in fury, but he could say nothing.

Tywin entered the cell that had been cleaned and carefully uncorked the poison, a thick, sludgy black substance. Manticore venom was one of the most painful and deadly known to man, and Tywin took a perverse sense of pleasure that Oberyn would die from his own creation. The Maesters had determined that Oberyn had added a clotting agent, which they theorized would slow the progress through the veins, dragging out the agony of the poison.

There would be no quick death for Oberyn Martell, and they both knew it.

"Remove the gag," Tywin said, his tone cold and without inflection.

Oberyn tried to twist, to spit, to snarl at the King, but Tywin was not moved. He dipped a dagger, a Valyrian steel one that he'd found in Lord Baelish's belongings in the poison and then pressed the sharp tip to the flesh part of Oberyn's stomach, drawing blood and inserting the black substance directly into his body.

"I am told this will be extremely painful for you," Tywin said, handing the dagger to the Grand Maester to clean.

Oberyn howled in pain, his face a twisted grimace as he fought against the poison. Tywin watched it work, seeing it turn his veins black, the stench staggering as the wound putrefied.

Tywin gazed down at the man who had tried to take everything from him, his face finally relaxing just enough that had Oberyn not been consumed by pain, he would have seen satisfaction there.

"Tell me when it is done. Then burn his body. Lady Stark and Lady Brienne will be returned to Riverrun and to Tarth.”

With that final decree, Tywin's long strides ate up the distance carrying him out of the Black Cells and towards the light. He needed Sansa and Jaime, the Stark siblings, Myrcella. His sister, loud as she was and his children. He required those that he loved to remind him that while he was a monster, he was only monstrous for those that dared to harm those he had his heart.

* * *

_ King's Landing: The Second Day of the Conclave -Stannis _

The second day of the conclave began much the same way as the first. The King and Queen entered with their family and small council, the Lords and Ladies of the realm eager to hear the decrees that would determine the future of Westeros. Last evening, after they'd entered their chambers, his daughter had gushed happily over his new honour, stroking the unique pin that adorned his doublet.

"It was very wise of the King and Queen to name you a hero, father. Now your deeds will be known throughout history," she'd said.

Knowing how much Shireen loved books, loved knowledge, this was high praise indeed. Odd how it was Tywin Lannister that had finally given Stannis the chance to escape the long shadow cast by Robert and to atone for some of his more unfortunate decisions.

He'd spoken with Shireen about the next task that was before him. Stannis knew he'd be leaving for Dorne quickly, by sea, the bring the final region to their knees. Tywin had said he trusted no other to do what was required, and while Ser Daven would come by land, over the mountain passes from the north, it would be Stannis that would most likely bring the region to heal, cutting off any supplies they may be receiving from Essos.

Shireen had squared her shoulders and nodded her head, looking years older than her thirteen name days.

"The King trusts you, father," was all she said. Stannis knew she would be fine in the capital with Sansa. She was a fixture in the lives of the royal family and was flourishing here.

Now, Stannis stood beside his daughter as he listened to the Queen to address the assembly.

Her voice was clear and authoritative, and her beauty staggering. Whereas yesterday she was every inch the Northern woman, today she wore gold, from head to toe, shining brighter than any other present. Her beauty was breathtaking, but even more so was the apparent love and affection she shared with Tywin.

Stannis listened as she spoke of the resettlement of the North.

"Lady Arya Stark will return to Winterfell, with Lady Jeyne Stark and rule as regent until Eddard Stark, the first and trueborn son of Robb Stark, is ready to take his place. At her side, she will have Sandor Clegane, Robb's loyal Master at Arms."

There were no outward grumbles that Stannis heard, from those in the North. By and large, the Starks were welcomed, and the idea of Ned Stark's daughter ruling Winterfell until Ned Stark came of age was accepted. Beyond that, the North had their Queen on the throne and Stark blood in the next King.

"Any Wildling that wishes to stay below the Wall will pledge their allegiance to the King and me, and Lady Arya Stark. All laws that govern life below the Wall will be observed."

Stannis held in a snort. He wondered how many of the free folk would stay.

"Tormund Giantsbane," Sansa called, and the Wildling startled and then grinned. He loved Sansa and waxed on about her hair to any that would listen.

"Yes, Your Grace," he said, standing there – not kneeling. Stannis wanted to knock him to his knees but stayed his hand.

Sansa's mouth twitched. "Castle Black is yours, Tormund, if you swear your fealty to us. We trust you to be a liaison between the free folk and the North. Your loyalty and bravery had been well proven over these past months, and you have earned your place in Westeros."

For once, the Wildling appeared stunned, then he threw his head back and laughed, his entire body shaking.

"Aye, Fire Queen, I'll bow. I'll take your castle and keep peace in the North." He climbed the steps and dropped to his knees, as Arya joined her sister on the dais and the Wildling swore an oath to all three. When he came down, he was hugged by Jon and Jaime, and even Sandor Clegane clapped the man on the back.

"With the Wall, or parts of it gone, there is no need for a Night's Watch. The Wall was built eight thousand years ago by my ancestor, Bran the Builder, with giants and the Children of the Forest, to keep the Night King out. He is conquered_, _and the realm is safe. No longer will those who commit a crime be able to take the Black, and no longer will the defence of the realm fall to the North."

Tywin stood, joining Sansa.

"Reform is coming to the Seven Kingdoms," his voice carried.

"Codification of building, sewer, and how we dispense justice. New systems will be put in place, prisons built to hold those that commit crimes, lords held to account for ensuring that orphans and widows from the Long Night and the War of the Five Kings are treated properly. There will be a limitation on brothels, as well as restrictions to who can engage in such practices."

Tywin sneered, still hating the idea of brothels, but knowing it was better to control and tax them than it was to allow men like Petyr Baelish to gain power through those who were desperate for work. Stannis heartily approved; he'd have gone further, outlawing it all, but he understood the balance the King strived to achieve.

"Septons will no longer hoard food, gold and learning but be beacons of learning in villages and towns throughout the kingdom. These reforms include teaching orphans to read, and young boys and girls proper trades so that they may find gainful employment."

There were startled murmurs as those in positions of power in the room realized how they would be held to account for the people that lived under them. And no one doubted that if such a system could be implemented, it would be Tywin Lannister himself to do so.

"I will look to Lord Stannis Baratheon, Lord Baelor Hightower and Lord Wylis Manderly to begin to rebuild the Royal Fleet."

All three men nodded at the King, and Stannis knew that a robust naval presence would only enhance the safety of the kingdom.

"Finally, the laws of inheritance in this land will be upheld! Any trueborn male will inherit his father's seat, followed by a true born female child. An acknowledged male bastard, should there be no true born female would be next in line, followed by an acknowledge female bastard if there are no other heirs. Many areas have been ravaged by war. There are empty castles. You will look to the ruling house to settle any such disputes. Should that not be satisfactory, a petition to the Queen or I may be heard."

There was silence as Tywin glowered at those assembled. After a pregnant pause, Tywin continued.

"Do not go home and seek to take what is not yours; do not use the chaos of wars to better your position from what it was. Rape, thievery and violence will be dealt with swiftly and harshly."

No one in the Throne Room doubted the King’s word.

_Finally_, Stannis thought, _a King that was logical, pragmatic, intelligent and fair_.

A man that would enforce the decrees that he set down, who would not waste his life on wine and whores. A man that would know where every gold dragon was spent and who would demand the very best from those that served it.

It was a heady feeling for a man like Stannis, and he joined in the cheers as the Hall erupted again. Some, Stannis knew, were too stupid to understand the effect that Tywin and Sansa’s reforms would have on them. Others were already looking around slyly, working out how they might skirt the system. It was always that way, Stannis knew, and it would fall the alliances that Sansa and Tywin built, to see the world they envisioned come to fruition.

When the Hall was once again quiet, Tywin spoke again.

“And now the last issue before us is that of Dorne. You are well aware that Dorne failed to send men, weapons and supplies to the war effort. When the battle had been won, their prince cravenly attacked my wife.”

Stannis had been with the King yesterday evening when Tywin had received word that Oberyn was finally dead. He’d confided in Stannis the poison he’d used and the man from Storm’s End heartily agreed with the King’s logic.

“Stannis Baratheon will leave by weeks end with the Royal Navy to cut off any movement of supplies or people from the southern region. He will land at Sunspear and will route any and all Martells that are alive. Ser Daven Lannister will take the Lannister army south, pressing down through the Prince’s Pass to ensure none escape.”

“And who will inherit Dorne?” Someone called and Tywin glowered at them.

“There are houses that are unhappy with Martell rule,” was all the King said.

Tywin, like Stannis, knew that there were other houses in the southern region that would be more than happy to see the fall of House Martell – houses like Yronwood and Dayne. Houses that would rise up and fight _with them_ and not against. Houses that would take this opportunity to rule Dorne as they had wanted to for years.

“The Dornish army will be disbanded, their coffers used to make reparation payments to those who are now widows and orphans. Any who resist, who do not bend the knee, will feel the cold steel of the King and Queen against their neck.”

“And those who do bend the knee? How do we know they won’t come for us?” another cried.

“Any Dornish noble who wishes to marry must have our permission,” Sansa said, standing beside her husband. “Men, women, children of Westeros fought and died to keep Westeros safe, while the Dornish cowered in their mountains, in their homes. There must be an accounting for their craven behaviour.”

There were unhappy faces, Stannis saw. Some thought it went too far, to punish an entire region for the choices of their ruling house, while others clearly thought the King should tear Sunspear to the ground, one red brick at a time. Without knowing what they might encounter, Stannis felt this was the best course of action. It would be a battle to take the city itself, and with only men, no dragons, not an easy one. The only thing that they had on their side, was Myrcella’s impression that the Dornish were suffering and had been for some time. Many might see the ships landing in their port as salvation and that would go a long way to aid their mission.

Later, in the great gardens that stretched for acres, the final feast of the conclave was held. By weeks end, most would have left the Red Keep for their homes, happy to get back to their lives, free from the threat of war and the Night King. For now, the surprisingly warm spring night was alight with more lanterns that Stannis had ever seen as he and his daughter walked behind the King and Queen and their family towards their table.

When he was seated, Stannis appeared surprised to have Ser Davos on one side of him, and a pretty, dark-haired woman on the other.

“My Lord,” she said demurely, bowing her head to him, a blush staining her cheeks.

Stannis startled. Women never acted in such a way around him. He cleared his throat.

“My Lady, I am sorry. I have been away from court for far too long, and your name escapes me.”

Her smile was a beacon to his heart. “I am Lady Ysilla Royce, Lord Stannis.”

This was Yohn’s daughter. Stannis searched his brain, trying to determine if she was married, or betrothed. And why she was in the capital.

He coughed and gave her what he hoped was a smile.

“I am sorry, My Lady. I am not well versed in life at court.”

“Neither I am,” she confessed. “I was betrothed to a man from the Vale, Lord Stannis. I confess I had never even thought to see King’s Landing before this war happened upon us.”

His heart sank. Of course, she was. She was a beautiful woman, with a sterling pedigree and a loving father.

“And where is your betrothed, Lady Ysilla?” he asked.

Her mouth turned down and she had a moment of sadness cross her face. “Dead in the war, My Lord. I am told he died bravely, and for that, I have sent prayers to the gods. We hardly knew one another, so it was more his potential I mourn, and not the man himself.”

She blushed furiously at that as if she felt she might have overshared. Stannis gentled his voice. “I understand, My Lady. You are a credit to him that you remember him and his brave sacrifice.”

“No less than yours, My Lord. The capital was agog with what you did. And on the back of a dragon no less!” she exclaimed, her dark eyes dancing, alight with excitement. 

For him, Stannis realized, almost stunned. He cleared his throat and took a hearty sip of water to gather his wits.

He had no idea how to respond to this woman.

“Well, I did my duty,” was all he said, and she smiled again, daintily sipping at her soup.

“My father told me what it was like, seeing you on the back of the black beast. He speaks of your bravery, My Lord, often.”

What did a man say to that? How did he explain that it was a sense of duty that ruled him? He was saved from answering when the King and Queen rose to welcome everyone to the feast. Stannis let his mind drift, observing Yohn’s daughter.

“They are wonderful, are they not?” she whispered to him, turning so that her body was closer to him.

“They are.” Stannis had the utmost respect for the monarchs.

Ysilla sighed. “I have seen twenty name days, and yet, I am still unwed. One day, I dream of a man that will love me the way the King loves the Queen.”

For one brief moment, the mere thought of her belonging to another seemed to enrage Stannis, his jealousy peaking. Then he shook himself. He had no claim on her and was off by weeks end on another dangerous mission. Besides, he was twenty years older than her!

“Has your father made any mention of another for you, My Lady?” he asked, somewhat boldly if he were being honest with himself.

She shook her head, neither one of them noticing that pleased look on Yohn’s face, while both Tywin and Sansa observed the two of them as well.

“No My Lord. I think he believes me to be in mourning.” She blushed again, and Stannis wanted to touch that pale cheek that was so pretty with a little colour, but stayed his hand. “Am I a horrible person to confess I am not in mourning?”

Stannis was unable to hold back the soft chuckle that escaped his mouth and shook his head. “No, My Lady.”

From there, course after course of decadent food was served, and Stannis was enraptured by Ysilla Royce. The woman was intelligent, a born conversationalist and put him at ease in a way no other woman ever had.

When Shireen came and found him, exhausted from the day’s events, Stannis was pleased to see the two of them were already well acquainted. Ysilla appeared to not be bothered by Shireen’s face, and the two of them chatted brightly as Stannis escorted Ysilla Royce back to her chambers.

“When do you leave, My Lord? For Dorne,” she added.

Stannis frowned, for once the lure of his newest task not bringing him the joy that he usually got from serving.

“A week, My Lady.”

She nodded. “I will pray for you, Lord Stannis. To return safely and swiftly, victorious in your task.”

He swallowed hard. “Thank you, My Lady.”

“And I will eagerly await your return.”

His eyes widened. “You are staying in King’s Landing?”

She smiled. “I am. I will be by my father’s side, as he fulfills his duty as Hand to the King.”

Regret crashed through Stannis. He had no idea how long the mission to Dorne might take, but he knew he could not ask this woman to wait for him. It was a ludicrous idea and surely one she’d never agree too. They’d shared but a single meal!

As if she could read his thoughts, she boldly put her hand on his arm, the one that was still healing.

“I will wait for you, Lord Stannis.”

Her meaning was clear, and he felt his mouth gape open.

“My Lady, I cannot…”

“Do you not want me to wait for you?” she asked, a teasing tilt to her mouth.

Stannis could only shake his head.

“Then wait I will. And when you are back, if you feel the same way, perhaps then we might explore if we are suited, My Lord.”

She was a bold thing, Stannis thought. Where did such women come from? Was it the influence of the Queen? He could see the same daring in his own daughter and knew more than just reform was coming to Westeros. Women would surely rule the powerful men that loved them. 

“I will eagerly anticipate my return, Lady Ysilla,” Stannis said. Then unsure of where his own courage came from, brushed a chaste kiss across her cheek. “I will speak with your father, My Lady. I’d hate for him to think me ill-intentioned when it comes to your future.”

Her smile was everything as she slipped inside her room. When Stannis turned to go to his own chambers, he saw his daughter standing there. He blushed, bright red, wondering for a moment if she hated him. Her face was a mask – until she clapped her hands in glee.

“Oh, I like her father! Did you see how bold she was?” Shireen chattered, relief flooding through Stannis as they walked together through the corridors to their chambers, near the Royal family. “I will endeavour to sing your praises to Lady Ysilla while you are away, and I know we will be fast friends. She is part of the Queen’s court, and very intelligent.”

Stannis was stunned by the events that had transpired this evening and spent the next few days preparing his departure captivated by Ysilla.

She had indeed, as his daughter mentioned, joined Sansa’s court of ladies. That meant he saw her more often than he’d have thought, which pleased him. He also knew he had to speak with Lord Royce. While Stannis wanted to secure a betrothal to Ysilla, the uncertainty of his future pressed down upon him, keeping him awake long hours into the night.

He was finally cornered by Tywin and Yohn after their final small council meeting before he was set to depart.

“Well?” Yohn asked, his chest puffing out. “Aren’t you going to ask me about my daughter?”

_He appeared almost upset, which was comical,_ Stannis thought.

When had he become a man that others wanted for their daughter? He was baffled how he’d somehow become what a young lady of Ysilla’s standing wanted as a husband.

“I am sailing to war, Lord Hand. What if I do not return? She has already had one betrothal end in such a way.”

Yohn grunted. “She says she will wait, Stannis. She had made up her mind, and damned if I can change it.” Yohn scowled and looked at Tywin. “I blame you.”

“Me?” Tywin all but sputtered. “What on earth do I have to do with any of this?”

Yohn waved a hand. “It’s Lady Sansa. She is a bold one and you indulge her Tywin.”

Tywin smiled and relaxed, in the presence of two men he’d come to view as friends.

“She is a woman worthy of indulgence, Lord Royce.”

“So is Lady Ysilla,” Stannis said, the words slipping from his mouth as if he had no control over them.

“Ah-ha!” Yohn pounced. “So you do want her.”

“Of course I want her. I want to make her my wife, take her to Storm’s End. I can imagine a life together. But I sail tomorrow Yohn!” Stannis snarled; his face twisted in a pained grimace. “I will not saddle her with yet another dead betrothal. And what if I am gone a year? Two? She is young and should be free to make her choice and not tied to me. I will not do that to her.”

Yohn’s face broke out into a wide grin. “She will wait. I know my daughter, Stannis. And you will return.”

With that, the man clapped Stanns on the back and went to find his family.

“What just happened?” Stannis muttered as Tywin laughed.

“You have just met your match, Lord Stannis.” The King was still chuckling as he went to find his wife, while Stannis went to his chambers to finish packing for his voyage to Sunspear.

The next day, there was a crowd that awaited him at the dock, as they went to board their ship. In addition to Sansa and Tywin, Jaime, Rickon and Jon were there, Shireen and Gendry, and Yohn and Ysilla. 

She was breathtaking today, and she approached him with a bundle of what looked like letters. “For your journey, so you don’t forget me.”

She was mad if he thought he’d forget her. Standing slightly off to the side, by themselves, he wanted to kiss her, he realized. He held himself back, but his eye bored into hers.

“I will not forget you My Lady and will endeavour to return to you as fast as possible. Your father knows my intentions, but if something should happen to me, I do not want you to be saddled with two dead almost husbands.”

She nodded. “I will await your return, Lord Stannis.”

“And I shall look for your face when we sail back, victory in our hands.”

A cough by Davos and Stannis knew it was time to leave. He hugged his daughter, who by now was as used to seeing him leave as she was to having him around. She promised to be good and to become ‘good friends’ with Ysilla while he was away.

The King stepped forward and they gripped hands.

“Good luck in the war to come, Lord Baratheon.”

“I will serve your well, Your Grace. Justice will be yours.”

“I know, Stannis. I know.”

The magnitude of this man’s trust in him threatened to stagger Stannis. Thank gods Davos was there.

With one last look at those that had become his de facto family, Stannis finally boarded the small boat that would take him to his ship, determination stamped on his features.

Now more than ever, he had something to live for.

His daughter.

His home.

His future, which was wrapped up in the very appealing package that was one Ysilla Royce.

He would route Dorne and return, finally free to live outside the shadow of his brother, and perhaps, finally, in peace and happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the wrap up in Dorne and an epilogue to go! I am really going to try to have that up in the next few days. 
> 
> As for what's next? I have several modern AUs on the go, one canon piece I'm actively writing and another canon Jaimsa I need to start. 
> 
> But, even with ALL of that, I have a new Tysan outlined - here is a hint! Time travel, Robert's Rebellion, a younger Tywin, a modern-day Sansa and soulmates! I am so very excited for this story.


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. At the end of this massive story. I honestly in some ways cannot believe I made it. And I can't believe how many of you stuck by me through this tale.
> 
> When I started I thought it might be 10-12 chapters. Clearly I am not very good at determining the length of a story and this quickly morphed into something MUCH larger in scale. 
> 
> And as I typed these last few words in what will end this story, I hope it has been worth it for you, the reader. I am a bit of a hot mess as this comes to a close, and a bit overwhelmed to be honest. 
> 
> Enjoy and stay safe.

_ King's Landing  _

Excited hummed through Sansa's blood as she and Tywin eagerly made their way towards the Kingswood outside the walls of the Red Keep. She stole a glance at her husband and thought that perhaps she was more excited than he was, for they had just received word that Nymeria had given birth to her pups.

The city had emptied over the past week, with thousands of men in their army marching for Dorne, and others in a hurry to get home. Those from the Riverlands and the Reach had eagerly set off for their homes, with only Baelor Hightower and Dickon Tarly remaining behind to discuss matters with Tywin.

Her uncle Edmure had barely spared Sansa a glance when he'd helped Roslin into a carriage that would take her and his son home. His wife was pregnant again, so there would be no question that House Tully would remain in control of the Riverlands, but that was a relationship that was fraught, at best. Unspoken was the body of Catelyn that was being transported back to her childhood home.

Addam Marbrand was a shell of his former self and seeing the devastation her mother had brought to this good man, a man Sansa cared for deeply, still hurt. 

Those from the North had started back up the King's Road soon after the feast, while the Manderly fleet was ferrying many North to White Harbour.

Wynafryd had debated staying in the south, as her mother and father were, but eventually conceded to going home with her grandfather. She had confessed to Sansa that she had hoped something might develop between her and Jaime, as the women had watched Ysilla Royce stake her claim on Stannis Baratheon, but Jaime was in no position to return her feelings. He was solely focused on Rickon and baby Joanna, as well as spending as much time with Myrcella before, as they all knew, she would marry Dickon Tarly.

King's Landing felt almost empty now. Sansa knew Sandor was itching to get back to Winterfell, and he understood the need for a Stark there. It warmed something in Sansa that Sandor thought of the North as his home.

But first, there were direwolf puppies to visit!

Sansa's heart was beating rapidly as they came closer, wondering about this urgent need she felt. She, Jon, Rickon and Arya had all spoken about a pup for her, but it had been years since she'd had her own direwolf, the ache for Lady never disappearing entirely.

They heard Arya's voice, crooning to her wolf, before they saw her, finding Nymeria bedded down beneath an ancient tree on some spongy moss. Sansa gasped as the wolf and her four pups came into view.

"Oh!" she cried, rushing forward before Tywin could stop her.

Jerrod and the King exchanged a glance, neither man from the west entirely comfortable around the wolves.

"Arya," Sansa exclaimed, dropping to her knees. She longed to touch them, feeling the pull towards her heart, as Arya grinned.

"Four Sansa."

There was one that had a reddish tinge to its fur, but the other three were all silver and white, much like Nymeria herself.

Sansa crooned to Arya's wolf, telling her what a good girl she was as she gazed at the pups in wonder. She knew that these were hers, hers and her children.

"Sansa," Tywin said, his voice uncertain. He'd always known his wife was a wolf, but this…

Her beautiful face was alight with joy and unable to deny her anything, he sighed.

"They are young, our sons, Sansa. Do you think this wise that they have such animals?"

"They'll learn, Tywin. They are both wolf and lion, my love.”

She was already touching them, and Tywin knew it was done. These pups would not be leaving with Arya when she rode North but staying here with him and Sansa in the capital.

* * *

A month later, Tywin watched as Sansa said a tearful goodbye to Jon and Dacey. They had announced their pregnancy last night at supper, to the joy of those dining with the King and Queen. Jon was beside himself, and Sansa was so excited Tywin thought she might make herself sick from all the emotion she was feeling.

He thanked the gods he'd had the sense to give Jon a place closer than Dragonstone, with Rosby, and that was where he and Dacey were going first.

They were young, in love and eager to start their lives. And now they were close enough that Jon could return to do his duty as Master of Coin.

The Starks embraced, Jon promising Arya he'd come North to visit her at Winterfell, and Rickon to mind Jaime and Sansa. Then Jon and Sansa hugged hard and vowed to keep in touch. He would most likely be back and forth between the capital, but Tywin and Royce had things well in hand and the Crownlands had been in turmoil for years.

Then Jon was attempting to help Dacey onto her mount as she batted away his hand, scowling at him.

"I'm pregnant, Jon, not infirm."

The man grumbled, and Tywin smirked, knowing full well what it was like to love a stubborn woman through pregnancy. Perhaps Royce had been correct when he'd stated that Sansa had influenced more than just fashion in Westeros. They were surrounded by strong-willed women these days, that had minds of their own and were not afraid to let the men who loved them know what they were capable of. If it was true, Tywin could only hope he lived long enough to witness his daughter take after her mother.

They stood and watched until they were through the main gates and then gone, over the ridge, away to start their new life together. With them was a mix of some from the North that had decided to stay south, and some from the crownlands that looked to Jon as their new liege lord. He'd have his work cut out for him, to rebuild his house and his seat, but he was young and had the full support of the King and Queen.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the month since Nymeria had given birth, the pups had grown. Tywin had ordered Arya to find a way to get Nymeria into the Red Keep so Sansa could visit the pups daily. The princes adored the wolf pups, and they wiggled all over them, and Tywin was resigned to his fate of being surrounded by wolves. In the weeks that followed, the pups grew, and so did their bonds with their humans. Even the pup that was, they had discovered, meant for the princess would curl up around their daughter, who now at six months old could sit up on her own.

Exactly three months after the final feast, those left in King's Landing from the North were set to depart. His wife was a mess, the thought of her sister, Jeyne, Sandor and the two wolves, Nymeria and Grey Wind, leaving made her sadder than Tywin could remember in recent memory.

Jeyne Stark had recently given birth to another boy, Robb’s second son, so the succession of the North was well in hand and understand the importance of giving the North a second trueborn son. It was bittersweet that Robb would never know this child, and Sansa could only hope that Sandor stepped into, to fill a void left by her brother’s death.

Much to Tywin’s surprise, Sandor hovered around her, growling at anyone who might upset her. The King wondered how long it might take the scarred warrior to ask for her hand in marriage.

Sansa had been by Jeyne’s side through the birth, and both women had cried when she’d named him after his father. “He looks just like Robb,” Sansa had confided in Tywin. So far, they’d been careful to avoid another Sansa pregnancy, giving her body and heart time to recover from the tumultuous times they had been through. Still, Tywin caught a look in his wife’s eyes and knew she’d be wanting another child soon.

"We shall visit them, Sansa," Tywin told her as she sobbed into his chest the night before Arya was set to leave, the idea of most of her family being gone again bringing a noticeable pall over the royal apartments.

The peace in Westeros had held, and life was returning to normal. As monarchs, they were busier than ever, settling disputes and seeing to the reforms they had decreed. They had a young family that demanded their attention, as well as their need for one another.

"I know, Tywin. I know. I am silly."

Even if she was, he would never say that, instead, distracting her with the passion that was always there between them, until she finally allowed the tension and the stress of the day to bleed away from her and fell asleep in his arms.

They both knew that Winterfell, that the North, needed Arya Stark and that she'd grown into her role as regent during her time King's Landing, spending endless hours in small council meetings and speaking with him and Lord Royce. Her mind was as quick and agile as it had been when she was his cupbearer, she had shown a dedication to ruling the North that impressed even Tywin. The only thing she would not speak of was her relationship with the blacksmith, one Gendry Baratheon.

Tywin had legitimatized him, although the smith swore an oath before the entire court to never challenged Lady Shireen for Storm's End. He'd looked positively scandalized at the thought, much like Jon had looked when they had asked him about the Iron Throne.

Instead, the smith trained daily, and followed Arya around, and was generally thought to be a good match for her. Together they would find their place in the North, and Tywin knew that it was a region they wouldn’t have to worry about. Tormund had already settled into Castle Black and seemed to delight in sending ravens to his Fire Queen, which made Tywin grumble.

“You can come south as well, Arya,” Sansa was saying as the sisters held onto one another.

Sansa hugged Jeyne as Sandor helped her, little Ned and the baby Robb into the carriage. With spring upon them, the road north should be passable, but the big man was muttering about mud.

There were goodbyes between Rickon and Arya, and then the wolves, circling one another. Of course, the pups were there, nipping and biting and then fighting with one another. Tywin had no idea how his life had been reduced to wolves, women and children, but it had, and he’d never been happier, even if he grumbled daily to Sansa about the chaos of their life.

She just patted him indulgently on the back and told him to go and play with his sons.

“You’re exactly where you were always meant to be, Sansa,” Arya said, as the sisters said their final goodbyes. “You are the Queen the realm needs, sister.”

Tywin knew it would take something monumental to ever get Arya to come south again, and Sansa seemed to sense it as well.

“I’ll miss you, Arya.”

“And I’ll miss you. But I miss the North Sansa. We both know that is where I am meant to be.”

With a final hug, Arya mounted her horse, a look of excitement on her face.

Sandor was there, and Tywin barely refrained from rolling his eyes as Sansa hugged the big man.

“Take care of them, Sandor. All of them. They are my heart,” she said into his chest.

“I will, little bird. I will.”

When Sandor released Sansa, Tywin drew his wife into his arms. She was shaking and biting the inside of her lip, trying to be brave in the face of her sister leaving. He felt Kevan’s death acutely and gave Clegane a nod. They would never be close, but Tywin knew that Sansa trusted Sandor as she did few men in the realm. He would do as he said and keep those Sansa loved safe in the North.

Now, as he watched Arya kick her horse, shooting a grin back to Sansa, his wife allowed the tears to stream down her face.

“You’ll see her again,” was all he could say and Sansa nodded.

“I know.”

Still, it hurt to be parted from those you loved, and Tywin was more grateful than ever for this woman in his life. He was surrounded by family, as Rickon, Jaime, Myrcella, Shaggy and the wolf pups all made their way back into the Red Keep. Before Sansa, he’d been so lonely, so angry, so apart from everyone else.

Even though there were so many missing, he’d gained so much.

And all because he’d taken a chance on Sansa Stark those many years ago.

* * *

_ Dorne _

Two months after Stannis left for Dorne, he sent word that he was just outside Sunspear. As predicted, the people there had barely put up a token protest when his ships appeared on the horizon, and more than one house that had claimed loyalty to House Martell was more than willing to bend the knee to King Tywin and Queen Sansa.

They took the area outside of Sunspear quickly; the common people had gone too long without proper leadership, many almost near starving and desperate for change. It was only when they approached the first of the massive three walls, did Stannis understand just how dire the situation was and how disillusioned they had become with House Martell.

Someone, and Stannis would have put a gold dragon on guessing it has been Varys, had circulated rumours about what Oberyn Martell had done, and what the punishment for resistance might be. Everywhere Stannis went in the Shadow City, the dusty town built against the wall of Sunspear, the fear the common people felt for the Great Lion was palpable. 

Still, even as Stannis enacted a naval blockade around the city, it wasn't until Ser Daven appeared, three months later with the King's massive army, that they gained any traction at gaining entry to the walled palace.

The sight of the King and Queen's banners turned those inside the Old Palace walls craven. Stannis also received word that the Threefold Gate, that, when followed, allowed straight passage to the Old Palace, would be open at midnight, did he know that Sunspear was theirs. 

His army flooded in during the hour of the wolf, with him at the helm, making for the stronghold called Sandship, a large, ugly dun-coloured round-shaped building. It was here where Stannis knew he'd find Doran Martell, his son Trystane, Ellaria and the remaining Sand Snakes. The two towers that flanked the internal keep, the Spear Tower and the domed Tower of the Sun would house any who Doran was keeping prisoner.

It was people closest to Doran that ultimately betrayed him again, granting access to Stannis and Daven, so that when they burst through into the Sandship, they quickly rounded up those remaining in House Martell. They fought bitterly until the end, even Ellaria until they, one by one, fell, and only Doran remained.

"Any last words?"

The Dornish Prince spat at Stannis's feet and shook his head. "Tell the King my only regret is that my brother failed."

Rage, quick and hot, surged through Stannis, and he took Doran's head with one clean stroke, knowing that his task was done.

It was only two days later when they found Arianne Martell, locked away in a tower, barely alive. It was clear she had been a prisoner of her father, nearly starved to death. Daven had been the first inside her tower room and was oddly protective of her.

"What will you do?" the man from the West said as they stood in the bedroom where she had been placed under heavy guard.

"By orders of the King himself, we should give her sweet sleep. She is a Martell."

"She was a prisoner of her father. I cannot believe she had anything to do with Oberyn's plots."

Stannis sighed. He thought the same, and he knew the story of the Queen herself, once a prisoner of the bastard King Joffrey. He knew that this woman before him had suffered.

And Stannis also understood that the kingdom would be better if there were seven regions all pledged to one King. Would Dorne indeed be better under Yronwood or Dayne rule? Or would it send Dorne into bitter conflict for years to come? Stannis did not know, so he made the only choice possible to him.

"Get her healthy enough to travel. She comes back to King's Landing with me, to answer to the King and Queen in person. Let them decide the fate of Dorne."

Stannis did not miss the relief on Daven's shoulders. Months ago, he would have scoffed at such feelings, but the eagerness he felt with his task now complete, the knowledge that he would once again, see Ysilla, had Stannis turning his head and sympathizing with Daven. The man was smitten, feeling protective of the Dornish princess. But she was near death and hated by the King. Theirs would be an even harder relationship to accept.

Still, Stannis couldn't believe how quickly Arianne recovered, and two months after storming the Old Palace, they were ready to set sail, back to King's Landing. It had taken that long to set the city to rights, and for Stannis to feel comfortable leaving it.

Daven Lannister had joined Stannis on his ship to settled Arianne. Stannis had promised she’d be safe on their passage north and the man from the West took his leave, to lead some of their army home. Stannis and Daven were leaving ten thousand men in Sunspear to ensure that the southern region would not revolt as they brought the last Martell North to their King. With his mission complete and the kingdom, finally, at peace, Stannis could finally look to the future and begin to hope and to dream of a future where he was happy, and he was loved. 

* * *

_ King’s Landing – Eight Months after the Conclave  _

Sansa watched as Tywin paced in their room, a grim look to his eyes.

Stannis had been victorious in conquering Dorne, in killing almost all of House Martell, but the news that he was bringing Arianne Martell back to King's Landing with him has sent Tywin into a fury.

"What in seven hells is the man thinking?" he's muttered, clutching at the parchment.

"Perhaps he is thinking about what our option is for Dorne, husband?"'

Sansa was in a chair opposite Tywin, her wolf Summer, named after both Bran's and the season they would soon be entering, at her feet.

It had been just over eight months since the conclave had ended.

Arya had settled back into Winterfell with an ease that surprised even Sansa. One month after they'd left King's Landing, a raven had flown south from the North, telling Sansa that they were home. The ache in Sansa never really went away, missing her sister as she did, but it felt right that she was back there.

Jon and Dacey had never moved on from Rosby, realizing the vital work that needed to be done in that area, providing a steady stream of food of the capital. Tywin and Sansa visited when Dacey was six months pregnant, and it warmed Sansa to see her cousin hovering over his wife. The Queen expected word any day about the birth of their first child and prayed to the old gods that her labour would be as quick and as safe as possible.

Sansa also adored how close they were, barely a week’s ride in good weather and knew that they would remain close with the couple. Jon had come to court a few times and was settling into his role as Master of Coin and Lord of two significant keeps.

Negotiations had begun in earnest for Myrcella to marry Dickon. She'd been a godsend to Sansa, helping with the children and being there for Jaime, but at twenty, she was eager to start her own family.

Jaime was at turns excited for her, sad at her leaving and manic in ensuring Dickon would be suitable for her. Sansa was grateful for Rickon and Joanna, as they offered Jaime a welcome distraction to the fact that Myrcella would soon be leaving for High Hill. Dickon had stayed in the capital after the conclave, and even though Sansa knew that Jaime would miss Myrcella, the two men had become close. Dickon Tarly was a genuinely nice man who worshipped Cella and gave Jaime the respect he was due as her father.

Now, Sansa watched in amusement as her husband snarled and turned to her. His bark, these days, was worse than his bite. It always had been with her, although she did like it when he marked her in their bed play. Shaking her head at that thought, lest she became too distracted, she focused on her lion.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she was a prisoner Tywin. Clearly, her father had no intention of allowing her to take her rightful place. She was near death when they found her. Think of how much work it would be to install a Dayne or Yronwood in Dorne."

He nodded and then took his seat across from her, steepling his hands.

"What are you proposing?"

Sansa met his steely gaze, not intimidated in the least by her husband.

"Stannis writes that Daven is taken by her. He is loyal, and if she concedes to our demands, Dorne will be loyal for years. And House Martell's heirs will have Westerlands blood running through them."

He said nothing until one slow nod. Then he rose swiftly, a look of desire in his eyes.

Sansa smirked.

"Come, wife, I believe we have some time to steal this afternoon."

Sansa did not miss the look of desire in his eyes and wondered if it was time to stop taking moon tea. Her sons were past their second nameday, Serena having just turned one year old. And Tywin was not getting any younger.

"What are you thinking?" he whispered as he undid the stays of her gown.

She turned and knew the moment he saw it in her eyes.

"Another cub? You are ready?" They had decided together to wait, to give her body time to recover. Now his large hand cradled her stomach, and she placed hers on top of his.

"I am Tywin."

His lips crashed down to capture hers, and she wound herself around this man that she loved so much.

"Then come to bed wife, and let me love you," he growled at her and Sansa let herself be washed away, in love, in pleasure, in the sheer connection that she had with this very stern man, that had her entire heart, her mind, her very soul.

"I love you, Sansa," he said, rising over her, their bodies moving almost as one.

"And I love you, Tywin."

Then no words were needed, as they chased their pleasure, lost in the deep and abiding connection they had, knowing that this life that they had created was only because of how much they loved and trusted in one another.

* * *

_ King’s Landing – Ten Months After the Conclave  _

When Stannis arrived in the Throne Room with Arianne Martell, Sansa saw her husband stiffen. He hated, with a passion, anyone linked to the house that had tried to kill her. She did not blame him, but she knew, as he did, that the woman in front of them was their best chance at lasting peace in the southern region. And she had been a prisoner, almost starved to death by her own family. It was a horrifying thought for Sansa, and she had argued passionately for Tywin to, at the very least, give her a chance.

Now he was glowering at her as the beautiful woman bowed her head.

"Your Grace, Arianne Martell, the last of her house, heir to Sunspear and the region of Dorne," Stannis said.

Tywin grunted and looked at his loyal man.

"Lord Stannis, you have conducted yourself admirably," Tywin's voice boomed.

All members of the small council were present, including Jon, who'd left his wife and his newborn son to attend this meeting. They had named him Rhaevan, a mix of the dragon that had sacrificed itself in the Long Night and the brother that Jon had to kill. Sansa had wept upon hearing his name, and Tywin had quickly moved to secure a betrothal between Serena and Rhaevan.

Sansa had gaped at her husband and shaken her head.

"Gods, let them at least see if they are suited," she'd told her lion, who had grumbled about only the best for his princess.

"And what of little Ned?"

"She'd be too far away," Tywin had mumbled and went to find his children, leaving Sansa and Jon staring after him, the wolf pups sniffing at Jon. He'd left Ghost with Dacey at Rosby when he'd come south, along with a loyal contingent of men and women sworn to protect her.

Now, the final fate of Dorne would be decided. This was not a negotiation. Sansa knew that should Arianna balk at anything her husband proposed, he would end her the way Stannis had the rest of her family. He had two proud, noble houses willing to pledge themselves to him and move into the palace in Sunspear.

Thankfully, Arianne agreed to the terms, including war reparations, using whatever was left of the Dornish army to tear down Harrenhal and build a monument to the fallen heroes. She also agreed to the approval of noble marriages in her region to be approved by the King and Queen, and her marriage to Ser Daven Lannister.

That night in their chambers, Tywin stated that it did not feel like enough; that now that it was done, he regretted his choice, but Sansa wrapped her arms around him.

“There has been so much bloodshed, Tywin, that I fear the ground would weep with it should we let it. You have done the impossible. You have defeated enemy after enemy, brought peace to the Seven Kingdoms and secured your legacy, my love. Let it rest.”

He grumbled as he pulled her into his arms.

“Besides, my king, you will have your hands full soon enough.”

She blushed prettily as his eyes widened and then darted down to her slim stomach.

“Again?”

Sansa nodded and then a smile lit her face. “You are an exceptional man, Tywin Lannister. Clearly even age will not stop you from ensuring your legacy will be guaranteed.”

Tywin couldn’t help himself as he preened under the idea of a fourth child with this woman he loved. He knew his age was against him; time waited for no man, not even him. But his health was good, he was fit and he hoped to live long enough to see his sons and daughter reach their majority. He wanted to ensure he left them a kingdom that was safe, that was prosperous, that was stable and that was theirs.

“My love,” he said, capturing her lips, loving how she fit herself against him. He drew back, looking into her eyes.

“How could I have possibly known what awaited us when you marched into my solar that day?” he murmured and watched as she grinned. She cupped his cheek, stroking him as he liked.

“I wanted a great love, Tywin. One that rivalled those in the books and poems I loved as a girl. You have given me that, my lion. All of that and so much more. I couldn’t imagine life without you in it.”

Tywin knew he was a blessed man. Tragedy had befallen him, yes, and he’d lost many he loved. But he’d been given a second chance at love, because of this brave woman in his arms.

“You are mine until this breath leaves my body. You have my whole heart, Sansa.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and he knew it was the pregnancy making her more emotional than usual. 

“And you have mine, Tywin. For as long as we have, my whole heart is yours.”

“I love you, my queen.”

“And I love you, my king.”

Then his lips were on hers, and they were swept away in one another, their love having somehow forged something new and lasting in the Seven Kingdoms, their legacy secure and the future of both of their houses firmly establish for generations to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't go too far into the future because I have several one-shots I want to write. AND I want to do each and every story justice and give us all a peak into their lives in the future
> 
> So far this is what I have planned:  
1\. Marriage of Stannis and Ysilla  
2\. Marriage of Dickon and Myrcella  
3\. Arya in the North  
4\. More children for Tywin and Sansa  
5\. Tywin and Sansa at Casterly Rock  
6\. Tywin and Sansa at Winterfell  
7\. Jaime and Rickon training  
8\. Jaime and Rickon travelling through the seven kingdoms  
9\. Jaime finding love  
10\. Jon and Dacey – birth of their first child  
11\. Jon and Dacey and all their kids  
12\. Sandor and Jeyne in the North  
13\. Rickon and Shireen  
14\. The death of the King and the ascension of Tysan Lannister 
> 
> As you can see, this will take us far into the future of Westeros and I can't wait to come back into this universe. For now, I'll be taking a short break and will hopefully be back soon to update this world.  
If you need a Tysan 'kick' I've started a new piece here on AO3 called "A Slip Through Time."  
Thank you all for reading, for your support, for sticking by me. Stay safe and be kind. 
> 
> T


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